As I sit here on the MV Explorer, awaiting our imminent departure from northeastern China (and to Japan in 2 days time), I am surrounded by drunk college students, senior citizens and young children, not to mention one of the more well-known Nobel Peace laureates. I am amid incredible intelligence, unbelievable ignorance and ridiculous hypocrisy on the part of students, faculty and administrators alike. I have seen unspeakable sights, tasted surprising things and heard crazy stuff. I look at the calendar, and realize that it is April 22, which is, like, Earth Day or Arbor Day or something like that, right? And one word shoots through my mind: damn.
You see, lots of people write periodic blogs about their travels here on Semester at Sea, or send weekly blanket e-mails to friends, family and other people who are mostly either jealous or, honestly, don't really care a whole lot. I opted for this path of the paper's Life column -- being limited to 850 or fewer words each week has proven to be a rather useful exercise in condensing what I have to say about this wacky program down to the most essential essentials. The flip side is, of course, that there's a whole lot left for me to talk about, and my calculations indicate that this paper's going to stop running for the summer pretty soon. Damn.
This naturally would incline one to think of the near future, that is, to my impending disembarkation from the ship in more than three weeks. Yeah, like I said, there will be tears, but someone needs to convey more clearly to these people that they will stay in touch with the individuals they want to stay in touch with.
More important is what the University's Study Abroad Office warned us about, in no small way, last November: the dreaded reverse culture shock. I can't research this phenomenon's effect on people doing more conventional abroad programs due to the prohibitively expensive Internet time on this fine vessel, but I know it's a different situation for Semester at Sea. This unique shipboard culture, which I won't rant about any further to you, is what we've been accustomed to more than life in any of these other 10 or so ports, and when you get down to it, it's fairly American. We don't have to speak another language or eat food that's strange and alien to us (if we don't want to) or become a semi-permanent part of someone else's family. No sir and/or madam, not much will change on that front, other than that I'll be able to buy groceries again, have fast and free Internet, and sleep on a larger/softer bed, plus the fact that 24-year-olds won't be punished for possessing alcohol. That last one, an altogether ridiculous and ill-conceived policy, was something I was planning on devoting an entire column to, but the school year's about to end, and I have no time left to write it. Damn.
No, what worries me about coming home is the inevitable and painful question that so many people will ask without even thinking about it: "How was your trip?" Anticipating this, I've discussed it at length with friends here. Some are going to respond with words such as 'indescribable' and 'unbelievable,' or simply tell their interrogator that they can't do that question justice with as much simplicity as it was asked with. What will I say?
I will say that my trip was fine, thank you. Ask a more specific question if you want a more specific answer and be prepared for a long, heartfelt answer that you ought to pay attention to, since that's what you're going to get -- not just from me but from anyone who's spent a semester, or any length of time, abroad. They warned us that people will lose interest in what you did after about 30 seconds, so I'm asking you: don't.
I could easily spend an hour just talking about, for example, one class that really got on my nerves: "Global Studies," supposedly a survey course of the entire world, but in actuality a tragedy of a class that every student on board is required to attend for 75 minutes each and every day of class. This thing is poorly structured, disorganized and necessarily teaches (or is supposed to teach) to the lowest common denominator among the incredibly intellectually and academically diverse student body. Even though Spanish Prof. David Gies, the upcoming summer voyage's academic dean, has assured me that, "Yes, indeed, we are changing global studies completely. In fact, I'm refusing to call it Global Studies. It's 'Latin America Today,' taught by the incredibly focused and rigorous Brian Owensby," I still really thought it merited writing about. But there is no time. Damn!
There's so much more to say, but here are the take-home points:
-- Don't believe those vicious and debauched rumors about Semester at Sea -- that's pretty much the worst thing you could ever do in your entire life.
-- Thank you for listening to my rants. I fervently hope that I enlightened you all a bit on this program, which needed some U.Va. light shed on it: We academically sponsor it, although only 4 of 702 students are from Mr. Jefferson's school.
-- Hopefully they'll let me keep writing a Life column next year, when I can revert from this sense of wonderment and horizon-expansion back to my comfort zone, aka being bitterly cynical.
In conclusion, damn. But it's a good kind of damn, you know? HAGS!
Eric's column runs whenever it washes up in a bottle.
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