Tufts Traveler
Goodnight
Letter from the Editors In this issue, we feature stories about places where fellow Jumbos have spent the night. From backpacking to overnight trains, the stories in Goodnight give you an idea of Tufts students’ eventful travel experiences! We have stories from around the world, from China to Europe to India. We also congratulate the winners of the Lights photo contest: Daniel Frey, William Luk, Christina Luo and William Russack. Time flies, and we can’t believe this is our last issue as editors. While we have had a great time leading the Traveler, we are excited to leave you in the capable hands of your new editors, Xinnan Li and Licole Paroly. We know the Traveler will continue to be a great place for everyone to share their travel stories.
Happy Travels! Rebecca Grunberg & Jenna Liang
Editors-in-Chief • Rebecca Grunberg • Jenna Liang • Photo Editor • Xinnan Li • Literary Editors • Spenser Wright • Staff Editors • Manasvini Baba • Kathleen Cape • Madeline Christensen • Isaac Freeman • Licole Paroly • Jeremy Ravinsky • Layout Editors • Madeline Christensen • Rebecca Grunberg • Julia Hermann • Chris Li • Xinnan Li • Jenna Liang • Julia Hermann • Licole Paroly • ContributingWriters • Manasvini Baba • Chris Li• Xinnan Li • Patrick McGrath • Robert Persky •Jeremy Ravinsky • Nancy Naxin Wang • Josh Weiner • Julia Whistler• Contributing Photographers • Manasvini Baba •Chris Li•Xinnan Li • Jenna Liang • Rebecca Grunberg • Patrick McGrath • Robert Persky • William Russack • Joshua Weiner • Julia Whistler • Public Relations • Chris Li • Blog Director • Nancy Wang •
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Table of Contents
India’s Happening Night Life
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Manasvini Baba, Ming Tanigawa-Lau
Cabins Without Pediment: Hemu
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Chris Li
Overnight Train
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Patrick McGrath
Locked Out in Amsterdam
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Robert Persky
EuroTrip 2010
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Josh Weiner
Ice Hotel
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Jenna Liang
Not Your Average Host
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Julia Whistler
CouchSurfing Q&A
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Jenna Liang
An Alternative to CouchSurfing: AirBnB
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Nancy Naxin Wang
30,000 Feet
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Xinnan Li
Photo Contest
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Front cover photo by William Russack Photo and back cover photo by Xinnan Li
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India’s Happening Night Life By Manas Baba and Ming Tanigawa-Lau with David Riche
O
ver this past January, Ming, David, Wen, and I visited BUILD’s partner village Thottiyapatti in rural Tamil Nadu, India. While we were there, we rested at our partner NGO, Payir. Payir is a mini paradise, the outskirts blanketed by vibrant green fields and the campus itself dotted by proud, bushy coconut trees that shimmer in the wind. A few trails dart between Payir’s various office buildings and lead you past the chatter and commotion of kids and employees to a small house lying at the back of the campus. This was our home for the majority of our stay. The house is unlike anything in the States. You enter into an open rectangular space and tread over a thin layer of moss as you cross the room, toward the back of which lies a small lilypond. This entry space is bordered by a kitchen and an office space on one side and a bedroom and bathroom on the other. David slept on the kitchen counter on one side, while Ming, Wen, and I slept in the bedroom on the other. Two 4
whiny kittens, ever eying our precious food supply, accompanied us. We may have been nestled in a rural expanse rather than a bustling city, but Payir’s nightlife was more than lively enough to host us, through the long stretches of the night, whether we wanted it to or not. The first inescapable factor was the humidity; as it laced the heavy night air and sent a sticky layer of sweat creeping across our skin. Mosquitoes would patiently wait for our eyelids to shut before embarking on their midnight feast. The fan, a godsend, hummed above our bed of wooden planks, keeping the humidity and insects at bay. That is, for as long as the current would stay on, amidst the inevitable and frequent power cuts. As Senthil, the founder of Payir, described this rural nightlife, “It’s very musical.” Each night, we were audience to a diverse and varied concert of sounds. The light flutter of bats accompanied the whining of our bedside mosquitos, harmonizing with the regular hisses
and meows of the kittens. David recounted with great fervor a monkey fight that occurred by his window. (Senthil, however, would later inform us that the “monkeys” were probably birds.) These animal sounds were punctuated at regular intervals by the musical car horns that echoed from the distant road, and the hum of motorcycles whisking nighttime travelers away under the starry sky. As a finale, 5 am would loudly and proudly announce itself each morning, blasting temple music to a decibel that puts Pro Row on a Friday night to shame. The music would persist unabated for about twenty minutes, leaving the catchy chants, heavy drums, and ringing bells resonating in our heads hours after we woke up. Though our home was tucked away at the back of Payir, we were far from hidden from the rest of the world. Employees would float in and out to access the office space, as well as a few more
surprising visitors. On one particular morning, spurts of giggles and whispers interrupted the usual ringing of temple music in my head. I groggily opened my eyes to see five kids by the door, brightly demanding that we play with them. In my delirious state, I incoherently blurted a few words in Tamil before collapsing back in my cot, the fan thankfully working and blowing a waft of cool air my way. We may not have gotten the good night’s rest that a more conventional location would have provided us, but as the nights drew on, we grew accustomed to the temple beats, semifunctioning electricity, and symphony of insects. We learned to love the way you could feel the thick, Indian air vibrating with energy, even as you lay in bed – the country that never sleeps. Back at Tufts, and snuggling into my own covers, I often find myself hoping for the comforting hum of the fan and the rustle of wings and palm leaves, waiting to sing me to sleep.
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Cabins without Pediment: Lodging in Hemu By Chris Li
Hidden in the deep evergreen mountains in northwestern China, Hemu is known among tourists as “heaven for photographers�. With merely three months of hospitable weather per year, it hosts travelers from July until the splendid autumn flowers start to wilt. The unusually short tourist season discourages investors who wish to construct urbanized and branded hotels. Therefore, traditional wooden cabins are used to accommodate tourists, who travel hundreds of miles into the mountains for the spectacular view.
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Run by the locals, these cabins inherit the unique local design of having no pediment. The attics are used for storage and on some rare occasions, lodging. The interior design is determined by the taste of its owner. Designs range from a Kazak yurt furnished with layers of embroidered felt to a common hostel room with view of the backyard. Ten cabins surround a yard where there is communal kitchen and dining room. Each yard is usually owned by one local family. Scarcity of electricity is expected in the
general area, yet the locals running the cabins amaze the visitors with their ingenious housekeeping system. When the electricity company ends service at ten o’clock in the evening, power continues to be supplied by diesel engine generator provided by cabin owners. Some well-off owners even use solar power panels on days when there is no mist covering the mountain. The monotonous sound of the generator can then be heard droning above conversations in both recognizable and indistinguishable dialects house-pets barking,
animals bleating, neighing and mooing; housekeepers selling the last meal of spicy lamb stew and iced house drink before closing down the kitchen. When all lights eventually turn off at midnight, silence overwhelms the yard. When the night sky is not pervaded with clouds, a breath-taking view of the starry sky can be had by simply lying next to the window. Most other visitors hit the bed (or the felt, as the case may be) early for some rest before hiking up to the mountain for the sunrise.
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Russian Nights A
lthough only eight hours long, the train ride from St. Petersburg to Moscow can seem to take a lifetime. It is without a doubt a challenging and life-changing trip. My Russian class and I had spent a few days in Moscow and were going to St. Petersburg to end our month-long program abroad. As we were taking the overnight train, we were roused, drowsy and bewildered, from our hotel at 2am to depart immediately for the train station. Flying through the lights of the lively city in taxis that were overflowing with luggage stacked on the floor, we got our last view of the city that we were just getting to know. As the taxis came to a screeching halt outside the station, we were quickly swept up by the mayhem, as we tried to keep up with one another and not lose our suitcases in the crowd. Tickets in hand, we rolled our suitcases out onto the platform to catch the first glimpse of the sleeper train. A burly Russian man stood in front of the door to the carriage, from which grim phosphorescent lights glowed out forebodingly around his outline. Before this night, I had never spent a night on a train, and, at the best of times, I
Photos by Rebecca Grunberg & Patrick McGrath
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By Patrick McGrath
struggled to sleep even on airplanes. However, we had all heard the stories of the MoscowPetersburg overnight train. The myriad accounts of minor thefts and pick-pocketing were hardly intimidating; what scared us were the not-toouncommon stories of organized crime members gassing cabins in the train while the residents slept, breaking into the room, and stealing all available valuables. One of my classmates on the trip assured us that her dad had had this very experience when he rode the same train about twenty years before. By now entirely awakened and alarmed by these thoughts, I finally heard the whistle for the train to begin boarding. Stepping reluctantly into the corridor, we all found our cabins: narrow four-person rooms with two bunks on each wall. After stowing away our suitcases and making ourselves comfortable, we heard a knock on the door. Ever cautious and having been alerted to avoid
roaming the corridors alone, we slowly slid open the door. Our Russian teacher, while an unquestionably extraordinary and boundlessly wise man, is also of great muscular build and has an impressive beard that would scare anyone who doesn’t know him. Even after knowing him for years and never failing to admire and seek advice from him, I was myself still intimidated by him and feared getting on his bad side. Nonetheless, upon entering our room, our teacher explained that, while going down the corridor just minutes earlier, he had been pickpocketed. A seemingly drunk man stumbled into him, stealing what turned out to only be a pen and a case with spare glasses from his front pocket, and my teacher didn’t even noticed until minutes later. Thoroughly unsettled by this news, mostly by the necessary audacity of any thief in pursuing our Russian teacher, my cabin-mates and I decided to pass the night by watching a movie and keeping an eye out for gas canisters. We spent the night recounting the past few weeks that we had spent with host families in Vladimir and discussing the eccentricities and memorable aspects of Russian culture that we had stumbled upon. Snacking on Russian sushki (rings
of sweet bread), Russian palmiers, and kvass (a Russian beverage made of fermented rye), the night rushed by as quickly as the train that flew effortlessly through the Russian countryside between these two Russian metropolises. With sushki crumbs and candy wrappers scattered across the floor, the first rays of sunshine soon broke through around the curtains that covered the cabin window. By the time that the train started slowing down, most of us had long since fallen fast asleep. Waking still groggy in the restorative and startlingly bright sunshine in the cabin, we looked out of the window to the first views of St. Petersburg. The awe-inspiring views of this beautiful city startled us, and a sense of peace and clarity sank over the cabin. Notwithstanding a mostly restless night and the filthiness of our sleeping quarters, things were looking up. Except for a severe bruise on the arm of one of my cabin-mates who had fallen from an upper bunk when she was trying to climb down in the dark, we had survived the night.
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L
ast summer, my friends and I went on a mini “Euro trip.” The most coveted of places we visited was Amsterdam. My best friend, who happens to be Dutch, facilitated the trip by speaking Dutch for us and being our tour guide. An extra benefit of this situation was that we were able to stay at his family friend’s apartment while he was on vacation. Before leaving, the family friend strictly told us to not lose the key because that was his one and only key. Why would we lose a key? On my birthday, July 4th, our Dutch friend woke up especially early to go visit his
grandparents in the countryside. My friend Bella and I woke up leisurely and then went to explore. We grabbed the keys to our bikes and went off to have breakfast and explore shops. The Dutch friend, Wisse, met up with us in the afternoon. After our day of exploring, we got on our bikes to go back to the apartment. When we got there, Wisse looked to us to open the door. Nervously, we asked him if he had the key. He shouted back at us saying that he had left the key with our bike keys. We were locked out of this apartment when the owner had specifically forewarned us of this situation. We had to fix it. We walked around the building inspecting the apartment. It was a long second story apartment. If we could somehow make it onto the windowsill, we could perhaps push the window open. The problem was that the window was really high! We could not touch it even if we stood on each others’ shoulders. We found the solution (pushing the window open), and we now had to achieve it. We walked around asking shops for ladders we could borrow. Unfortunately, each request was rejected. After an hour of searching, we were distraught and upset. We wanted to give up but we did not know what to do if we did. But luckily, we were creative. About two blocks south of the apartment was a construction site. The workers had left the site for the day, securely fastening all the equipment down. We found a long crate
Locked Out in Amsterdam By Robert Persky 10
made out of wood that perhaps we could use as a ladder. We broke its packaging and began the difficult action of moving this heavy structure to the apartment. Once we got it over there, we pushed it up against the wall, giving us access to the window. It worked! My friend then climbed up and pushed the window open (we had to explain to some angry Dutch people that we were not sneaking in).
Once inside, my friend opened the door. We got in and celebrated. Only one question remained: should we keep the stolen crate propped against the door? Against my wishes, the majority decided that we should move it back. We did and returned back to our home. We overcame this worst-case scenario thanks to creativity and resilience!
EuroTrip 2010 J
une 2nd, 2010. Three days ago, my ten best high school friends were onstage in ties and stunning blue robes at graduation, with our parents smiling and cheering, proud of how handsome we all looked, how polite and wellbehaved.... tonight, we’re packed in a street with thousands of drunk Danes screaming their heads off and throwing beer cans through the air as a DJ crew blasts out techno music from a stage before us. It’s Copenhagen’s 2010 Distortion Technofest, bay-beeee! Welcome to Day 1 of EuroTrip, Summer 2010! Our lovely “DanHostel,” stationed on a beautiful spot by the Copenhagen harbor, features a guy who grinds his teeth more loudly while sleeping than anyone I’ve ever heard in my life! But we all need stories, I suppose. Things only improve in our next city, Berlin. Our hostel in Alexandersplatz is the starting point of a nighttime pub crawl— during which I win points for teaching a horridly drunk blonde girl how to say “Ich spreche keine Deutsch!”-and also serves free beer in the basement bar! We’re able to engage in the great German tradition of “Das Boot”— whoever can finish a giant boot-shaped glass that holds five bottles’ worth of beer wins! Ten days later, we find ourselves at Le Montclair Hostel in Paris, right at the foot of Montmartre, the highest point in the city! Not to worry— on my early-morning jog, I make it all the way up those crazy steep steps to the castle
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By Josh Weiner on top, Bailisque Sacré Coeur, and back! We tour Notre-Dame and the Louvre that day, and are walking along the Seine, ready to head back for the night, when a group of Algerian adolescents zip by us in their car, hollering, honking, and waving their country’s flag like madmen. “Ils ont gagné?” I ask in French. “C’était zéro-zéro!” they shout back. The Algerian soccer team had just tied England, 0-0, in the opening round of the World Cup, thereby winning Algeria its first point in any World Cup since 1986. Needless to say, every single Algerian in Paris goes beserk, and L’Avenue des Champs-Élysées quickly morphs into a traffic jam of honking cars, interweaving motorcycles, Algerian paraphernalia and shouts of “ONE, TWO, THREE! VI-VE L’ALGÉRIE!” Never mind what we Americans have in store for them in five days’ time, courtesy of Landon Donovan— we join in the madness, screaming like crazy all the way until we reach l’Arc de Triomphe and stumble into the nearest metro stop, feeling pumped and ecstatic. This EuroTrip was the journey of a lifetime! Eight cities, seven hostels, all by turn creepy, smelly, wonderful, dirty, exciting, cramped and crazy fun! From our nighttime hike up the Eiffel Tower, to outdoor jumbo-tron screenings of the World Cup in Paris and Rome, to our suspicious trek through the Red Light District in Amsterdam, the memories and tales of this trip are as fresh and funny now as they were two years ago. “Waka Waka, AY AY!” forever.
Ice Hotel, Kiruna, Sweden
Photos by Jenna Liang
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G IN F R U S H C U O C
Not Your Average Host
By Julia Whistler
I
f you are unfamiliar with couchsurfing, I’d just like to let you know that I love it. I stayed with 20 different hosts in Europe and the Middle East, and they were all amazing. However, when people look at me with raised eyebrows after I gush over the merits of couchsurfing and skeptically ask if I’ve ever had a bad experience, I do have to wince and say, “Well, there was the Dirty Hippie Hovel.”
Granted, I had ignored the signs. My host Via told me that her apartment was “under construction.” There was no hot water and the place was “a little messy”, but if I was ok with that, she was willing to host. Via had described herself as ‘artistic,’ with an affinity for juggling. Thinking that our circus talents would make us instant friends, I readily accepted her offer of a place to sleep for three nights. I was prepared to show my friend Emma, who was new to couchsurfing, how amazing it could be. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for what was in store for us. Above an abandoned garage, through a cracked glass door, and behind dirty red fabric on Avenue de la Mavéria was a nest of dirt, dishes, empty bottles, thick smoke, and broken furniture. A plethora of half clothed circus folk greeted me as I poked my head around that red fabric door for the first time. As I took in the grunge and the collection of people, my first thought was, “Emma is going to kill me.” 14
So began the three night sojourn in the hippie hovel, with a rotating wheel of characters. Since they changed so often, I could never remember their names and would instead refer to them by nickname. For instance, there was ‘Sinbad,’ the constantly shirtless man who had let me sleep in his circus truck the first night, and ‘Small & Angry,’ a man who had visited me and Emma at three in the morning saying “Je cherche ma didgeridoo! Où est ma didgeridoo!?” Emma was extremely kind, upon first witnessing the mess. She said it would be ‘an experience’. Then we had our first night in the grenier (attic). It was sleepless, highlighted by yelling, djembes, didgeridoos, and strangers joining us
on the mattresses. One particular unidentified homme (UH) passed out next to us and then proceeded to snore and assault us with his legs and knees. I had quite the battle fending off UH, throwing thigh punches and attempting to shove him away. He never woke up. In the morning I found myself on Emma’s mattress, as a hippie had decided that mine was big enough for the both of us. We tried to convince ourselves that it wasn’t that bad. That we were just spoiled and being snobs. Vindication was ours when another group of surfers arrived, a look of horror on their faces. As Emma said, “It was an experience.”
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A & Q rfing
u S h c Cou
Editors’ Note: CouchSurfing is a community of people from over 230 countries around the world who love to travel and meet new people. CouchSurfers can experience a new city through the eyes of locals and learn about their culture by staying in their homes. Travelers can join CouchSurfing activities and meet new people wherever they are. CouchSurfers can also host travelers and gain new friendships through that experience. This new movement has prompted many to ask about the experience of CouchSurfing. Siauxi Goh (SG), Julia Whistler (JW), Aliza Howitt (AH) and Doreen Ndishabandi (DN) answer a few questions you may have.
Compiled by Jenna Liang
In your words, what is CouchSurfing? AH: More than anything, couchsurfing is a community. It’s not just a free place to crash; it’s a completely different way to travel. It represents an alternative to the idea that travelling is about spending money and staying at fancy hotels. The focus is really on getting to know the people (and the customs and the local politics). Even if in some alternative universe I could afford fancy hotels, I would still prefer to couchsurf. You’ll make really good friends, who often double as your tour guides, and who will give you a genuine glimpse of local life or an interesting perspective on the place you’re visiting... And it’s incredible how well you get to know someone after sleeping on their couch for two days!
Where did you CouchSurf? JW: I first surfed in Cordoba, followed by Sevilla, Bordeaux, Annecy, Paris, Amsterdam, Antwerp, Brussels, Padua, and Jerusalem. I have also met up with different couch surfing groups in Nantes, Providence, and Boston. AH: I’ve stayed a couple places but Montreal was pretty much the highlight of my life. I liked it so much I actually moved in with some of my hosts last summer.
What advice would you give to someone who has never CouchSurfed before? JW: Be as open as possible! The first 10 minutes are always strange as you feel like you’re pretending to know your host well enough to stay with them. Keep in mind that you both like travelling and meeting new people and you’ll find things in common faster than you think. AH: If you’ve never couchsurfed before, my best advice is to go with a friend. Be respectful of your hosts, don’t assume you can stay for a week if they only offered a couple nights. And obviously, make sure the person you’re staying with doesn’t seem like a creeper (e.g. he doesn’t have any references, doesn’t specify where you’re supposed to sleep, makes inappropriate comments, etc). Always travel with a back up plan. Photos by Jenna Liang & Rebecca Grunberg
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SG: It was a lot of fun. There were definitely some weird bits, but overall it was an enjoyable experience! I went with three other people and we stayed with two groups of Couch Surfers during our trip. At the beginning we were a little apprehensive because after having traveled 8 hours to get there, the hosts we were originally supposed to stay with were going to throw a massive all-night party that was going to take place in the basement (where we going to sleep)...so we left their place and stayed with another group of couch surfers (three guys). Everyone was really easy-going and open-minded, and they also had awesome music so we all got along really well. The second group we stayed with (two guys) was also great. One of them was actually from Quebec which was neat because we got to learn a lot about the history of Montreal and more broadly, Quebec. He also made stencil portraits for each of us, which was really nice. What was your experience?
DN: I had an amazing time couch surfing. At first, I was skeptical about the idea of surfing a stranger’s couch only because it was hard for me to think that people would do this with no catch. So, my friends and I spent a lot of time looking for people who did not seem to be “suspicious.” We ended up staying at two places, which both turned out to be amazing experiences. One of our hosts actually came and surfed my couch here at Tufts. Couch surfing is such a great idea and I would like to try it again. What was the best thing about couch surfing? SG: Definitely the people. I think couch surfers in general tend to be friendly, open and just genuinely curious people, and I always think you benefit from travel experiences more when you have access to locals’ perspectives. For example, they can suggest interesting places that aren’t always on travel guides or aren’t well-known tourist hotspots or let you in on some local quirks. How safe is CouchSurfing? DN: I felt very safe throughout the experience, mostly because my friends and I stayed with very cool and down to earth hosts, but also because I was not traveling alone. JW: CouchSurfing, like everything else, has the possibility to not be safe. Having stayed with many hosts and having attended many CouchSurfing events, I can honestly say I always come away from couch surfing feeling an extreme love for it. I have never come across more open and amazing people who love to travel and share their cities. Be smart about it. Look carefully at people’s profiles and their reviews and if you feel even a little suspicious, don’t stay with them. There are plenty of people out there who are amazing online and in person. Happy surfing!
For more information, visit the CouchSurfing website: http://www.couchsurfing.org/
Alternatives to CouchSurfing: Airbnb By Nancy Naxin Wang
I
f you are still hesitant about the idea of spending your nights at a stranger’s house for free, here is an alternative for you where you will find some more reliable, yet still interesting places to stay for a very cheap price. I was one of those skeptics about couchsurfing, and I came across a startup called Airbnb as I was searching for a house for 5 people for a week in Los Angeles. Airbnb is “a global network of accommodations offered by locals” as described on their website. Just like how you will book a hotel online, Airbnb works in a similar way. It offers a wide range of lodging options, from 20 dollars a night on someone’s couch in New York City to 1000 dollars luxury condo on Venice Beach. In contrast to hotels and hostels booking sites, these places on Airbnb are people’s actual homes. Unlike couchsurfing, though, Airbnb provides a lot more information about the owner and the place with a series of pictures of the place and reviews, and since you are paying for the service, there is a higher standard of screening the hosts to ensure safety and accountability.
For more information, visit the Airbnb website: http://www.airbnb.com/
Photo by Jenna Liang
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After looking through Airbnb, we decided on getting a small “cottage” (that’s how the owner described it) few blocks away from Venice Beach for a very affordable price. The owner, Drew, puts up photos of every room in her house on the site, and receives great reviews. On the first day, Drew came to explain to us everything about the house, and she was super chill (like what you would expect from the wester coasters). Then she went off to Tahoe for a skiing trip and left the whole house to us for the next few days. The house itself was lovely, and not much different from the pictures. It is equipped with 2 bedrooms, a comfy living room with a futon, a kitchen, a bathroom, free wifi and two kitties on the porch, and the only responsibility we have is to feed the two cats in the house twice a day. We have cat lovers in our group so it worked perfectly. We had a great time staying at the cottage at Venice Beach, and would not trade the cozy, homey experience we had at Drew’s house for any fancy hotel rooms.
30,000 Feet
Sitting in the corner of the cabinet, I am one of the travelers. Through a window that cannot be opened, Only twilight is by my side. — C.L., “Traveler”
By Xinnan Li
I
am at the point where I need sleep so desperately that I can sleep whenever and wherever. I treasure every second of my trips because sometimes I only sleep on public transportation. As soon as I get on something moving, I can fall asleep. It doesn’t matter if it’s a 14-hour plane ride, a 5-hour bus ride, a halfan-hour car ride or 10 minutes on the T. After many years of traveling, I have discovered the most comfy way to sleep on different modes of transportation, the way that brings you immediately into your dreams. I always prefer the window seat, on the plane or in the car, so I have something to lean on as I fall asleep. I like to fold my jacket and insert it into the space between my neck and the window. I lean the side of my head against the window and my body falls, falls, falls into the seat. I like to have my legs folded, my shins pressed tightly against the back of the seat in front of me—as if I am curling into a ball. Every year, I have to take a 14-hour plane ride as least twice. If you have been on one of these, you know how painful it is. If I’m lucky, I manage to sleep for five hours before I have to wake up, realizing that my neck is sore, my limbs numb. From time to time during these five hours, I am pulled out of my dream by those noises. Flight attendants handing out hot towels, serving food and drinks, collecting trash, people next to me getting up to go to the bathroom, kids crying… It’s also super loud on the plane because of the engine. It’s loud. It’s constant. And it’s everywhere. There is nowhere to hide from it on this plane. There is nowhere to escape to. Except in my dreams.
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First Place Daniel Frey 20
Christina Luo
Photo Contest
Theme: Lights
William Russack 21
William Luk 22
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