Into Africa
Text and photos by Nathan Stables, ETA 2017–19 Surmounting Kilimanjaro, one of the world’s seven summits and the tallest mountain on the African continent, cemented that travel experiences are not all sunny beaches and lazy afternoon cocktails after a day of being herded around on tours. Travel is a luxury, but while traveling we are able to test our limits and our ability to thrive in harsh and unfamiliar environments. This past January when I started the trip in Africa, I learned things that contradicted my preconceived notions about Kenya and Africa. Nairobi is green and lush, a byproduct of the altitude, surrounding mountains, and precipitation there. I’d grown up picturing Africa as a large desert or vast savannah, but Nairobi reminds me of a tropical spot like Panamá (where I briefly lived) and has more nature preserves than where I live now in Cheongju. The second thing made me feel extremely ignorant but Kenya, like Tanzania and Zambia, is a former British colony and so the majority of Kenyans speak Swahili and English. Though I should’ve known that, I was surprised that I had less of a communication barrier there than I do in Korea. My friend David, who invited me, planned the trip primarily to raise money and awareness for a non-profit he co-founded, Crater Creations. David inspired us to fundraise for projects like educating the Kisharu youth and starting local businesses and we were fortunate to meet the individuals that are working to further development in the community. Climbing Kilimanjaro was the main draw for people to join the trip, but interacting with Kisharu was just as special. Kisharu is just one community of the Maasai ethnic group. The Maasai people are scattered across Kenya and northern Tanzania and live a nomadic lifestyle; there are an estimated 850,000 to 1.5 million Maasai people but the total cannot be determined definitively. We learned from Daniel, a prominent member of Kisharu who speaks English, Maa (the local language), and Swahili fluently, that Maasai are highly respected. After a few days, we left Kisharu for Tanzania, full of hope that Crater Creations will make a huge impact in the future and that the climb of Mt. Kilimanjaro would go smoothly. When planning the ascent, we chose an eight-day climb (six days up and two down) over let’s say a five-day climb to maximize acclimation time to the altitude and to enjoy the beautiful mountain scenery. Our group of ten climbers was accompanied by 28 others including: three guides, two cooks, and porters to carry the tents and larger bags. That might sound like overkill, but it’s a big part of Tanzania’s economy and tourists coming to hike Kilimanjaro provides jobs for many local people. Some days were shorter, while some days were long and grueling. Climbing Kilimanjaro felt like we were traveling through different lands, the base of the mountain more tropical jungle and the peak a bleak winter snow scape. The first few days were just a few hours of hiking each, culminating in 13 hours of hiking (including reaching the summit) on the penultimate day. As we went higher and higher, we felt the rush of almost being at the top of the world. Reaching the peak after hours of mental anguish (we left from base camp at 12 a.m. and finally arrived at the peak at 6:30 a.m.) and possibly slight dehydration delirium, we were blessed with the views of a lifetime. The peak was still overcast, but the sunrise began to peek gently through and the sunrays were sparkling even brighter above the cloud horizon. I wasn’t just happy to survive the morning trek from hell, but I felt whole in that moment and very connected to the Earth and my own body. My biggest takeaway from this trip was the pureness of feeling utterly alive at the top of a mountain at dawn, having gotten there by persevering through the fatigue and not distracted by daily worries. After interacting so intimately with Kisharu and our Kilimanjaro guides, I had a newfound appreciation for what it means to be a good traveler. I realized that my favorite moments have always been adventurous and spontaneous and that travel is the perfect platform to seek out these opportunities while also giving back to the local communities you’re visiting.
The Dream Team
Text and photos by Caby Styers, ETA 2018–19 This winter I was able to travel to Taiwan for one week with two really good friends. It was during this trip that I realized the importance of choosing the people you travel with and being there for each other when situations do not go as planned. Our trip started out with a rough patch when one of my friends realized on our bus to Mokpo that she had left her cell phone in a taxi that morning. We both live in Suncheon, in the southern part of Korea, and we were traveling to Mokpo, another city to the east of us. In Korea, there is no stopping buses when they are driving to other cities, so we rode the two hours to Mokpo, and then returned to Suncheon that same day and were able to find the phone. We finally rode back again to Mokpo to meet our friend before going to Taiwan, six hours after our first bus ride. My friend and I were a little tired and dispirited, but at the end of the day we were able to joke about it and move forward with our trip. The next day, the three of us took our flight to Taiwan. We were about to exchange our money at the airport when my other friend couldn’t find her wallet. We couldn’t believe something like this could happen again. We looked on the airplane, asked airport staff, and searched everywhere to find it. But we were not as lucky this time. While my friend not having her wallet was a constant stresser for her on our travels, we were able to help her and pump her up the rest of our trip. By giving her time and space to process the problem and her anxiety, and then being there for her to help strategize what to do next, we were able to help relieve some of her stress and enjoy the trip despite the complications. Losing valuable items became a daily joke as we asked, “Do we have everything?” before and after taking any transportation. Actually, we were able to save our phones twice this way. Finally, later in the trip, we traveled outside of Taipei to a very famous street called Jiufen. Jiufen is famous because it was the inspiration for the movie Spirited Away. There are hundreds of shops and tea houses in this area. After exploring this street, we tried to get to a waterfall in the late afternoon for a change of pace, however, we ended up getting lost on a creepy trail. As it was about to rain, we were walking by abandoned houses, a man chopping wood, and a lonesome, loud power generator. As the trail became darker, we became more lost, and more isolated from the rest of the world. I began to have a panic attack, but my friends, even though they were scared too, were able to help me through it. We were able to make it back and laugh about it on the way home. In the end, this was one of the most stressful trips I have been on, and I don’t think I will be able to go on a trip anytime soon without panicking about where my phone and wallet are. However, it was also really fun and memorable, because I went with friends that handled and adapted to stressful situations in a similar way that I do. Thinking back, I am surprised that we handled everything so well, and it was because we were able to be there for each other, each of us stepped up during the trip to lead the group. Ending the evening in laughter and jokes, despite the challenges of the day, was one of the many great memories from that trip.
Contrasts
Text by Paige Whitney, ETA 2017–19Photos by Melissa Kukowski, ETA 2017–19 This past winter marked the first of my ventures into Southeast Asia. I chowed down on delicious food from many nationalities in Singapore, and was happily blinded by pastel buildings and neon lights in Hong Kong—but the biggest surprises came in the Philippines. Melissa (a fellow ETA) and I spent most of our time in the Philippines in Manila, the country’s capital. We drifted around to huge shopping malls, and traipsed through Intramuros (the old Spanish quarters), Rizal Park, and Binondo, the world’s oldest Chinatown. While our Airbnb was a beautiful condominium with multiple pools in Makati, Binondo was my first real in-person glimpse of the poverty segregated to districts of Metro Manila. Through a back alley, crates of crowing chickens stacked precariously close to a bridge over a small river’s edge decorated the whimsical scene as we walked past throngs of children playing and little puppies teetering beside them. The children’s eyes smiled as one young boy innocently called out to me, calling me “beautiful,” as his friends laughed in embarrassment. On the main roads, the feeling was different. The air felt thicker and heavier on the sidewalks as we walked by men welding and soldering car parts. Later, while sitting in an air-conditioned cafe with an iced coffee to recharge, I could feel and even see the black layer of grease that had collected on my arms as I walked by. While these distinctions showed in every area of Philippines we visited (despite our small sample size of only two places of the many islands), Boracay—which was the most highly anticipated portion of our week-long travel plan in the Philippines—was where the class divide became starkly clear. The island did not disappoint (because it was the most beautiful place I have ever been in my life) but it did surprise me. Boracay is a very small island—you have to take a ferry from the larger island that houses the airport to reach it—of under four square miles. It had been closed for six months in 2018 to recover from environmental damage sustained from massive over-tourism. The effects of that consciousness and the seriousness of the cleanup job were clear in the paper bags used at the convenience store, the paper straws used in buko (Filipino coconut) and shakes alike, the “environmental tax” being most of the ferry fee, and the crystal clear blue water. To even enter Boracay, you must show proof of your hotel booking on the island or be sponsored by a resident of the island. We stayed at a “local home” through Airbnb (which is technically a workaround of the entry to the island), a humble little apartment accompanied by curious pet kittens and water warmed only by the rays of the sun. We truly were in the thick of an authentic neighborhood – roosters crowing at any hour of the day or night, babies crying, fires burning in barrels in the plaza where teenage boys played basketball late at night, and the scent of dinner lingering in the air. Yet a five-minute walk brought us to almost a different world—the beachfront. The number of suntanned foreigners was staggering, the countless restaurants selling overpriced food catered to a westerner’s palate, the luxury hotels and spa advertisements rampant—was I really still on the same island? How did the line get drawn so harshly and quickly between the wealthy foreigner-centric beach and the borderline impoverished neighborhood we were staying in? The next day, we ventured further into town in hopes of finding beach towels. The remaining efforts to redo the infrastructure of the island were all about—power lines leeching energy and hanging dangerously low, large portions of sidewalks just dug up, and new sewer piping laying exposed in the sun. The taxi drivers of the island—mainly motorbikes—continually called to us: “Hi ma’am! Beach? Only 30 pisos [about $0.60]! Yes quick ride, beautiful beach!” They seemed just as confused to see us within their neighborhood as we were in trying to find the towels. It’s difficult to talk about these topics without spreading caucasian pity on the situation or without sounding emotionless, but my experience in Boracay was eye-opening. Of course, it was the “tropical vacation” that I always wanted to have, but it showed me more than just beauty in delving into those streets beyond the beachfront. I learned to be aware of my privilege, needing to consider how lucky I am with my opportunities and economic faculty, but also hoping that some of that wealth that Boracay gains through tourism will be given back to their local communities, and not just go toward making the beachfront fancier. Seeing that divide up close really hit home, as well as left me hoping that the larger powers will check themselves and distribute their successes to all those on this tropical paradise.