“The best education we can give you is through travel,” my parents used to tell my brother and me before we departed on a family trip. “These places,” they said, “will become a part of you.”
At the time, I would nod and secretly roll my eyes, looking forward to the pool at the hotel or the movies we could watch at night on our vacation versus the museums and cultural tours.
One year, I had been studying French history in school. That Thanksgiving, as chance would have it, my family and I visited Paris, and I was able to see Notre Dame and the Arc de Triomphe in person. I touched the stonework, laughed at the gargoyles high above us and marveled at the height and detailed stonework of the archway above the Champs-Élysées.
When I returned to the U.S. and shared the experience with my class, I felt a kinship to Paris, an almost innate defensiveness, despite only spending a few days there. I also remember being more interested in learning about French history as the year progressed now that I had a connection to it.
By the time I got to college, I’d visited seven countries with my family and had spent a summer as an exchange student in Kiel, Germany, learning to speak German. I remember feeling a bond to the places I had traveled to, but those feelings would only grow stronger as I got older and independently chose my own places to travel, spent longer, and had more meaningful moments in foreign lands as an adult.
When I was 19, I went on a study abroad program for college students called Semester at Sea. At the time, in 1997, it was sponsored through the University of Pittsburgh, which enabled fully accredited coursework to be transferred to any university. Students from various universities and from all over the world were accepted.
I decided to go the fall semester of my sophomore year and applied to the program just a month ahead of the start date: August for a September departure. I learned later that there was usually a two-year waiting list for this study abroad program.
As luck would have it, though, someone had recently dropped out of the program and there was a spot that needed to be filled immediately. I completed the paperwork, wrote an essay, and was accepted within the week.
Over the semester, the ship visited 10 countries. We departed from Vancouver, Canada, and ultimately return to Fort Lauderdale, Florida, circumnavigating the globe.
I had signed up so last-minute, though, I didn’t have sufficient time to prepare for the 100-day voyage. I remember throwing clothes in a bag and flying to Vancouver from Denver with my brother. The whole concept was so new, I wasn’t even sure which countries we’d be going to until I boarded. I waved goodbye to my brother from the dock as I walked into the cruise terminal and found the line for my voyage.
Dogs sniffed everyone’s bags for illegal substances as the long line I waited in crept slowly toward the ship. Soon I was handed a pamphlet to determine what excursions I would take in the 10 countries we’d be visiting: Japan, Hong Kong (which had just become part of China that year, but was still a separate stop), mainland China, Vietnam, India, Egypt, Cyprus, Greece, Spain and Morocco. Most of the other students had months and maybe years to make these choices, but I had about 10 minutes.
I checked boxes and picked trips that sounded interesting and handed my choices in just before the line brought me to the entry of the ship. My new home was called the SS Universe and housed 640 students. In addition to students, we had 50 senior passengers who could attend classes and lived in the upper-level state rooms. And then there were the teachers and ship staff. All in, there were about 1,000 people on a 567 foot ship. It was the same ship they’d been using for the program since 1976.
I found my port room, dropped my bags and introduced myself to my new roommate who I could tell immediately would be a great friend. She and I made our way onto the main deck where we stood with the rest of the students, waiving to those on shore as we pulled away from port. I could feel tears burning my eyes as the weight of what lay ahead suddenly sank in.
In just a month, I had rushed to get plane tickets and sign up for classes, pack clothing for different climates and arrange to defer a semester back at my university. But I hadn’t spent much time dwelling on the feelings of what the departure would feel like, what it would be like to stand on the bow of the ship and watch as land disappeared, launching a trip across the Pacific with no visible land – or even a bird – for 14 days.
I hugged my new roommate, both of us overwhelmed with emotion and excitement. I was ready for the life-altering journey ahead which would prove to be the single greatest education of my life.
Lee Wagner has a degree in finance from the University of Colorado and is a current journalism student at Brookdale. She is also a travel writer; her blog is: bonanzaroad.com.
