Captain John's

This past Saturday I took the opportunity to go on a Ram Tour, a sort of day trip my university organizes. The destination: Captain John's whale watching tours in Plymouth, MA.

The weather was appropriately gray and overcast, characteristic of a historic New England town. We arrived early and had some time to explore the harbor area, which had not only several different fishing and sighting tours but ice cream shops, seafood restaurants, and a few novelty stores. From there, we were anxious to get on the boat. It was a two-level vessel with an open viewing area on top, and an inside area with a snack shop below. This proved to be our sanctuary.

It took about two hours to reach a whale sighting area, and it was a rough two hours. After we got out of the break water and into the ocean, the waves became choppier and our speed picked up, resulting in a harsh rocking motion. Sometimes it was impossible to stand without holding onto something. Fortunately, myself and my friends had taken anti-motion sickness pills, but the boat ride still made us unnaturally drowsy and unsettled our center of balance, so we practically napped with our heads on a table the entire way. It was a pretty lousy time.

We slowed to a stop once we found a group of whales, thankfully. The following hour consisted of running around the boat trying to find the best view when whales on either side started to surface. The most we saw were their backs and tails, but it was still fascinating to see them in the wild and to learn about their behavior from the guide. Each whale can be identified by the markings and scars it has accumulated on the underside of its tail; naturally, these may change over time, but the guide introduced us to what she thought was a whale named Manhattan. Whether or not this truly was a whale they recognized, I love the concept that each one is an individual - more like a person than an animal. We mainly stuck by a group of three whales, and I learned that whales typically form and break apart as groups at random and for a random amount of times; so these three whales had probably just crossed each others' paths and decided to spend some time together. For animal behavior, I found that rather beautiful.

The boat ride back seemed less rough, and by then the sun had come out. We also met with a small group of foreign exchange students from England, and it was interesting to hear their view of things. It made me feel much less well-traveled, that's for sure.

In the end, I'm not sure the experience was worth that boat ride, but by now I am glad I went and glad I caught some of these photos. It brings up the question of whether the journey or the destination is more important; in this case, it sure wasn't the journey.

Twenty Minutes

Does it matter how you get to work every day? Most people choose the most efficient route (if they absolutely must walk): whatever is fastest and easiest. For my first three years at this university, I walked up campus almost the same way every day, concerned only with getting to class on time - not with aesthetics or the experience of walking. But this year I've changed my route, and it became apparent to me how significant a beautiful walk can be. That is why my first travel log is about something as simple as my 20 minute journey to work.

I live in Garrahy Hall, which is at the bottom corner of campus. Before, I would cut diagonally across the middle of campus, rushing by the main buildings and across the Quad. However, over the summer URI completed construction of the new pharmacy building, which doesn't affect me at all aside from the fact that it's located near my dorm and opened up a new path to my destination. Now, when I walk outside, I turn left instead of right, and the first place I encounter is a tree-lined road on the edge of campus, with woods bordering the opposite side. On sunny days, the light streams through the trees and dapples on the ground, offering a lovely, serene view and a good balance of shade and sunlight.

After walking up this gentle slope for five minutes, I come to an opening on my left, a bright walkway beside a pristine, impeccably mowed, rolling field across from the aforementioned pharmacy building. This area is picture-perfect, very spacious and bright in the right weather. The new building is not bad to look at, too - the side facing the path has several glass walls, so it's easy to see into offices and classrooms, which are newly built, still clean, and state-of-the-art. It makes me a bit envious that I don't have a class there, but all this scenery can do wonders for my mood.

The rest of the way is more familiar, yet still different from my previous route. I now walk up the path beside Chaffee and past the bus stop in front of it, which still has an abundance of trees and, in the middle of the day, is pleasantly crowded. This might not be for everyone, but I find it interesting to be part of a crowd of other students bustling to class; it's a great time to people-watch on the go. I reach the Quad from here, passing between the beautiful library and Davis Hall - it seems that I hit all the most aesthetically pleasing buildings on my way! And everyone knows the Quad - oftentimes busy or otherwise scattered with a few sunbathers, it's a nice place to be at any time.

So what difference does this make? If I look back on it, I spend about four hours a week walking this route back and forth, to and from class and work. At the very least, it's better to spend these hours surrounded by nice scenery and open spaces. But it has more of an effect than that - it makes the day seem brighter. If the walk is pleasant, you arrive at your destination in a more pleasant mood. This means better days and better weeks and a better semester overall. Therefore, you need to pay attention even to the most basic of your travels, down to the mundane trips you make every day.

Home

I've moved around quite a bit in my lifetime. Before the age of 10 I'd lived in five different houses and three different states before my family finally settled down. I was never very torn up about moving when I was younger, and I always saw it as a fun road trip and a new place to make my own. Though all these places have their memories, the one that felt most like home was not even my home; it was my grandparents' farmhouse in Kentucky.

It's a large, rustic looking house (on the outside), accessed via a long wooded gravel road. In the center of their circular driveway is a massive evergreen almost as tall as the house itself; my mother told me it was an old Christmas tree they planted when she was younger. A field stretches between my grandparents' house and the neighbors', and coming back here is what always feels most like a homecoming. In the evenings it used to fill with lightning bugs (fireflies to some of you) and you could catch them almost effortlessly; these days, for some reason, you'll be lucky if you spot more than one glow. Farther back on the property, past a wooded path and a peach tree, my grandpa has a chicken coop, and even further still a garden with everything from blueberries to pumpkins. I remember everything as bright and sunny and green, all the time. To a five year old, this place was paradise.

I'm not very close to my extended family up here in Connecticut, so it's a shame I live so far from my mother's side in Kentucky. But every once in a while we'll have the money to drive down and visit, and my grandparents' house remains about the same, even if the people in it change. My aunt and her two kids now occupy it as well, and because my mother had seven other siblings, aunts and uncles and cousins are constantly coming and going. I can only imagine what it feels like for my relatives who grew up in this house or at least close enough to visit often, when even I still associate it with home.

My mother in her wedding dress in front of the tree, much smaller then; A family reunion in front of the house in the 80's.