Apskritimai/Circles by Bekah Mongold
Sukilimo Menas by Toni Doss
Apskritimai/Circles by Bekah Mongold
Sukilimo Menas by Toni Doss
Rite or Ritual
Divine – Sacred – God – Spirit
With our words we sew a suit for it
but it always bursts the seams
no regard for blush or shame, it seems
so it’s fitting that this thing unnamed won’t stay cinched
in the western clothes we’ve carefully stitched
Toothy temple bracelet tiers,
Jama Mosjid’s twisted spires
ghat-descending funeral biers
and haunting red cremation fires –
All things meant to awaken or inspire
a newfound belief in a power, higher
But just as with every story or sword
there’s a second side, one not as heard:
the labor behind every mug poured
or the hours spent on a title word.
In this, religion cannot be ignored ––
it has its own unheard, where meanings are blurred and emotions stirred
a lesson we learned when a Sikh’s wrath we incurred.
Hot, heavy, and sudden – like a cloud, it came,
before you could blink, no time to think
covering all with a bittersweet stink
marked by traces of jaggery and shame.
We broke a rule never spelled out in ink,
but that doesn’t excuse us from taking the blame.
Shaved head, robed in red, prayer beads, back bent
He shoves me aside – this monk is intent,
nothing will dent his spiritual ascent,
too bent on finding enlightenment
to see the ones for whom the light was meant
And while the tourists on vacation –
just a few with constipation – sit to watch the celebration
the priests with adulation all recite their incantations
and the fathers and the brothers watch the flames of the cremation
the souls of their relations now released to incarnation
flame and spirit cycle ever-turning, no cessation
This enunciation is how the Hindus praise creation
But now their holy river sits in putrid desecration
The people choke the river and the water chokes the people
Bathe in it, it’s sacred, but drink of it, it’s evil
a river drowned in trash, the matter mostly fecal
and how about the dumping? Oh, that still happens – it’s legal
The human and the natural in embrace, locked and lethal
A deadly combination for the river and the people –
A mutual expiration by ash asphyxiation
Now trace the Gunga from this Varanasi ghat,
Away from the bodies beginning to rot
Down to Kolkata, where it’s humid and hot
and the water runs free in the streets a whole lot
But drinkable? No, definitely not –
or upriver now, to our whitewater spot,
where workers build roads and new vehicle lots
heedless of the noise and the trash that they brought.
Big changes – by whom, and for whom, are they wrought?
Just a little food for some thought.
Shiny new shopping malls
and plastic bag snack stalls
and unlimited calls
and traffic at a crawl,
How can we have the gall
to say this is progress?
We’re the last link in this long chain reaction,
a nuclear bomb that the Brits set in action,
a centuries-long ploy for power
that culminates here, now, in this hour –
“Please, sir, won’t you buy a flower?”
with a fifty-rupee cash transaction.
He’s smiling, I’m smiling, decisions are made,
but I feel like I’ve been played – “It’s handmade?”
“Smiling is universal,” they say,
but in this instance, as I pay,
it only colors our relationship gray,
a gray tinged with green
as the factor of cash seen
turns the space in between
from potential pal to money machine
The great prophet of capitalism, the invisible hand
the proselytes of progress, the Tata name brand,
and a government eager to give business a hand –
they’ve changed this land,
just as its religious forebears made their own stand.
What is sacred? What is profane?
Elephant rides or the truth of a train?
The rites of a ritual or the rights of the people?
Or are they the same?
and so I ask you again,
as mantras and dogmas begin now to blend
but in India the Gunga still flows to its end –
What is sacred? …it depends.
-Harrison Horst, India, Spring 2018
Today is Sunday June 3, 2018. We all went to church and it was a good service. We just got back from our week-long trip to Vilnius, Riga, and Tallinn. It was very interesting to see the architecture and learn about the history about these cities. There are many monuments and museums that hold tons of information. A lot of photos were taken, and we all enjoyed our time. The cities are beautiful, and it would be a place to visit again. Now we all have a lot of photos to edit for our assignments that are due in the coming weeks. The experiences that we have all encountered during this trip were powerful.
We visited a lot of places that were memorial sites for the people who gave their lives for freedom for their people and country. There were other sites that remembered the people who were executed because of their faith and race. These sites help paint the picture that injustices are all around us, but if we can stick together we can make a change. The people in these times were committed to their goal for unity. These people were selfless and thought about others before themselves. I feel a lot of us learned what it means to sacrifice and fight for what you believe in on this trip. I am glad we all could experience this.
Mussoorie has carried with it more anticipation than any other stop on this trip for me. Although I enjoyed our racing around Rajasthan for two weeks, my mind and body were exhausted and looking forward to resting in one place for some time. As we boarded our third and final overnight train ride, I couldn’t help but picture vast expanses of the Himalayas, and nestled right in the middle of all the grandeur, Mussoorie.
The train itself brought with it some challenges. My nose was assaulted with the scent that only sitting directly next to a bathroom can provide. My bed was chronically slanted towards the wall, subtle enough that it was unnoticeable when I was sitting up or pressed against the wall, but extreme enough that I would slide back into the wall whenever I eventually forgot about my situation and rolled over. However, even though it may have been grimy and uncomfortable, I knew in that moment having a bed and roof over my head with a guaranteed breakfast in the morning was more than mass amounts of people could say – a thought that has been ever present on my conscience since arriving back in January.
After a long night of restless sleep and a lot of skidding into the wall, I was greeted with the alarm of our tour guide, Tsering, running up and down the halls playing “Country Roads” by John Denver and singing along very loudly, only stopping to surrender into laughter and tell us to wake up. As is custom in India, the train was delayed 40 minutes, giving us time to relax and watch the country go by. Time passed quickly and we were soon shepherded across the road from the station into five vans, which carried us through manic traffic until we were soon on our way up the long, winding, steep roads into Mussoorie.
Upon arrival, we were greeted at Doma’s Inn – owned by our tour guides, the Nima’s – which did not disappoint. The inn was anything but bland. Outside was primarily bright red with streaks of blue and yellow, not much changed on the inside. We immediately began exploring and understanding the pristine landscape we would be able to call home for the next two and a half weeks. I was ecstatic because I, as well as many of our group, thrive when surrounded by mountains. Being drawn to its beauty, adventure, and challenge, I’ve
had a fascination and desire to visit this mountain range since early elementary school. Downtown Mussoorie was a stone’s throw away, but we learned quickly that going anywhere meant negotiating long, steep hills. Battling exhaustion but fueled by curiosity, we soon saw shops lined one after another ranging from shoemakers, hair stylists, fabric benders, restaurants, and many more! After climbing into bed, exhausted from a combination of walking and altitude, I quickly fell asleep. We then began a routine of breakfast at 8, Hindi lessons from 9-11, and our cross-cultural class from 11:30-12:30. With afternoons absent of classes, they ranged from total freedom to different excursions, such as guided hikes and tours from Tashi and Tsering.
Our rafting adventure was broken into two days. The first day we had a safety briefing and went over basic rescue techniques with our instructors. We had a rather lazy day only navigating one technical class 4 rapid called “the Wall.” We had a few opportunities to jump into the Ganges River and float around. It was very cold, coming down from the Himalayas. After a few minutes, when your body goes completely numb, it becomes much easier to enjoy the beautiful surroundings. For the most part, everyone was nervous to go swimming. At the end of our first day we played the paddle game – a game where everybody stands in a circle with a paddle. The leader calls out “left” or “right,” and you have to grab the paddle beside you before it hits the ground. As people get eliminated the increasing gap moves and it is harder to get to the next paddle. We had a fantastic day on the river and I am sure most of us were wiped.
The second day was packed with much more action. We went through a lot more rapids, some of which were named “Return to Sender,” “Roller Coaster,” and “Golf Course.” While navigating one of the class 3 rapids, our instructor told us to jump out and go swimming. I was a little shocked at first when Ben and Aaron first jumped and decided to jump out myself. The water was very turbulent and powerful. It was exciting and even a little scary being thrashed around so violently in the whitewater. Later, we got an opportunity to do a little cliff jumping. The rafting trip was a ton of fun and we got to do things that would not have gone over well in the States. Rafting will surely be one of the more memorable parts of the trip.
– Alex Navari and Cody Trumbo
Perched on the counter,
as there’s no chairs,
my sticky fingers slather
Prakesh’s bread with jam.
Monkeys terrorize as I
watch unconcerned, yet,
take up my new friend:
A large, thick stick.
– Caroline Gehman
Children oh children
How I adore your adventurous spirits
and your devotion.
How your innocence and energy radiate.
A three hour trek both to and fro, just to gain
knowledge and growth in not only
academic studies, but in character.
Children oh children
How I adore your enthusiasm
and your strife.
Children oh children
Never let that spark in your souls die.
– Sophie Hartman
inspired by a visit to Kaplani School and Kolti village in Mussoorie
Dawn in Mandawa
Location: Roof of a Haveli in Mandawa, Rajasthan, India. 6:15 am.
The sound of music drifts through the brisk March air towards me from some unknown source. The city seems still and sleepy. Occasionally, I catch the moo of a cow and the chirp of a bird. Audible all around me is the sound of street cleaners with their handheld straw brooms as they push large clouds of dust and piles of trash.
The sun rises slowly from behind a layer of thick haze in the distance. The haze causes the sun to cast a gradient of pinks, reds, and oranges onto the sky. Slowly, the city awakens. The sound of distant horns begins first, slowly increasing to shatter the stillness with their harshness. People are visible now in the streets, leaving their shops and homes to begin their day under the pale orange light.
All around me, I see a mass of temples, havelis, and buildings in various states of disrepair. The honk of horns increases still, now interposed by humorous jingles. A bus rumbles slowly down the narrow street, struggling to turn the sharp curve of the road as a stream of motorcycles and mopeds pass it on either side. The sun has arisen and in response, the city has awaken.
Squeals on Wheels
India is well known for its hectic traffic and rightfully so. My scariest experience on wheels, however, did not occur on the roads of India. It happened while being pushed around in a wheelchair at a simulation of a Punjabi village.
Train stations create an environment in which you need to stay alert; it seems anything can happen in the chaos. With 32 students, the shuffle from the train to our next mode of transportation adds to the discombobulation. As we rushed through the station after a long train ride, around 9pm, fatigue from a bug being passed around drained my energy to a critically low level. I struggled to put one foot in front of the other and could barely see over my backpack. We approached a curb and I sadly did not see the piece of gravel that my foot was about to land on. Little did I know that my next step would impact the rest of my trip.
My ankle bent at an unnatural angle as the extra weight on my front and back made me unable to recover as I normally would. I saw spots and did not know how I would make it to the bus. The next 20 minutes are a blur. I remember fighting off a desire to pass out and drift into a world of sleep where I could ignore the pain. I told myself, you’re just tired you’ll be better in a few days, but, a few days later, I found myself being pushed around in a wheelchair by a maniac, Yelisey Shapovalov. The name still sends the sensation of falling surging through my gut. As we explored the “authentic Punjabi experience,” the claim still causes skepticism, I was pushed up hills, where my caretaker would let go just long enough to cause panic. My wheelchair, with me still in it, was picked up and carried over curbs. By the end of the trip, I was convinced I would teeter off either the edge of the wheelchair or my sanity. Fortunately, Yelisey only wanted to incite trepidation and not true fear. We watched the acrobats, dancers, and warriors twirl in the grass, dazzling us with their heritage. I longed to have the physical health to move as they did. Despite my ankle and the frustration it brought, I made it through Sadda Pind as intact as I arrived and enjoyed the spectacles of the “authentic Punjabi experience.”
Arriving in Mussoorie
I had anticipated our time in Mussoorie since the start of our travels and the day had finally come. Mussoorie is situated in the Himalayan foothills at about 6,600 feet. The ride up to Mussoorie was wild! We climbed on winding roads for about an hour and as we got higher the roads got narrower and steeper. As we drove up, we could see the city of Mussoorie built into the mountainside. I was in constant awe of the view and atmosphere.
We eventually got to Doma’s Inn which is owned by our guides family. The Inn is quite colorful and represents or guides well. It is small but unique in many ways, and includes a sweet view down to the slopes below Mussoorie. After getting situated here, a group of us took a walk. This was a cool loop that gave us views of the surrounding peaks and valleys. The walk gave us a better understanding of how steep the roads are in Mussoorie. We were able to see tall evergreen trees, monkeys and some small shops. Unfortunately, it was hazy and so we could not see the Himalayas. Even with this being the case, I continually said “unbelievable” on the walk. It is exciting to have finally arrived in Mussoorie. This is the place where our leaders lived and/or grew up in, and we are eager to have them share their home city with us. I look forward to understanding the culture here as well as going on hikes to try and see the Himalayas.
Cafe Coffee Day
I do not mind walking for coffee
and finding shops within the clouds of trees
and sweating in the cold. All for coffee.
I say to myself, just Keep going.
Natives with impressive lungs pass me breathing
steadily, but I have to stop moving.
With struggling breath I look down and see
tiny specks that I know are bigger than me.
Do I really need coffee?
My energy level says yes,
but my unmoving feet know best.
El Classico, or A Day in Jaipur
An account of perhaps the most comically representative full-day experience of our entire trip. It all began with a man wearing a straw hat and a winning smile who stepped onto our bus that morning and invaded our lives forever. “Goodmorningmynameis[incomprehensible]butyoucancallmeJiJi––” he said breathlessly. “It’s a good thing you have me, because I’m the best tour guide in Jaipur! Here are the things Jiji will show you today.” [Winning smile] Emerson and I looked at each other – it was clear this day was going to be something special.
An endless stream of burbling chatter from Jiji kept us entertained (“I would be a perfect human being, except I’m a couple inches too short – look, there’s a lake!”) until we pulled up at the Amber Fort ante-parking lot, which is kind of like an antechamber except less like a waiting room and more like a holding tank for tourists. “Jiji.com!”* said Jiji cheerfully. “Also, we aren’t actually at the fort yet, so we need to use jeeps to get there. There’s plenty of room!” We proceeded to smush ourselves into as few jeeps as possible – all the while being hounded by a bagpipes man trying to sell us something, ostensibly bagpipes – and suffered a 15-minute ride, avoiding dogs, hawkers, and elephants alike, before arriving at the actual fort.
After the typical scuffling involving student I.D.’s and cost bartering, while continuing to avoid the trinket-sellers descending like birds of prey, we finally arrived inside the palace. Fast forward through a half-hour lecture, concubine passage adventuring, and several more references to Jiji.com, and we’re on our way back down the mountain for lunch. After the customary 45-minute traffic delay, we arrived at a relatively normal lunch buffet – to be one of our last average experiences of the day.
Just as our group began heading into the dangerous realm of pleasantly-full post-lunch doldrums – nap time, in other words – Jiji leaped up energetically and joyously announced two items: 1, We are about to watch a traditional authentic (two of his favorite words, coincidentally representative of tourism in India) Rajasthani puppet show, and 2, We have only seven more things to see today [ticking off on fingers, his smile now beaming comically ominous overtones]: A jeweler, a linen warehouse, a ceramics store, Jantar Mantar, and the city palace – “Then home, and then to bed!” he laughed.
And so we went, trudgingly and grudgingly – although not before our puppeteer tried to sell us some of his puppets (again, representative of Indian tourism). We piled into our deluxe air-conditioned coach, then piled out into the upstairs workshop of Jiji’s friend, the jeweler (“I never bring other tourist groups here!”) for an admittedly interesting glimpse of behind-the-scenes jewelry-making…but not too long of a glimpse, lest we forget about the chance to shop for jewelry in the store immediately downstairs.
The cycle continued. We piled into our deluxe air-conditioned coach, newly laden with shopping bags and jewelry, before piling out into a linen-printer’s workshop for a short but interesting demonstration. And again, we were led into the adjacent linen store, returning after a short while to our bus with a few more additional pounds. Deluxe air-conditioned coach…ceramics demonstration…shopping…coach…and then, suddenly, we are standing outside the most famous astronomical observatory in India, Jaipur’s Jantar Mantar. Due to our afternoon excursions, we barely make it to Jantar Mantar before closing time, and we are in the midst of the typical entry-fee scuffle when four military jeeps screech to a halt outside the park entrance. A dozen serious-looking men with rifles jump onto the street, lock down the area, and shuttle all 38 of us into the park before you could even say “Namaste.”
“Important political visit,” grunts the entrance guard when Jiji asked him. Well, that seemed safe enough, so we begin walking towards the world’s largest sundial, when all of a sudden, Hillary Clinton glides through the park entrance, less than 50 feet away from us. Madness and hilarity ensue, as the absurdities of the day begin to catch up with us, and the anciently grand astronomical instruments lay forgotten.
Though our day was far from over, I will end my narrative here, at the pinnacle of our confusion. These types of overwhelming days, where the strange and familiar swirl together in intensely chaotic ways, are the norm, not the exception, on cross-cultural. Responses to days like this vary. Sometimes we laugh; sometimes we cry. Sometimes we ruefully admit to each other, “India wins…again.” Sometimes we lash out in defensive anger. Sometimes we simply shake our head in bewildered wonder. And sometimes, when we don’t know what else to do, we give each other knowing smiles and say, “Jiji.com.”
*We don’t actually know why he was such an advocate for Jiji.com, considering the domain belonged to a Chinese app store, but we are guessing he thought it made him look cool.
Observation of Space – A Compilation of Sporadic and Mismatched Thoughts
Bustling city. Dusty streets full of rickshaws and cyclists, tour buses and zippy little cars. Snack shops spotting the edges with the typical strips of chips and peanuts and assortments of odd Indian Chex-mix of sorts, butter cookies and other couple-of-rupee treats. Stray dogs picking through bits of trash, the occasional cow confidently making its way down the street. A cricket game down a side road drawing in a crowd of young boys and spectators. The chorus of honking.
Arriving in Agra just an hour before, the novelty of a new city drew me out of my hotel room and into the color and chaos of the streets. Because what’s better than a walk after sitting on a bus all morning?
“If we walk down this road for about a mile, we’ll reach the Taj,” my trusty navigator, Abigail, told me. So we turn off the main road down a side street, shifting our gaze from the bustle of the busy street to the sight in front of us, an entirely new type of bustle. The road narrowed, only fitting cycles or small cars, carts or cows among the people walking through. A small school to the right in a block cement building, kids in uniform leaving in little chatty groups, hand-in-hand with a parent or on the front seat of a motorcycle between the arms of a brother or father. Women in bright saris sitting in doorframe, men standing in small clusters on the side of the road.
Meandering down for some time, my eyes never knew quite where to focus. Do I stare back at the wide eyes of the small girl playing in the street, at the young man who turns on the back of the motorcycle until we’re no longer in sight? Do I look at my feet to avoid stepping in piles of manure or look up to avoid the 1,000 kilo cow lumbering towards us with no presumed plan to change its path? Ahh, but how can I not focus on the small pig that suddenly scurries a foot below me in the concrete slab-covered drainage system of the road? Laundry hanging across rooftops, vegetable cart rolling through, steam rising from an open wok.
As the road narrowed and drove us deeper into the heart of life in Agra untouched by tourists and outsiders, our presence became more and more of an anomaly. Retracing our steps, we returned through the commotion of evening activity back towards the chorus of honking, left the ‘village life’ tucked between the blocks of cement buildings and hopped on a rickshaw with the understood one word request, “Taj!”
Five minutes later, our rickshaw driver dropped us along the outskirts of the Taj, a paved, well maintained area blocked off to vehicles. We were no longer an anomaly as we walked along the identical, over meant constructed shops filled with all of the Taj trinkets you could ask for – t-shirts, magnets, small replicas, pieces of the marable used for the Taj Mahal itself, caps with its outline stitched on front. The streets full of sunglass-donning, visor-wearing tourists glowing in their sight-seeing-best attire from their recent visit and, no doubt, photoshoot in front of the Taj.
Drifting from the clean, well-swept streets, we found ourselves in a bazaar outside of the Southern gate of the Taj. Congested and chaotic, each step was met with a new smell, a “shopping?,” called in our direction, children rushing to our legs, hands to their lips asking “chocolate?,” rickshaws pulling into our path and a swirl of people and color. After wandering through random streets for some time, a navigational nightmare for poor Abigail but a whirlwind of energy and excitement for us both, the setting sun cued our meandering return to the quiet of the Taj and throngs of hopeful rickshaw drivers. Fifty rupees and a short few minutes later, we made it back to the quiet of our hotel.
The next morning we woke at sunrise, waited in the long line of tourists, got our passes, water bottles and shoe-socks and walked through the main gate of the Taj. As it entered our view, first thoughts included “wow, that’s big,” “wow, that’s small,” “wow, that’s white” and “dang”* coupled with feelings of awe at its magnificence. Inlaid stones and Arabic script embellished with intricacy, striking symmetry, and mosques on either side paying homage to the radiance of its white marble against the blue sky.
Taking the trademark India tourist ‘I’ve been to the Taj’ photos, we spent the rest of the morning admiring this symbol of love, the love of the emperor Shah Jahan for his wife, before returning to the hotel for breakfast.
The beauty of the Taj was spectacular. Mesmerizing. Yet in that space, I was reminded that the magnificence of India does not lie solely in its iconic wonders, but in its energy and noise, bustling streets, the swirl of people, the smells and contrast and color.
After a day of sights, we loaded up and headed to our next destination, Amritsar, redefining what India looks like once again.
*Thoughts from randomly surveyed group members
Free travel was supposed to be a well-earned vacation from learning; I was expecting to saunter off into the Guatemalan jungle and render my mind blissfully empty of deep thoughts. Yet, in the aftermath of our week-long adventure through the mountains of Cobán and the steamy lowlands of Lake Izabal, I’ve realized that I accidentally learned a lot:
Lesson 1: Friendship can be found in unexpected places, like at street food stands or in a packed microbús.
Lesson 2: God appears in unexpected places. I’ve seen God in the majesty of hidden jungle waterfalls, in the kindness of generous strangers, and in safe bus rides along dangerous mountain roads. (In the last case, there were moments where I really did wonder if I was about to meet my Maker.)
Lesson 3: “Barriga llena; corazón contento.” (Full belly, contented heart.) Always travel on a full belly, lest you subject your travel companions to the wrath of a hangry heart.
Lesson 4: A pretty place is nice to look at, but true beauty is found in friendship. Thanks to my travel buddies, to our hosts, and to the many, many people who fed us and welcomed us into little-known corners of this incredible country throughout the past week.
-morning boat ride on Lake Izabal-
I could see the curve of the Earth,
smell the immensity of the horizon
with the 6am stubble of mountains
way way way across the way
the water was gently shifting porcelain
warm to the touch
studded with seabirds and floating green gardens
the sky hummed with blues and grays
and the intangible promise of a new day
just over my shoulder the sun peeked
through a crack in the clouds
and it was all yellow
I smiled at our guide, his hand on the tiller,
his bare feet dangling
and his one silver tooth caught a glint
of the rising sun
when he smiled back
and pointed out a small family of monkeys
breakfasting in the coastal trees
Lessons Learned on Free Travel
I have never seen mountains like Guatemala’s before. They breathe green into every corner of my sight and astound me with the steepness of their reaching slopes. I could stare and stare and never get enough of their majesty.
Our group of three spent three days in Rio Dulce and three days in Lívingston, choosing to save money and spend less time traveling by staying in Guatemala. Although if you think about it, the money we were given for free travel wasn’t just handed to us – it was originally ours that we used to pay tuition for this semester. Still, it felt like Byron and Lisa were just giving us money to travel.
I can’t write about grand adventures or discoveries, but I can write about what the three of us felt so strongly throughout the week; the restorative power of doing nothing: of sleeping in, of reading novels on a roof or by a pool, of not having scheduled times to eat or sleep or be in Spanish class or to be somewhere. For the first time all semester, except for a few days in Arizona, we had no planned activities, and it was glorious. Combined with the scenery, we could not have asked for a better, more relaxing week out of the city.
-Jenna H., Anali & Nathaniel
We were very thankful that our first two days of travel to Placencia, Belize were not an indication of how the remainder of our free travel would go. Traveling in Guatemala posed more challenges than we would have had while traveling in the United States because we were not able to plan much in advance. We could not look at bus and boat schedules online leading us to always take the earliest bus/boat to make it to our next destination just so that we could sit and wait a long time for the next one to leave. Making it even more difficult, we had to keep track of three different currencies (Quetzales, USD, BZD), two different languages, as well as our group and the other two groups. And, on top of all of that, we had to deal with Guatemalan time. This means that nothing leaves or arrives on schedule and there is no rush.
The most stressful part of our travel was an hour boat ride from Livingston, Guatemala to Punta Gorda, Belize that took up the largest portion of our transportation budget during the middle of a storm. We were sitting in a 20-passenger boat that was open on all sides, and thrown around by the wind and the waves. The torrential rain started when we could no longer see any sign of land. We stopped to refill on gas during this downpour and we were convinced that we were lost. However, we started moving across the open ocean again and finally caught sight of land. The rain stopped, the sea calmed, and we no longer had to huddle under the tarps, praying and holding hands. All of these struggles made the beaches of Placencia more beautiful and enjoyable.
We spent the next 5 days 40 feet from the beach, enjoying the luxuries of air conditioning, warm showers, speaking English, and independence in our food and activities. One of our highlights was eating Tutti Frutti gelato almost every night. We loved the small town feel of Placencia and the ability to walk everywhere. Most of the shops and restaurants were located on the main sidewalk that provided easy access to the beach and the whole town. Despite our traveling difficulties, we all agree that Placencia was well worth it. We would all love to go back another time to experience everything we did not do and to re-experience some of our favorite memories.
-Ginny, Rachel, and Madeline
Our group, like a few others, was lucky enough to explore the beautiful, tropical country of Belize for our free week of travel. From the very first day, our trip went so smoothly it felt too good to be true. We left at an early 2:30am and took a variety of transportation to reach Puerto Barrios, Belize, where we ate pizza and had a relaxing night on the balcony, looking out over the ocean. Throughout our journey to Placencia, Belize, our final destination, we walked, took 3 taxis, 2 boats, and 2 busses. This long journey made Placencia even more enjoyable upon arrival. After getting off the boat, we were all surprised to be welcomed in English, a nice change from the ongoing Spanish we had been hearing and studying in the city. We were greeted by our gracious and hospitable host, Analise, who provided us with a house located right on the lagoon and included a rooftop pool, kayaks, tubes, bikes, and a beautiful lounging area where we spent most of the week. Analise and her boyfriend even cooked us a delicious barbeque meal during our time there.
Placencia is a small lively town located on a peninsula where the tropical air, bright blue oceans, and unique restaurants and bars welcome many tourists from all over the world. Unlike Guatemala and Mexico where we had previously visited, Belize offered a different atmosphere and culture. Placencia provided us with a sense of community, safety, and an overall island vibe that was thrilling to explore. During our time in Placencia, we visited the beach, made our own meals (mostly consisting of pasta), lounged at our pool, and sun-tanned. On the last day, we were able to take a boat out to a secluded island to snorkel! We saw schools of fish, a rainbow squid, and multiple stingrays. We felt so free swimming and scanning the coral reefs that reside under the Belizean blue waters. Until our travel day back, every aspect of our trip was perfect. On the way home, we ran out of gas on our boat, which caused us to miss our bus back to the city. This was quite an experience, but we all made the most of it and embraced the unpredictability of travel. Overall, our trip to Placencia was an unforgettable adventure, and turned out to be the perfect, much-anticipated break we needed.
-Laura, Katie, Clara, Jenna, Seth
During our weeklong adventure throughout Guatemala, we stopped in Semuc Champey for a couple of days. This is one of Guatemala’s most famous and most beautiful national parks, and it is preserved perfectly. It consists of a river flowing into naturally formed pools with a small waterfall cascading into each pool. The water was extremely clear and very refreshing to swim in. But the swim was not without a price, the rocky path to the pools were both sharp and slippery. Somehow, none of us took a spill and despite the danger, the view from the pools was absolutely worth it. From the water, we could see down the river valley into the sunset over a distant mountain range. All in all, it was a fantastic trip full of conversations with interesting people, beautiful scenery and long, long, long bus rides.
-James, Sol, & Lucas