Flying from Quito to San Diego was a huge mind trip. I watched dilapidated square concrete constructions recede as we ascended, containing the lives of an entire family in a single, dimly lit room with a tin roof and concrete floor. I flew into neatly gridded tract housing developments, with palm trees waving gently in sunlight that seemed sweeter, relaxed and carefree. Everything was clean, with sweeping open spaces, huge highways with hundreds of cars whizzing past. Life seemed taller somehow, less close to the ground, less focused on the immediate- the next step, the next fruit basket, the next morning. My mom met me at the airport and we spent the night at a hotel, repacking my bags for Semester at Sea. I was given a wealth of riches: swapping out the grubby, sparse wardrobe I’d worn for 8 weeks at the shelter for some different clothes she’d brought down, getting my laptop, packing some snacks my family sent down. The next morning I said goodbye to my mom again and got on a bus with a bunch of other rambunctious students, and set off for Semester at Sea.
From the first moment, I felt disconnected from everyone around me. I was unsettled the moment I walked on the bus and saw so many carefully made up girls in tight, attractive clothing looking back at me. A lot of the guys were in designer collared shirts. The predominant topic of conversation on the bus was drinking (though there was also some conversation about the ports). It was like they were speaking a foreign language; ironically, I felt a strong urge to find someone who spoke Spanish. Even the conversations about tourism struck me strangely. People were talking about how they would spend money in the ports, and I imagined them paying, having a good time, and leaving. I marveled at how easy it is to visit a place and learn nothing about the daily realities its people face. I had no idea how to articulate these thoughts and emotions, or who I could express them to. I was sure I’d find people on the trip who I could talk to, but at the moment I felt completely out of place.
We got to Ensenada and boarded the ship, and I met my roommate Liz. Thankfully she is much cooler than the people on the bus, and we get along very well. Liz is a Film and Radio major at Syracuse in Boston. At dinner I also met a really interesting guy, Evan. He says he is addicted to traveling and has been all over the world, including spending time in several Latin American countries. His stories over dinner about his experiences building houses with Habitat for Humanity in some of those countries were utterly gripping, not only for the vividness of his descriptions of communities that live in terrible conditions, but also because of the obvious intensity of the impact of the experience on him.
There are two other situations besides the people which are making this transition a bit unsettling. One is the rocking of the boat, combined with the extreme change in elevation (from 9,000 feet in Quito to, well, sea level on the ocean) combined with the lack of sleep (redeye flight) after a full day of work on Friday in Quito, leading to really bad headaches and vague motion sickness for the first 2 days at sea. The other situation is the luxury, opulence even of living on the ship. Waiters in the dining halls fill our glasses and take our plates when we finish. Ben, our cabin steward, makes our beds and cleans the bathroom every day. There’s carpeting, mirrors, and wood paneling everywhere, warm halogen lighting in our cabin and in all the public areas…everything is so sparklingly clean that if you dared me to lick the floor I just might do it (I’m serious about that- and as many of you know I’m rather OCD).
I sat with a group of adults (spouses of professors and adult travelers) at dinner last night, and heard that on a previous voyage there was a “10k club” of students who made it a goal to spend $1,000 in every port. This is sickening on so many levels – self-absorption, disrespect, and lack of concern for others, to start with. I really hope there aren’t any students on this voyage who are thinking of doing the same thing.
I find I have become a lot more skeptical and critical, and probably judgmental about people and the things they say. Particularly when people purport to say things about privilege, poverty, and social class. I certainly recognize that it is presumptuous to think that I know much about these topics, but I question whether they know what they’re talking about at all. I bristle when professors make broad, sweeping generalizations. I’ve also become more impatient and intolerant of chitchat on frivolous topics. All of these reactions are probably part of the “reverse culture shock” I was warned about – I have had my perspectives changed and reenter American society to find that it keeps going on as it has been, and every time I am reminded of that by what people say or what I see I twitch a little. This sensitization is already beginning to fade, which on one hand is a relief as I can socialize more easily, but on the other hand, part of me doesn’t want it to fade. I don’t want to slip back into complacency and forget the things I saw and experienced.
I see why many young adults can be so abrasive at times, as they wrestle with various issues and develop a social conscience.
