5 Miles Offshore Punte del Este, Uruguay

01 November 2012

After four days of very choppy seas and cool temperatures, today is spectacularly beautiful: calm, almost glass-like water, lots of sunshine, temps in the low 70s. And off the starboard side—my side—of the ship, we’re passing the beaches of Eastern Uruguay, about to enter the Rio de la Plata—the River Plate—enroute to Buenos Aires. We arrive tomorrow morning at 08:00, so it’ll be a leisurely cruise up the world’s widest river.

We were all dreading the past 10 days: the crossing from hell. But the days have gone surprisingly quickly, much moreso than the similar crossing from Kobe, Japan, to Honolulu three years ago. Maybe because we crossed the International Dateline in ’09 and, therefore, had to endure the same day twice, that one felt much longer. Or maybe it was because that crossing came closer to the end of the voyage, when classes were winding down and most of us couldn’t wait to sit again at the table in our favorite hometown restaurant, to swap lies face-to-face with good friends, and to sleep in our own motionless beds. I’m not quite at the same place yet. But it’s close.

These have also been busy days in the classroom, with only a one-day break Sunday for the Sea Olympics, an attempt to give the students the feeling of a football Saturday, when they paint their faces, cheer their teams, and, in the case of the onboard Olympics, encourage their dorm mates on to victory in the tug of war, balloon toss, lip-sync contest, frozen t-shirt match (teams have to untie a frozen t-shirt and put it on one teammate), and other games requiring more endurance than skill. The students had a fun time, and the faculty had a chance to catch up. We also competed.

The prize for the winning team—each composed of students who share cabins in the same sections of the ship—is the first position in line to disembark when we reach Ft. Lauderdale. That’s a very big deal. Despite the many voyages of Semester at Sea, the disembarkation process is chaotic and lengthy. At least that was my experience 3 years ago in San Diego. Luggage is carted off by the ship’s crew and placed in the terminal building, where, last time, I spent a good hour trying to track down all my boxes and suitcases despite their having been placed, supposedly, in designated areas by deck number. Then I stood in line for another 45 minutes waiting for a porter to help me schlep the stuff to the UPS representative for shipment back to Libertyville. The process took a couple of hours. Getting off the ship first would save at least an hour of that time.

Other than the day off for Sea Olympics, the remaining nine days from Cape Town have been days filled with classes, grading, and meetings. And each day—for me, at least—follows what has become a pattern. I’m usually awake by 05:30, regardless of whether the ship’s clock went forward or backward overnight. For the past 3 weeks, I’ve been out of bed by 06:00 and heading to the 7^th-deck spa and gym, where I get on the treadmill for 30 minutes.

I wasn’t working out regularly the first 5 weeks of the voyage, and I paid a price in overall feeling and stamina. The treadmill sessions have made a difference. But using a treadmill on a moving ship is an interesting experience. The treadmills are aligned along the bow-to-stern line (the longitudinal axis, in airplane terms) of the ship and are on the highest deck, where the rocking and rolling are most pronounced. So, when walking (briskly!), I have to hold onto the side rails or I’d end up hand-in-hand with the person on the treadmill next to mine. Holding on keeps the heart rate down slightly, so I compensate by ramping up the speed and incline a little bit more than I do back home. It’ll be nice, come December, to work out on equipment that stays put.

After the workout and a cool shower (the disadvantage of being on a high deck is that we’re last in line for hot water in the morning), I take my iPad and French-press coffee pot to the main dining room for breakfast. I spend breakfast—yogurt, fruit, sometimes an English muffin, sometimes oatmeal, sometimes an omelet—at a table by myself so I can read the morning news on either the Washington Post app or the NY Times app, depending which one is getting along better with the ship’s internet connection on that day. I don’t know why there would be a difference, but some days the Post app won’t load, other days it’s the Times.

By 08:30, I’m back in my cabin, reading and responding to e-mail and getting ready for my 3^rd-period (10:45) class. On “A” days, that class is Intercultural Comm; on “B” days, it’s Public Speaking. The period immediately before 3^rd each day is Global Studies, the one course that all students have to take and that all faculty are encourage to attend. Global studies looks at issues relevant to the countries we’re about to visit but, also, issues that have global significance: economics, politics, globalization, environmental matters. For the first half of the voyage, I had to go to the union—the large lecture hall on deck 6—to attend Global Studies. But a few weeks ago, I asked if the course could be streamed by CCTV into faculty and staff cabins. Now I’m able to stay in my cabin during the lectures and multi-task on prep for my own classes. Nice!

My 3^rd-period class ends at noon, when I go to the 6^th-deck Garden Lounge for lunch. If the weather is agreeable, I’ll join friends for lunch on the outside deck overlooking the ship’s stern. That’s where I was today, eating while watching the very calm waters go by and keeping an eye out for animals in the water. No luck.

Most lunches and dinners are the same: mid-quality, college-dorm food. We can count on iceberg lettuce and tomatoes—good thing I’ve learned to enjoy tomatoes—followed by serve-yourself pasta, some type of meat, fish in a mystery sauce (the most reliably tasty item on the buffet), steamed (usually over-steamed) vegetables, and a dessert. A few weeks ago, the chef served tacos for lunch. People are still talking about it.

On “A” days, I have nothing following the 3^rd-period class, so the afternoon is a time for lesson prep and grading. On “B” days, my business comm. class meets 4^th period (13:05). With class periods that run 75 minutes to compensate for the fewer number of class days available on the ship, I’m not finished with classes on “B” days ‘til 14:20. By the time I talk to students, pack up my laptop, and make it back to the cabin, it’s 3 o’clock.

Even though I planned all my lessons and gathered all course materials before boarding in August, each lesson needs review and refinement. And, with painfully slow internet on board, that refinement process can take a very long time. Some afternoons, I break up the prep and grading with a short nap. Otherwise, the afternoons go quickly, and, usually before I’ve finished everything, it’s 17:00—time for 5-6 happy hour in the faculty staff lounge.

Most non-students would say that happy hour in the lounge is their favorite time of the day. We’re served by Mandy, the world’s greatest bartender, and have the chance to relax, drink wine or something stronger, look out at the passing seas, and commiserate with fellow faculty on the challenges of teaching a diverse group of students in moving classrooms with limited technology available, little personal space, and no weekends.

After dinner—lunch variety redux—I usually return to my cabin to catch up on more e-mail, maybe some loose-end prep, sometimes watch a movie on the ship’s TV system (each evening, the library loops films & videos requested by faculty to supplement their courses—some are interesting, some are very esoteric). I’m usually falling asleep by 23:00 (11pm).

And the next day, unless we’re arriving at a port, the process repeats.

Tomorrow is one of the days we arrive at a port. In this case, it’s Buenos Aires, and it’s fair to say I’m very ready to get off the boat.

Jim and I are hoping to play a round of golf at a course near the port. Tomorrow night, I’ll go to dinner at one of Jim and Shamim’s favorite seafood restaurants in BA (they spent a month here a few years ago). On Saturday, I fly to Puerto Iguaçu to spend two days overlooking the world’s largest waterfall from a balcony room at the Sheraton and hiking around its base in the national park. Monday, I return to Buenos Aires and a hotel with free Internet and cable TV—a perfect place, I hope, for watching and celebrating or bemoaning the Presidential election results Tuesday evening.

Wednesday, I take a ferry across the Rio del Plata to Montevideo, Uruguay, where the ship will have arrived the day before. I’ll spend Wednesday night on board, Thursday exploring Montevideo, and Thursday night at the poker table in the Dean’s office as Explorer leaves for Rio.