Evangeline Travels

All of my hard work over the past few months to put this show together has really paid off!

The show was a great success, beyond what I could have hoped or imagined. I had estimated that we would be lucky to have 100 people show up. It turned out to be closer to 300 people. The show went on without a hitch, the models were all beautiful and fun and confident, there was a lot of celebration and dancing throughout the evening, and rave reviews after the show… I could not have asked for more. DJ Kyle Long, who is the premier DJ in Indy for international music, did a fantastic job creating the soundtrack and general mood of the show, flawlessly mixing music from India, Peru, Morocco, Iran, and Thailand, among others. The audience and the models alike all had a great time, and a few bloggers and journalists who attended told me that it was better than some of the professional fashion shows they have seen in Indianapolis. What a huge compliment, especially when I had absolutely no experience with this sort of event… And best of all, we were able to raise over $450 for the Ghanaian charity! I suppose I just should stop gushing and show you photos (taken by Dharma Syamim Fikri).

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I’ve been working on putting together a charity event for the past few months. I never realized what a royal pain it would be to organize such an event, but I am beyond excited about it all coming together this Friday. The IUPUI International Fashion Show features models from 18 different countries, representing Africa, Asia, Europe, the Middle East, North America, and South America. Couldn’t find an Australian at IUPUI but I think we did pretty well on diversity otherwise. All donations we collect at the event will go towards a rural school I visited during my trip to Ghana last summer (see: blogs from May and June 2011), Purity Prep School in Akuapem. We received a last minute grant, the International Programming Grant, just a week before the show, so I have been scrambling to organize everything with the funding–catering from a Thai restaurant, the best international DJ in the city Kyle Long, decorations and supplies, advertisements, etc etc. We have been getting some great publicity around campus and around the city, so I have a really good feeling about it. I have had a wonderful (though often stressful) past few months working with our lovely international models–from Indonesia, Morocco, Peru, Egypt, DR Congo, Bosnia, France, Germany, Nigeria, Ivory Coast, Cameroon, Somaliland, Honduras, USA, Saudi Arabia, Iran, India, The Philippines, and Thailand. They have some spectacular garments from their home country (and I myself will be modeling a few Ghanaian dresses in the show, I just couldn’t resist).

I’ve been spending a lot of time on iMovie lately making videos for the show. The first is a promo with headshots I took of the female models (minus a few), and the second is an informational video about the charity cause we are supporting.

I’ll make this brief for you, dear readers. I am well aware of my tendency to be long winded.

Graduating this May. May the 13th to be exact. I will obtain some attractive pieces of paper stating that I have a B.A. in Art History, a B.A. in International Studies, a Certificate in Chinese Studies, and a Minor in Geography, from Indiana University, with an Honors Notation. I will wear an overpriced robe and a silly looking hat, I’ll stand around bored and uncomfortable for several hours, and some elderly white gentleman I’ve never met before will shake my hand, warmly congratulate me, and hand me said pieces of paper.

Going to Jordan in May. May the 15th to be exact. Should be far more interesting than the above mentioned scenario. People seem utterly baffled that I have chosen to go there. It seems that many assume the entire Middle East is a sandy hell hole you only go to if you’re in the army. I don’t have the time or energy to explain myself to such people. I’ve been sticking with the short answer, “cuz I’ve never been before.”

After the Jordan study abroad program ends, I’ll hopefully have the funds to pop around Europe for a bit. Never been to Edinburgh or Prague. Would like to see some museums in Amsterdam or Athens. Have some friends to visit in Paris, Northern England, and Germany.

I’ll be sure to give you plenty of reading material then.

I begin this post with a reference to that famous Tennessee Williams line, “I have always depended upon the kindness of strangers.” Other than the whole being utterly delusional part, Blanche DuBois and I do have this in common. My life would not be nearly as wonderful, fulfilling, enriching, exciting, and a slew of other positive adjectives were it not for the nameless, faceless people who have touched it so profoundly.

My life (not to mention this travel blog) would be rather dull and empty were it not for the scholarships that have provided me with my education and travel opportunities. My studies at IUPUI and my experiences traveling the world have shaped me into the individual I am today, and these opportunities would not be possible without those donors and organizations that have supported me financially over the past 4 years. Though I occasionally have been able to send thank you letters and postcards to some of the people responsible for the funding and selection of these scholarships, I don’t really know any of my benefactors’ identities, or motivations to give to young unknown people like myself.

Sometimes I think it’s for the best that I don’t get to meet these people. I simply wouldn’t know what to say, I’d likely just keep repeating “wow, gosh, thank you so much” at an annoying rate. How could one thank an unknown person who has given them so much? How could I begin to describe the ripple effect that it has had, how many lives it has touched vicariously through me?

I’ll end this post with that cheesy expression “pay it forward.” The financial assistance that I have been so very fortunate to receive over the past few years does not end with me. It extends to all of the lives that I have touched, and will further manifest itself as I continue to grow and discover new ways to better the world I live in.

谢谢. Merci. Gracias. Danke. شكرا . teşekkür ederim. Grazie. ありがとう. Meda ase. Thank you. 

Saturday, October 15th

Day three in New Orleans. Happy to report I have proven everyone wrong and managed to escape death or injury.

After I left off, Friday night at the hostel, nothing much happened. I tried to weasel my way into some French and British people’s conversation, hoping to find people to do something with the following day. When they started talking about their drugs of choice, I opted not to try and hang out with them. Luckily, one of the girls in my room seemed promising—laid back, a bit quirky, thirty-something, fluent in multiple languages, used to intern for the UN. But Saturday morning she slept in rather late because she was tired from her flight, and I couldn’t wait to go explore.

I took the trolley to the French Quarter, a place I knew would be packed with tourists so I didn’t feel uncomfortable walking around solo. Despite the hackneyed touristy aspects, it was a lovely place to walk around. Delicious pastries, peculiar decorative displays of New Orleans pride, Halloween decorations galore, art galleries, antique shops, and the charming architectural elements—particularly the Spanish ironwork balconies and pastel colored stucco. I walked around for hours. In my wandering, I came across a restaurant named Evangeline, so out of vanity I had to stop and eat lunch there. The Po-boy sandwich and mimosa was fantastic, but I was a little disappointed they didn’t have any merchandise for me to buy.

I walked through Bourbon Street, knowing it wasn’t really my thing but people told me to check it out anyway. Since it was around 2 in the afternoon, I assumed it wouldn’t be too wild. I was incorrect in this assumption. Like in Europe, it’s legal to have alcohol on the streets here, as long as its not in a glass bottle (since glass bottles in drunken hands can be lethal). People, most certainly all tourists, were already drunk, loud, and obnoxious, stumbling around with their hurricanes in colorful plastic containers… it was a hot sloppy mess. I knew I would not be returning.

After I rested back at the hostel for a bit, my roommate and I did a little shopping together. I knew I definitely wanted to go out to see some live music that night, since the live jazz and blues was a good part of my motivation to come here in the first place. As I went to the front desk of the hostel to ask the receptionist for suggestions for a laid back, authentic place to see live jazz, I heard another person asking the same thing. After talking to the receptionist and the fellow inquirer for a while, I decided I had to go where she suggested, Frenchman Street in the Marginy neighborhood, not too far away.

Unfortunately my roommate couldn’t come out with me, since she has a health condition that leaves her very fatigued, so I was concerned I wouldn’t be able to go at all. The other traveler who was asking about good live music venues was an Australian named Edwin, who had been traveling with his girlfriend around the US the past few weeks but she had to return to Sydney. Since he frequently brought up his girlfriend in conversations, and I knew we would be taking a crowded streetcar to a crowded neighborhood, I decided to go against my normal instinct of avoiding going anywhere alone with an unfamiliar male. I felt it necessary in that particular situation. The jazz was calling me.

Turns out, Edwin and I really got along. 5 minutes into the conversation and we already were poking fun at each other—a good sign. I’ve met a few great Australians at great hostels in great cities, and suspect that there is something about our cultures that makes our senses of humor mesh pretty well.

We walked to Frenchman street and, sure enough, there were several unbelievably talented musicians, performing on street corners and in crowded nightclubs (video coming soon with footage of a few favorite performances). As we were sitting in one jazz club watching one brass band play in a highly animated and passionate manner, Edwin said something that seemed hilarious and somehow a little profound: “there’s nothing that a shit ton of brass can’t fix”. Ain’t that the truth.

Our cross-cultural amusement continued throughout the evening. He was visibly excited to say Americanisms like “fitty”. I was excited to say I had to use the “loo”.

We returned to the hostel relatively early, since I planned on waking up early the following day… but of course stopped to eat a beignet on the way. A beignet is nothing short of incredible. A fried pastry placed in a small paper bag with about a pound of powdered sugar dumped on top. God bless New Orleans. All in all, I was quite happy I decided to step a bit out of my comfort zone and share an evening and some pastries with that pleasant humored Aussie.

Sunday, October 16th

Woke up early to visit a plantation today. For the sake of saving time, I decided to visit the closest one, Destrehan plantation. My little guidebook I purchased (which has been immeasurably helpful this whole trip, and handy whenever I’m dining by myself), said that this particular plantation was not the most stunning of them all, but it did have one major selling point: it is featured, briefly, in the movie “Interview with a Vampire”. After I read that, it was pretty much a done deal. When I arrived, I recognized it as the place where Louis kills the poodles. “Evil doers taste better”. Love it.

The plantation was lovely. The massive old trees with the hanging moss looked straight out of a romantic landscape painting, and the history of the house and its occupying families, as dictated to me by a tour guide in a giant hoop skirt and bonnet, were quite interesting. History and scenery, always a pretty solid bet.

I returned to Nola to walk around an area with some larger old homes called the Garden District. With my little book in hand, I could read about the history of the more stunning or historically relevant homes. I kept running into tour groups with tour guides telling them all the facts I had in my book… suit yourselves. I was hoping to stroll around a nearby cemetery, since I have always been intrigued by the raised graves, however it was oddly closed on Sunday. So I walked around the perimeter and got a few glimpses, which was enough for me.

After a few last minute purchases in the French Quarter (I had to get apology gifts for my mom and my manager, since they were both pretty apprehensive about my coming here alone), I returned to the hostel for a while to rest and figure out my next move. It just so happened some people were watching Interview with a Vampire in the common area, so naturally I joined them.

I ended up talking with several people who were also traveling solo. Edwin was there, along with a girl from Cali who just graduated from law school, an Australian girl traveling across the US for the next few months, and a few others. One of them mentioned an event they randomly found online, an after party for a film festival that supposedly had free alcohol. So the group of solo travelers set out to find this place, thinking that it was far too good to be true. Turns out, it was not. There was indeed a bar at a hotel, that was indeed giving out free drinks. Unlimited. And they were delicious. We raved about how great the film festival was, even though we hadn’t been to any of it and were completely crashing their party. It was good fun.

Although I had a bit too much to drink and was having a bit too much fun, I was able to take a cab back to the hostel, wake up the following morning, pack my things, check out, and drive 14 hours home. Like a champ.

All in all, it was a truly wonderful experience. I was a bit apprehensive before I left, after hearing people tell me over and over again that it was a bad idea… but it wasn’t. And if it was, it was the best bad idea I’ve ever had, and I’m sure I’ll have some even more wonderful bad ideas in the future.

For various reasons, I have had this fantasy of going on a New Orleans road trip for quite a while. The antiquity, the European culture, the literary connection with my unique first name, to name a few… The idea kept growing and growing in the back of my mind, intertwined with other travel plans, manifesting itself in the form of hours of aimless internet searches on New Orleans travel guides, New Orleans drive time from Indianapolis, New Orleans hostels, stops on the way to New Orleans… And the little idea grew to a point where I couldn’t ignore it, so I went about trying to convince people to go along with me. That didn’t exactly happen, since, as I often complain, a majority of people I know don’t possess the trinity of travel requirements: time, money, and balls. I’m motivated enough to make enough of all three. So, I decided to go to NOLA, solo.

Reactions to my plan of driving across the country by myself were fairly predictable, the worriers worried, and the badasses said, that’s badass, go for it. On Thursday morning, before my departure, I expected my poor mother to find some way to sabotage my leaving, perhaps by slashing my tires or falling a tree to block my car in the driveway. But she got over it.

I left Indy in the afternoon after my last midterm, the beginning of an extended fall break weekend, and headed to Nashville, TN. It was a good halfway point, and it is a city I have never visited before—a continuation of my intracontinental ventures goal from the beginning of the summer. I arranged several weeks ago to stay with a girl I found on Couchsurfing.

People generally seem to be rather mystified by the concept of couchsurfing. I guess on paper, and at first glance, it does seem pretty ludicrous. You join a network of travelers and hosts, build a profile after your identity and address has been checked, and send requests for people to host you. There is no money involved. Just a couch, a spare bed, an air mattress, or a folded comforter on the floor to sleep on, along with a nice experience with a local, and inevitable new friendships formed. Couchsurfers are a special breed of people—I’ve never met a fellow couchsurfer that I did not immediately get along with. I surfed in France with a few different people, and could not possibly think more highly of the organization.

My couchsurfing experience in Nashville was nothing short of delightful. My hostess, Emily, and her adorable tail-less cat, were very warm and gracious. She is originally from Alabama, with the endearing accent and hospitality to prove it. We had been emailing back and fourth and talking on the phone for about a month before I arrived, so that, along with her natural warmth, made me feel as though I was seeing an old friend when I first met her, and we gave each other a big hug.

It was a lovely abbreviated trip to the Music City. We had dinner at a fabulous restaurant, sweet potato fries and sushi, and then went to the Honky Tonks to listen to some live musicians. The country and rock and bluegrass bands were all fantastically talented and entertaining. As a city gal I never really got into this kind of music, but after seeing these bands, I will surely do some music downloading when I get home.

Woke up around 7:30 this morning, was on my way by 8:30 and had a long but surprisingly easy drive to New Orleans. Passed through Birmingham, Alabama and made a quick visit to the 16th street Baptist Church, just because I am a civil rights history nerd. From there I drove pretty much straight, stopping only for gas, but my car gets great mileage. The combination of lengthy solitude and a 5 hour energy shot I nursed over the course of a few hours led to some strange results… lots of talking to myself, lots of loud singing, lots of yelling at other drivers and reading signs out loud… one of the many advantages of driving alone, there’s no one that you are trying to convince that you’re sane.

It’s my first road trip alone, but I find there are many advantages… I can stop when I feel like it, where I feel like, and spend as much or as little time and money as I please. There’s never the awkward “I dunno, what do you wanna do?” conversation—you just do it. There’s never the awkward gas station stop where you try to hint that you paid last time and its their turn, without sounding like a douche. And its actually easier to stay focused when driving alone, because quite often your co-pilots will fall asleep for lack of stimulation to stay awake, which makes you as the driver feel sleepy. But mainly, the blasting any music you want and yelling along is the primary advantage.

As soon as I arrived to Nola, I went to the lovely Tulane University and met with a friend from high school. We strolled around for a bit, had dinner at an old school diner, and enjoyed the perfect weather and scenery. I opted not to stay with her during my trip, since she has a few big school projects due next week, and instead decided to book a hostel.

Hostels are the best for solo travelers. Hostel common rooms usually have no shortage of good company, fellow adventurers and tourists willing to do adventurous and touristy stuff with other travelers. In Hainan, China, we split a bus with a few British girls from the hostel to go to the rainforest and hike. In Marseille we met a charming South African and went to an awesome blues concert with him. In Madrid we met some lovely Frenchmen and had many chats with them, and when my friend accidentally left her i-phone at the hostel, one of them was kind enough to mail it back to the state s to her. In sum, hostel friends are the coolest. That was my motivation in choosing the hostel, the India House backpackers hostel. Lots of common areas, a common patio, a room shared with 5 other girls… bound to find a buddy here somewhere. Currently sitting on the patio next to some spunky Brits and an Austrian playing cards, talking about the rugby match they’ll watch later. I’ll pretend to like rugby for tonight, for the sake of finding people to go on tours with tomorrow. Seems like a good plan. So I guess I should stop being a dweeb on my laptop and go talk to people.

Much love to everyone worrying about me at home.

I have received a few complaints about my literary inactivity on here since my return from Ghana 2 months ago. So sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t had as much material to work with since I’ve been back, and even less free time to spare.

Upon the realization that I have traveled to more cities outside of my vast and beautiful continent, I felt a twinge of guilt. As though my homeland might somehow hold it against me for venturing elsewhere so frequently when she has so much to offer. So, over the summer, between work and an inordinately difficult summer class, I took it upon myself to compensate for my egregious lack of patriotism over the past few years and explore me some Amurica.

Boston

My mission began in Boston, which seems like an appropriate starting point for an explore America tour. The drive was a drag, around 16 hours from Indy, but I was rather enamored by the final destination so it was not a bad trade off. To briefly summarize: favorite aspects were the fabulous antique markets, quirky shops, old buildings, 17th century headstones, and everything about and around the Harvard campus.

Grad school fantasies? I think yes. No one ever told me not to dream big.

Different Sides of Lake Michigan

I also took a quick 2 day trip to Lake Michigan after a stressful week. Seems that a beach sunset and a few Michigan fresh blueberry milkshakes from an old drive in diner was the perfect medicine. The simple joys in life.

Chicago was another destination, but at this point I have been to Chicago so many times it hardly even feels like travel. The perfect weekend destination from Indy, and since one of my best friends lives there I always have a marvelous free hotel to stay at. Had a blast and a half with old friends that weekend.

St. Louis & Columbus

A few weeks later, a friend and I randomly decided to go to St. Louis one day. We did not prepare a whole lot, which can be a good and bad thing… We looked up a neighborhood that had cool antique markets and decided we would improvise from there. Well, when we arrived too this supposedly charming antique district, it turned out to be run down, decrepit, shit area of town, with vacant buildings and a single Salvation Army store. I guess we should have researched that one a bit more. But we had a great time regardless, and our little incident in the ghetto of St. Louis was a source of amusement more than discomfort or annoyance. Travel requires flexibility. We found a random nice hotel downtown, pretended we were staying there, and had them give us suggestions. They steered us in the right direction, we went to a cool area to wander and window shop and look at old houses.

The following day, we went on another day trip in the opposite direction, to Columbus, Ohio to visit a friend. I was impressed and intrigued by the city, and hope to revisit soon to explore it further.

I think by this point, I was about equalized in the American:Non American city visitation ratio. Patriotism questioning crisis averted.

Toronto

Labor day weekend, after a sure to be grueling school semester had barely begun, was another travel opportunity. I see every crack in my schedule as a travel opportunity, which is surely an annoyance to my job and other obligations at times. What can I say, it’s an addiction. Since a friend of mine was staying in Toronto that week, a few friends and I decided to go visit her in the city I loved so much when I went last summer.

When we crossed the border, my friend shyly asked for them to stamp our passports. The border officer did it. Another exotic stamp for my collection.

Toronto is a truly international city, the melting pot that the United States often claims to be but sometimes falls somewhat short of. People of all races and immigrants galore populate the urban landscape in a captivating way. One thing I tend to pay attention to when I travel is the amount of mixed couples, and judging by the amount of two-tone couples holding hands and strolling in the wonderfully walkable city, it seems that everybody dates everybody.

Canadian cities are known for being cleaner and friendlier than US cities, however this was not always the case in Toronto. The apartment we stayed at, though lovely and near some great areas and a major university, seemed to be right by a bizarre mecca of homeless, a freak show of colorful characters in depressing life situations… A toothless man zooming by on a motor scooter wheelchair, a shirtless man with a massive goiter protruding from his neck, addicts and mentally handicapped people having animated and incomprehensible conversations with themselves. Walking down this street felt like I was in the midst of the zombie apocalypse. There appeared to be vacant buildings down the street from the apartment, which I assume attract the squatters. They didn’t make me feel at all threatened, just a little sad and uncomfortable… And I had to hold my breath if one of them walked past  to avoid the inevitable stench that would follow.

On Saturday we must have walked around 10 miles, exploring the city on foot until our sandaled feet were blistered and sore. Plenty of lovely sights, intriguing shoppes, and delicious hole-in-the-wall eateries, with plenty of excellent people watching along the way. When searching for a good restaurant for dinner, we stumbled across a fantastic Italian festival in Toronto’s little Italy. It appeared to me to be far more authentic than the little Italy in New York, which only had shitty pizza joints and places to buy Godfather and Goodfellas t-shirts. Toronto must still have that legitimate Italian immigrant population. I don’t know if it was in the Gelato, or the jovial old men I saw walking by with the swollen pregnant looking bellies that were distinctly Italian, but there was a definite authenticity here. The festival was good fun, with live music and thick crowds, and Italian cuisine at every corner. A lovely way to spend a warm summer evening with friends. We ended up at an amazing restaurant where I had butternut squash ravioli, which I have never seen at any restaurant in the States. It was as delicious as Florentine butternut squash ravioli. I could write a novel describing how amazing this ravioli was.

I am hoping to continue my road tripping tendencies, now that I have finally gotten over my fear of interstate driving and developed more of an appetite for the road. There is such a sense of freedom about the classic concept of the American road trip. The things that go wrong or take you by surprise often end up being the most delightful flavor of the journey.

People sometimes comment that I am so mature for a person of 22 years. To dispel this misinterpretation of this character, may I present the final photo of our Toronto trip, taken at a random country town somewhere between Ann Arbor and Fort Wayne.