27 December 2008


I find myself on the ocean-view deck of Señor Frogs in sticky humidity stuck to random strangers. They wont be strange for long though; we’re hugging and handshaking as the excitement brims inside. Our world travel has begun and so have the chants: “S-A-S! S-A-S!"

Our arms are exhausted from carting massive body bags across the United States and through Bahamas customs today. We have just enough strength left to salt our hands, squeeze some limes and pour the tequila.

When the lights of the bar turn on we venture to the darkness of the beach. The hugging and handshaking continues as we dance in the sand and stare into the endless horizon. We confess newfound love to one another and announce that never before have we made friends faster. We are ecstatic; we don’t know what to expect. We are going on Semester at Sea.

Well, now that I look back on that night all I can think is how innocent I sounded. My writing suggests a sense of hope and anticipation, so much so that I realize my naiveté to the experiences I was about to have. When I thought of the globe, I could only picture artificial maps or the unfamiliar names I read in the “World” section of the New York Times. “Traveling around the world” was just a glorified expression; it had yet to be a collection of experiences.

I’ve found that traveling is all about the little details: the signs, the funny quotes, the logistics that always seem to get complicated, the conversations, the bus tickets, place names, directions, addresses, etc. etc. So I took my journal everywhere and scribbled it all down. And now I’m home and reading it.

Global Osmosis is my deciphering of the scribble. It’s also my attempt to relive the encounters that turned me into a writer. I hope you like it. And I hope you get the travel bug too.

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