Burma (Myanmar)

Whoohoo! I have another update…Burma(also known as Myanamar)rocked…and yes mom and and in am okay, i'm great actually.

So Burma...

On my first day in Burma, I only had time to spend about five hours in the city of Yangon. I would have been more disappointed if it weren’t for the fact that I had five days ahead of me in the country. Tuesday was a freebee day, originally we weren’t supposed to be to Burma until Wednesday.
I got up for the sunrise again, but went back to bed before the sun came up because I wasn’t feeling well. My cough was especially bad the night before, to the point that I was near throwing up. It was awful. I didn’t end up getting to sleep till 4 am which back home wouldn’t be a problem, but here it was. Getting up at 5:45 killed me, luckily I got a couple more hours of sleep in after going back to bed.
By the time I woke up at 8:00 am for breakfast our ship had already begun its trek up the river canal that leads to the port city of Yangon. Fishing boats floated on the muddy river water as MV Explorer passed by. Small golden pagodas spotted the flat, green agricultural landscape.
The diplomatic briefing took a while and by the time it was over with at twelve we had no time to get our things together in order to take the noon shuttle to Yangon. So Anna, Janelle, Sarah and I waited around for the 2:00 shuttle instead. See, in Burma, the port city is, strangely enough, an hour drive from the actual port. For fifteen dollars most of the kids on the ship, including me, bought a shuttle bus pass which picks up from the dock every two hours. The crowd for the 2:00 shuttle was ridiculously huge and even though we arrived outside of the ship at 1:30 we didn’t get on a bus until 3:30.
When we finally got into Yangon at 4:30 we decided to explore, so we set out in a random direction. Right away two children with postcards approached us, trying to sell them to us for three dollars each. The thirteen-year-old girl was adorable and spoke English surprisingly well. Burma is known for having a horrible education system and fewer members of the younger generations know English as it is poorly taught to them, so the fact that the first child I spoke to could speak English so well impressed me.
The girls and I walked around the city for an hour or so, admiring the magnificent golden pagodas placed amidst a dilapidating city. Bald monks draped in red cloth walked among the people, as did the military. Because I have been reading this book about the government of Myanmar and I have learned so many reasons as to why the military regime is horrible, every time I saw a suited officer on the street I found myself scared, intimidated. Indeed, the presence of the military is so evident. It’s not like the streets are covered with nazi-like men, instead they look like police officers scattered throughout the city. Police officers that rarely smile. Oh and speaking of Nazis, I saw hats with swastikas lying amongst a pile of hats for sale on the street. A few days later I found out that the swastika is a backwards symbol for peace (why did I not know that??) and I saw a peace symbol on Tuesday.
But walking around the city was good for us. The Burmese, in their longyis or long skirt-like wraps of fabric, smiled back at us as we passed. Short plastic tables and chairs lye out in from of teashops and dozens of men lined the streets selling watch bands. Countless women and young children had a light cosmetic type of substance spread across their cheeks. It’s made from crushed tree bark and during my stay in Burma I saw so many people wearing it. Some children had their faces completely covered in the yellowish-white chalky substance. Supposedly it offers protection from the sun and also smells good.
An older gentlemen approached us, asking where we were from and how long we were staying. I wanted to carry on a conversation with him but found myself scared to for his sake. The government is everywhere, listening in on people’s conversations, especially when foreigners are around as they don’t want the Burmese saying anything negative about the country.
The four of us walked into a random restaurant for dinner and after looking through the menu full of pictures of chicken hands and other uncomfortably gross meat items we decided to just order drinks. The staff at the diner was extremely friendly, handing us a straw fan to cool ourselves off with since they had no air conditioning. I set my purse on the ground beside my chair and a waiter came with another chair that he placed beside mine, just for me to set me purse on.
We ended up eating dinner at this amazing Thai restaurant, called Sabai Sabai, located near the main pagoda in the city. We had tried to walk there but got lost and resorted to getting a cab because it had gotten dark out and the further we walked, the few street lights we came upon. Our cab driver stood outside of his vehicle as we tried to tell him where we wanted to go. He tried reading the address out of my Lonely Planet book but couldn’t because of the lack of light. So he hopped into his cab and drove around the corner to an area with less traffic. He pulled over the car and got out again. He and Janelle bent over in front of the headlights of the beat-up cab as they studied the text of the book. After some time he understood where we wanted to go and charged the four of us only two dollars total to get there.
So yeah, the food was amazing. I love Thai food so to eat real Thai food, or close to real Thai food since we’re not exactly in Thailand, was amazing. I had the pad thai, one of my favorite dishes back at Thai Spoon, my Chicago love. We each had a large plate of food, shared an appetizer, and had drinks for twelve dollars total. I totally plan to go back before we leave Burma on Sunday night.



On Wednesday I did the City Orientation trip through SAS. Our first stop was the Shwedagon Pagoda, the main tourist attraction in Yangon. After seeing it I understand why. It’s amazingly beautiful. Standing 98 meters tall, it is believed to have been built 2500 years ago.
I don’t even know how to explain it. The huge golden stupa (the center of every pagoda) was surrounded by shrine after shrine. I mean, there were so many areas to worship and pray within the pagoda walls. It was just so massive and elaborately decorated with religious figures that I can’t describe it in a justly manner. Many people sat on their knees around the stupa, praying. I can’t wait to show pictures.
A man came up to Anna and I as we stood around admiring the pagoda and told us how that he teaches English as a profession, asking how we thought his English sounded. It was impressive, he even spoke with only a little accent. He went on about how he had learned American slang over the years by talking to tourists that he met in the city, specifically at the Shwedagon. For the next five minutes he listed the slang he knew such as, “If you made a lot of money fast, then you made a killing!” and “If someone is going crazy, then they’re going bananas!” Soon enough he started listing slang words for homosexuals such as “dike” and “fag.” Anna and I, surprised to hear anyone say those words spoken, quickly informed him that no one uses those terms as they can be found offensive and are not politically correct.
After walking around the pagoda clockwise, as is part of the Buddhist faith, we left the area, reboarded our bus, and headed to the National Museum. Run by the government, it was full of things to look at but few facts. The history covered in the museum didn’t have anything to do with the last 50 years of Burma. Everything was very vague and uninteresting. We next made a stop at this huge (70 meters long) reclining Buddha. It’s gigantic, but supposedly there is an even larger one within the country.
The rest of our tour consisted of roaming the Bogyoke Aun San Market (also known as the Scott Market), which is this huge open building full of crammed together stalls selling fabric, artwork, jewelry, puppets, clothing… just about anything you could want or need. Anna, Cathy (the Chinese woman who is an adult passenger on the ship), and I had long skirts made for us at one stall for a mere five dollars and it only took the woman several minutes to turn the fabric we chose into a wrap-style skirt. Before the city orientation was over we also went to the China Town in the city and walked the streets for a bit.
Oh and during the tour we also roamed the center of the city, which wasn’t a big deal to Anna and I since we had done that the day before. We decided to circle one of the pagodas to kill the allotted time we had. The boy and girl who had tried to sell us postcards the day before found, and recognized us. “You buy now!” the girl said to Anna. It was too funny. The day before, in an effort to get them to leave us alone, we told them that we would think about it and maybe buy some later, assuming we would never see these children again. So when the boy came up to Anna and said, “I remember you,” it was quite a surprise. Anna ended up buying 20 postcards for three dollars, I once again didn’t buy any, but only because I had already bought some the day before.


On Thursday I visited the Mary Chapman School for the Deaf in Yangon. On the way to the school, our Burmese tour guide, Myat, spoke openly about the condition of the country. He talked about how it took him years to get his degree because the universities keep shutting down for large amounts of time and how hard living under the military regime was. I was surprised at how openly he spoke to us, as most people I talked to in Yangon were very reserved when it came to discussing the Myanmar government. As he put it, the country has taken “One step forward, and two steps back.”
When we got to the school we were taken to a room where two different classes were being held. All the children wore white tops and green bottoms. A class of about eight six-year-olds showed us how they knew their ABC’s as they signed the alphabet and attempted to say it as well. Little sound was made, but one girl made many loud indecipherable howls, as she tried to talk each time she signed.
After visiting other classrooms, including a vocational room where deaf students sewed purses and pillowcases to sell, we were taken to the third and top floor of one of the buildings. We sat around for a bit before another group of deaf students entered. We were told that the students wanted to show us their massage skills, apparently they were taught as part of the vocational training so that they can make money off it later in life. Anyway, we thought that we were going to see a short demonstration on one person and Armand, a loud, tall hillbilly who lives on my floor, volunteered his body.
Gradually, more and more blankets were set on the floor and more students were urged to lay down. I held off for a while, confused as to what was going on, until all the SASers on the trip were laying face down on the wooden floor, being massaged by different deaf students. I think it was a faculty member that massaged me since all the students at the school were already busy with others. So yeah, for like the next hour we received free full-body massages. They were different then one’s in the U.S. since they didn’t really massage anything as much as they pushed on certain muscles and bent muscles in different directions.
The whole massage-thing was very confusing. Our trip was supposed to be a “service visit” and here we were being served by these deaf students. And I mean, they had insisted that they show us their skills, but it was strange to me, and the rest of the SAsers, that a full hour of our time had been spent making the children work. We only had about a half an hour left at the school by the time everyone was finished with their massages and none of that time was used to interact with students. Instead we were shown several more rooms in the school.
When the deaf school visit was over Cynthia, this girl whose name I can never remember, and I didn’t reboard the bus and instead took a cab with Armand and another girl to go buy soccer tickets for several games taking place that night. After purchasing the two dollar tickets Cynthia, No-Name, and I went off on our own in a cab and ate lunch at the Green Elephant.
So we shopped for a while after lunch, returning to the huge, compacted Scott Market. I picked up an oriental-type top that I had made for five dollars the day before. It fits well but who knows if I’ll ever where it. After spending money on two dollar t-shirts and dollar watercolor paintings, Cynthia and I parted from No-Name and headed to the outskirts of Yangon where an international soccer tournament is being held until November 2. We arrived at 4:00 pm just as the China vs. Bangladesh game was beginning. Walking into the seating area, heads turned towards the two of us. Not only are we American, but also girls, and very few other females were attending the games. An Indian man ended up sitting in front of me, sexually harassing and staring at me for most of the game. It was pretty upsetting, he finally left when I called a passing SAS boy over to sit by me. The hour-and-a-half game ended in Bangladesh’s victory.
After the 4 pm game Cynthia and I watched the opening ceremonies for the Myanmar vs. India game that followed and then found a cab back to the shuttle. We had wanted to see the second game, but the ship only had the water on from 6-9 pm that night. It was crucial that we took the 7 pm shuttle home so we could make it onboard by 8 and have time to wash away the dirt and sweat from the hot day.
Kathryn left that morning for a two-night stay in Mandalay and having my own room that night was awesome. I stayed up and worked on homework, something I rarely get to do since by midnight the lights in our room our out.


On my fourth day in Burma I visited a monastery where I got to see, and take part in, a Buddhist Novication Ceremony. When we arrived at the monastery at 2:00 pm, the monks, soon-to-be monks, and their families were waiting for us. I guess that, through the money we paid to go on the day trip, we had sponsored the ceremony, so we were very welcomed by everyone. The Novication ceremony inducts young boys into monk-hood and the Buddhist monastery, where they must remain for at least three days after the ceremony, learning the ten Buddhist precepts and begging for food in nearby villages.
Female monks draped in pink and orange cloth stood in an orderly line. Behind them were ten young boys, each sitting on a colorfully decorated wooden flat that was held up by four men. The boys wore white collared shirts, green longyis, and were adorned in pink, green, and gold glitterering hats and vest-type covers. These scared-looking children were the boys who would become monks in an hour’s time. Two men enthusiastically danced inside an elephant costume, flailing the paper machete head left and right to the beat of the drums and woodwinds. Tons of male monks, many as young as eight-years-old, stood around in their red robes, observing the ceremony and the out-of-place American students.
A procession soon began as the line of nuns, the elephant, the monks-to-be, and all the Semester at Sea kids who were carrying offerings of blankets, fans, and other gifts for the new monks, walked up the village street. The parade lasted about ten minutes as we turned around halfway down the street and marched around the monastery. The men who were carrying the seated boys, lifted and lowered the wooden planks the boys were sitting on over and over in celebration. One child was four, at the oldest, and began crying as his sequenced hat, that was far too big for his head, began falling off at the same time.
After the procession the boys were taken into a large room covered in a dark red rug. At the front end of the room a golden Buddha as well as other Buddhist shrines, stood behind a glass wall. In front of the wall sat an adult monk in black plastic glasses who ended up leading the ceremony. Beside him sat several other adult monks. The young boys knelt on the carpet in front of the monks and the ceremony began. It basically consisted of them repeating chants and then removing their clothing, so that they only wore shorts, and having their heads shaved in front of their parents, the monks, and us SASers. The head shaving was interesting as the parents held a piece of cloth underneath their sons’ heads in order to catch their black hair which would later be placed under the same type of tree where Buddha was enlightened. After having their heads shaved, the boys were dressed in deep red cloth, like the rest of the young monks who were all watching the ceremony from the windows and doors of the building.
When the ceremony ended everyone went back outside, searching through the dozens of pairs of shoes left at the doorway. The “elephant” continued its dancing as everyone gathered around it. We were asked to “American dance” around the elephant so we marched in a circle clapping; we didn’t represent too well. After that the young monks crowded around a long rope and played tug-of-war. We SASers were eventually asked to participate and we went up against some of the teenage monks. We won. After three rounds of us winning they made us compete again, this time with no guys. I thought for sure we would still win since we only had three or four guys that had been participating earlier anyway. The monks totally won, pulling with so much strength that two girls crashed to the ground as we were pulled to their side.
The SAS boys on the trip gathered in the center of the circle after tug-of-war and played a game of Chinlon, which reminded me of hacky-sack, only with a much larger object. Chinlon is a traditional sport of Burma and is played quite a bit among the population.
I lost interest in the Chinlon game and began a conversation with one of the teenage monks who was standing around. His English didn’t appear to be one of his strengths so I stuck to simple questions and answers like, “How are you?” He turned out to speak decently well and before I knew it I was being questioned by several monks who crowded around me. “How do you like Myanmar? How long are you here? How do you like the weather? What have you done so far? What do you think of the nuns?” and my favorite, “What is your religion?” I told them I was Christian, which led to the, “What is Christian?” question. Carrie, who had migrated towards me, and I took a deep breath and look at each other, trying to figure out how to explain Christianity to these boys in as brief of words as possible since they had some difficulty understanding us. I said something about praying to one God above. I laughed and felt like a Bible beater as Carrie said to the boys, “Have you ever heard of Jesus Christ?” We never ended up decently explaining our religion as our time to leave approached and we had to exit the monastery and reboard our buses.
Carrie and I, and this boy we had just met, Caleb, didn’t get on the buses that were headed back to the ship and instead took a cab to Sabai Sabai Thai Restaurant, my favorite place to eat. Ever since eating an awesome four dollar meal on Monday I had wanted to go back and Carrie felt the same way so we excitedly returned.
We made it to the Trader Hotel with time to spare and caught the 7:00 shuttle back to the ship. Just in time to take showers and what not before the water was, once again, turned off at nine.

I didn’t have anything planned for Saturday so Carrie and I decided to venture into the city, and using the Lonely Planet I own, figure it out as we went along. So we took the 8:00 am shuttle in Yangon and from there took a cab to a tea shop. Tea shops are all over Yangon and I presume they are all over Burma as well. In Finding George Orwell in Burma the author is in a tea shop nearly every day, observing the Burmese. So yeah, it was important to me that I visit one at some point while in the country.
Carrie and I took a cab to one called Morning Star. Dozens of tables with plastic chairs were placed in orderly lines underneath a large awning. We were motioned towards a table by a young man as we approached. As we had nearly every where we went, we stood out. There were no English menus and none of the many waiters who gathered around our table new English very well so we simply asked for tea. We had hoped to try some food too but because we had no easy way to communicate it was difficult to ask what they recommended. So instead we stared at other tables, observing what was served, and pointed to a fried bread dish that a nearby family had ordered. It was fried goodness. As we drank our tea several bus boys who were about 12-years-old stood within five feet of our table, watching us. It was amusing, the waiters just kept standing near us, despite the fact that the tea shop was quite large. When we would ask our waiter a question other waiters would crowd in to assist in understanding me. A litter of stray kittens scurried around the cement ground, playfully jumping at garbage and other moving objects. I called one over and it begged me for food, unfortunately we had already finished our bread.
After the tea shop we took a dollar taxi to the house where Bogyoke Aung San lived prior to his assassination. Aung San was the leader of Burma’s independence from the British in 1948. In 1947, while leading the Burmese towards breaking away from Britain he was assassinated. In Burma he is looked at as a hero. His daughter, Aung San Suu Kyi ran in the 1990 elections, representing the National League for Democracy. The standing government thought it had eliminated all forms of opposition and allowed the 1990 elections because they thought they would win. But they didn’t. Aung San Suu Kyi won the election by a landslide. In reaction, the military regime refused to recognize her victory and instead put her on house arrest. She has spent most of the last 15 years on house arrest with soldiers guarding her home and has been released for short periods of time only to be exiled once again.
Okay, sorry, but it’s important that you know the story. It’s a huge part of Burma. The government doesn’t let any of the newspapers write anything about her and she is rarely referred to in public because her name is basically another word for democracy, a topic shunned by the government.
So we went to the museum in his home, knowing that it would be censored and contain skewed information. When we entered we had to sign in, telling our nationality and profession, for government purposes I’m guessing. At the most, ten other people had visited the museum in the last week, and they were all Europeans. The empty museum contained pictures of Aung San and his family and some antique furniture, but little else. Aung San was honored in the museum, but more for his work towards gaining independence from Britain and not for his work towards democracy in the country. In fact, nothing was mentioned about democracy. It really was a horrible museum, they were several sentences written next to each artifact, and excerpts from some speeches he gave in the past, but that was about it. I hadn’t expected much though and went more to view the distorted interpretation of the past than anything.
I asked one of the women who was sitting at the doorway of the house, collecting money from the one to two tourists who come daily, what happened to Aung San’s other two children. She wasn’t sure and I was having trouble understanding her so she called over this elderly man who appeared out of nowhere. He walked slowly with a cane and his tan skin was covered in deep wrinkles. His voice sounded like that of a 50-year smoker. He tried his best to answer our questions. Carrie asked when Suu Kyi was born and after much thinking he answered, “1952.” Her father died in 1947 so I knew he was wrong and called him on it. Upon realizing his mistake, the old man laughed hysterically, placing his hand on my shoulder to regain balance. I don’t think we ever got a definite answer but it wasn’t that big of a deal.
Aung San’s house is located a short walk from a busy road, so after visiting the museum the two of us walked through the heat down the gravel road that was surrounded by trees and simple Burmese hut-like homes. Several locals passed us, carrying produce items they hoped to sell to the people living in the area. Our taxi driver from before was parked at the end of the road, waiting for us although we hadn’t asked him to.
We next went to a Yangon hotel that has a restaurant on the 30th floor, hoping to get a good view of the city. After checking out the lookout point we went down to the tenth floor where the spa was located. Word was that it was super cheap. For $2.25 each the two of us got a manicure. It was awesome. I have nails now so it was a first for me. Several other SAS girls were in the spa as well, receiving cheap massages and hair cuts.
Carrie and I headed to lunch at a restaurant that serves traditional Myanmar food before heading back to the Trader’s Hotel, where Carrie hopped on the 3:00 shuttle back to the ship. I didn’t want to go back yet and was alone so roaming the city wasn’t really an option either. Instead, I went back to the cheap spa and got a pedicure for a little over three dollars. Crazy how inexpensive it is, huh? After the pedicure, I had an hour to kill before the next shuttle left so I walked in the direction of Scott Market, down the busy sidewalks full of book stands and fried Burmese food. I walked around the market for a bit before heading back towards the shuttle pick-up. An Indian boy approached me and started a conversation. As I was purchasing a poster from a vendor he asked for some money to eat so I gave him the 500 kyat in change that I had just received. He continued following me, but now he was singing my praise loudly, letting everyone know his appreciation. 500 kyat is the equivalent of 50 cents, I don’t feel like I really did that good of a deed.
On the shuttle ride home, I read The New Light of Myanmar newspaper that I had just picked up from a sidewalk vendor. According to Finding George Orwell in Burma: The Myanmar Press Registration and Scrutiny Deparment (PRSD) has eleven broad rules outlining what subjects cannot be written about. Among other things, they forbid:
Anything ‘detrimental to the ideology of the state’
Anything which might be ‘harmful to security, the rule of law, peace and public order’
Any ‘incorrect ideas’ and ‘opinions which do not accord with the times’
Any descriptions which, though factually correct, are ‘unsuitable because of the time of the circumstance of their writing’

I was really excited to read the thin paper which resembles Galena High School’s yearbook The Spyglass. The headlines consisted of pro-government stories and stories about the Myanmar badminton athletes as well as some international news. On the top of the second page a side-box was headlined “People’s Desire.” Underneath it read:
Oppose those relying on external elements, acting as stooges, holding negative views
Oppose those trying to jeopardize the stability of the State and progress of the nation
Oppose foreign nations interfering in internal affairs of the State
Crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy

And that sums up the Myanmar government. Reading the paper and having a material example of how oppressive the government is made my day.



My last day in Burma was spent doing an SAS trip in a local village. Our buses dropped us off about thirty minutes away from the ship where we immediately paired up and hopped into pony carts. There were a line of them, patiently waiting for our arrival. Jill, a girl I had just met, and I bounced in the wooden covered cart as the large rickety wheels of the vehicle met potholes and other obstacle in the road. During the ride Jill was telling me that her tour guide said that we are often referred to as the “Hello people” obviously because we’re always saying ‘hello’.
The carts dropped us off near a local market where we were given thirty minutes to roam. The village market was much different than the huge Scott market located in downtown Yangon. I don’t really know how to describe it as it was hectic beyond belief and filled with such a variety of produce, much of which was covered in flies. There were stalls selling fresh flowers, men walking around with dead chickens (don’t worry mom, I didn’t get the avian flu), and countless Chinlon balls hanging from the tops of stands. As we walked through the crowd of locals I was hit with a horrible stench of what smelled like throw-up. I tried my best not to make a disgusted face as the strong odor that came and left, crept up into my nostrils.
I’m glad I got to see a local market, but by the time we reboarded the buses I was ready for our next destination. Beads of sweat had been dripping down my back the entire time we explored and by reboarding the air conditioned bus I was given time to dry off.
We were driven for a few minutes around the village before unloading once again. Dozens of trishaw drivers stood along side their bikes. Each SASer sat down in a small wooden seat that was connected to the bicycle. For the next five to ten minutes we rode around, being pulled by these trishaw drivers, many of whom were significantly smaller than the average American person. We reached a slight incline and each driver jumped off their bike, pushing us uphill. For most of the ride we sped down a bumpy road, and yes, I was scared. The trishaw didn’t look like the safest mode of transportation available and as the wooden seat vibrated from the scattered gravel on the road, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if a wheel broke off. Needless to say, I was very relieved when the ride was over.
The drivers dropped us off in a village neighborhood. We walked around for a bit, waving at children who ran out of their homes to stare at us and then had to reboard the trishaws and travel back to our buses. The rest of the trip consisted of us visiting a tea shop and a Catholic church. The tea shop served us Chai tea that tasted much different than what we were used to in the states. Several pastries were placed on our table, including a roll filled with red beans. I eventually forced myself to try it. A television screen played music videos of an Asian “J-Lo” singing her rendition of “Summertime Blues” in a foreign language, presumably Burmese. Everyone was noticeably dying from the heat and, in turn, we were handed straw fans to use while we waited for our call to reboard the bus.
I was back on the ship by 1:00 in the afternoon and at 2:00 I boarded the shuttle for Yangon. Once in the city I met up with my group of girlfriends and we rode taxis to Sabai Sabai. It was important to us that we eat there one more time before leaving Burma. Unfortunately, it was closed. So we settled for a different thai restaurant in the city and after eating, went back to the Trader’s Hotel where we took the packed 5:00 shuttle back to the MV Explorer.

Although everyone had to be back on board by 9:00 pm, our ship didn’t leave until the next afternoon as we needed to exit through the river canal, or whatever it was, during high tide.

I loved Burma, or Myanmar. Because the country has not been a stop for previous Semester at Sea voyages, and because the United States has enforced sanctions, few Americans visit the country. Everything felt very untouched. Of course, I spent most of my time in a busy city that many people say does not represent Burma properly. But all the same, I interacted with locals and noticed the underlying government presence everywhere. From the drink called “Pop-Soda” to the no honking signs throughout Yangon, I tried to take it all in because who knows when or if I will be back.

Next up is Vietnam on the 5th.

Oh and Halloween on the ship was definitely different. I wasn’t going to dress up. I didn’t want to dress up. But then Kathryn and Anna were in my room in their “Burmese twins” outfit, encouraging me to be a fried egg. So I slipped on a yellow and white skirt I have, put on a white top and tape an orange circle to my chest. Erin didn’t have a costume either so we ran up to her room, made her put on brown clothes and taped fat-type wavy strips to her and a post-it that said “Sizzlin’.” So yeah, we were bacon and eggs, clever, I know. But it worked.
There was a community college, which is what we call the educational night programs on the ship, about pumpkin and food carving. Kathyrn, Anna, Janelle, Erin, and I had two pumpkins between the two of us and spent the next 45 minutes trying to create an interesting-looking pumpkin. It was a good time and since there are no trick-or-treaters or fall leaves around, the smell of the pumpkin made it actually seem like Halloween for me. There was a costume competition later that night too and everyone paraded around in their unique costumes.

So yeah, everything is going great here. People have stopped emailing me! But I’m doing well so it’s all good. But I do miss updates. Hope all is well. Much love.