Women Abroad

When the average person thinks of the solo traveler, what images come to mind? A young student backpacking his way through Europe? A business traveler in a suit racing to his next appointment? The Marlboro Man?
Is the image of the average person traveling by themselves young or old? Male or female?
According to the U.S. Travel Association, the average solo traveler is around 42 years old and makes around $50,000 a year, a demographic that doesn’t include many college students (in fact, 38 percent of solo vacationers are college graduates). And though men may still be in the majority when it comes to traveling by themselves, women are closing the gap. In fact, 47 percent of all solo travelers are female.
Sometimes it seems as if the fact that women even dare to travel alone, even in this day and age, is like something out of a 1960s issue of Cosmopolitan magazine. Nestled between articles on how to perfectly curl you hair and what kind of cake your man would like comes an announcement of a fascinating, new sensation: Women are finally traveling alone. But instead of keeping to the reserved ladies’ cars of luxury rail liners of yesteryear, women are now crossing oceans for the sake of adventure, career, charity and, sometimes, just plain fun.
Businesses are now opening themselves up to the growing women’s travel market. Women Traveling Together is a website with listings of travel tours designed especially for women ranging from exotic cruises to Istanbul and the Greek Isles to rustic trips to Yellowstone National Park and the Grand Teton Mountains, to visiting Martha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts. There are books like “Woman Travel: Wanderlust and Lipstick,” directed at women travelers, and websites like “Being-A-Broad,” which gives advice for western women living in Japan.
Though women are traveling more often than they used to, there is evidence that men and women travel differently. Currently, the U.S. State Department advises women traveling to Saudi Arabia not to wear pants in public, in favor of ankle-length dresses with short sleeves. There have been incidents in the past where foreigners have been arrested in Saudi Arabia for “improper dress.”
Arrests for dress codes seem farfetched in the United States, but in Saudi Arabia, dressing conservatively is part of the common culture. Preparing yourself for cultural differences, abiding by local laws and customs, is important, so much so that the U.S. State Department Bureau of Consular Affairs stresses it in their brochure.
For interior design freshman and Kuwait-native Sarah Sharawi, conservative dress wasn’t the problem.
“I was walking around in sweaters here in Michigan during the summer. Everyone was looking at me strangely, but I was so cold!” Sharawi said.
Sharawi is leading as much an international and cosmopolitan life as one can for being only 19 years old. Born to Egyptian parents in the United Arab Emirates, Sharawi was raised in Kuwait and attended the American School of Kuwait before making the decision to come to the United States for college like her two older brothers. Since Sharawi arrived at MSU as an international student, not only has she gone through the normal college-age experience of planning your own trips for weekends and breaks, but also trips back home to Kuwait.
While most other students reunited with their families for Thanksgiving break, Sharawi planned a trip to Washington, D.C. to meet up with her friends from the American School of Kuwait (who are dispersed among universities across the United States). For spring break, Sharawi went to Miami, Florida with two of her friends. These trips were Sharawi’s first experiences with traveling alone and weren’t as daunting for her as she imagined they would be.
“I like traveling alone. I like the independence, I feel like I’ve accomplished something,” said Sharawi. “When traveling alone, you only have to worry about yourself. You’re running on your own time, it’s easier to manage.”
Coming to MSU and living independently of her family served as the catalyst that made Sharawi a more independent traveler.
“I’d just follow my parents. I never carried my passport,” said Sharawi. “Then when I was on my own, I noticed there were a lot of things I had to know…a lot of things to worry about.”
On her visit to D.C., what she learned to worry about culminated into a travel lesson: No matter how much you love your wardrobe, leave most of it at home.
“I was coming back to Michigan, but I had to take a train [to get to the airport]. I fell asleep before we got to the stop and didn’t have a lot of time to get my stuff together before I got off the train. I was carrying a huge bag. When I was dragging this huge bag off the train, I saw a bunch of people coming toward me onto the train. I ended up stuck between the crowds of people and the door closed. My heart dropped into my stomach. I found a guy who works on the train and he took care of me. He sticks with me the whole time, and said, ‘Madam, do not travel alone like this [with her large bag].’ It was awful; I didn’t know where I was. Marymount? Maryland? I had no idea!”
Now that the school year is drawing to a close, Sharawi is preparing for her long journey home. After attempting to find a travel partner, Sharawi decided to go it alone, but she admits that she rather have a travel partner:
“I’d rather go back with someone I know. The 21-hour flight gets boring.”
While Sharawi traveled for college, Kate Patch, the specialist advisor for Center for Gender in Global Context at MSU (or GenCen for short), did the same, doing undergrad research for her anthropology major in Ghana and Nigeria. In addition to her work in Africa, Patch has also taught English in Taiwan, participated in a volunteer trip in Honduras, and coordinated one in Nicaragua.
“My position and philosophy stresses the importance of going abroad, being educated and knowing where you are,” said Patch. “And for non-traditional students, don’t let that stop you.”
Patch believes traveling while one is young enriches a person and helps their world view, and feels like the year after students graduate high school is “the best time to do it.” Patch says that American high school students would benefit from a gap-year system, like western Europe. The program shouldn’t also be limited to western European countries, but all over.
Patch, along with Sharawi, feels like a sense of pride and power can be gained by being a woman traveling alone.
“I worked in Ghana and traveled by myself as a white woman. I had to take time to learn the transportation system, learn the language, and the ways of the people,” said Patch. “I had the opportunity to see places that normally American males had more access to. It was interesting to find empowerment in societies that normally aren’t empowering for women.”
An incident in Nigeria gave Patch a scare, but didn’t deter her from her work. Twenty-year-old Patch was interviewing market women in a large city. Patch’s regular research assistant wasn’t available, so her professor’s daughter filled in and translated Yoruba for Patch. There had been some fighting in the city at that time and a fire erupted in and men started to shoot arrows from bows into the market. Patch was separated from her interim assistant and took refuge in a church, where she eventually found Patch.
“We don’t really have to run for our lives in the U.S. everyday. [The scare] wasn’t purposeful, people panicked and started running.”
Though Patch’s experience in a Nigerian market isn’t exactly what most would consider a good time, she hasn’t let it affect her attitude toward the country, the region, or traveling at all. Patch plans to go back to Ghana to work soon, and she’s bringing her 2-year-old daughter with her.
Patch acknowledges that people are afraid to travel abroad, and she believes it’s mostly due to the lack of proper media coverage on parts of the world not dealt with often in the United States. The less known about a country, the more people are going to rely on stereotypes and negative images fed by media. Africa is a good example of this, as people characterize it as every country experiencing civil unrest with every person starving, says Patch.
Patch and Shawari agree on a few essential tips for young women traveling abroad:
1.Be alert. Don’t fall asleep, said Sharawi. You’re more likely to miss important information and maybe even your stop.
2.The unknown is dangerous if you don’t know the transportation systems, says Patch. Know your travel itinerary and how you plan to get to certain locations.“My rule is: If you’re in an airport, no matter how much you want to burst and pee, find your gate first,” said Sharawi.
3.Lastly, Sharawi adds “Smile.” “If you’re asking for help, smile and they will be more likely to help you. If someone is bothering you, smile slightly and keep moving. It will take you everywhere.”

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At Gunpoint in Guatemala


The men with double-barreled guns forced their way into the van. One climbed into the front seat, held a gun to the driver’s temple and forced him to speed up, make a sharp turn and crash through a barbed wire fence, leading us into a field. The tires ran on crunchy leaves before we came to a sudden stop. The driver floored the gas, but the van wouldn’t budge. We were stuck.

The Guatemalan air, which just a minute before had smelled of the sugarcane that dominates much of the countryside, lost its sweetness.

We were on our way to Lake Atitlan to relax after a hard week of developing the tourism industry of Nueva Alianza, a village in Guatemala. Part of an alternative spring break, we had spent our time carving out biking trails and swimming holes, meeting a mix of warm and friendly people. We were enamored by the lifestyles we saw and were able to become a part of – people working long and hard days for the greater good of the community. It was refreshing to be a part of this over spring break, rather than the typical college spring-break tradition of building up the liquor industry in Palm Beach, Fla., like most of our peers were busy doing.

But after that week of taxing manual labor, we were ready for a reward. Swelling with a sense of accomplishment, 11 of us piled into our van and set out to with our drivers to take some time to lay out in the sun at Lake Atitlan, the deepest lake in Central America.

We never made it.

We passed through slums tucked in lush greenery, roadside stands, and pick-up trucks with pre-teen boys lounging in the bed. The farther along we went there were more rusted buildings and more women walking up to the van attempting to sell a bag of mangoes to make a buck. Despite it being a poor part of Guatemala – in fact, more than 75 percent of the country lives below the poverty line – it held a charming beauty.

 

But while closing in on our destination, the drivers of the van showed us the ‘paso mysterioso,’ a stretch of downward-sloping highway that our van was attempting to climb. As the van was defying gravity, a truck sped up next to us. Instead of pre-teen boys lounging in the bed, these were armed men, with guns aimed at the driver and at us. They were shouting, “Close your eyes!”

My spine had never been so stiff. While I had known Mexico has been in the news for attacks against both locals and tourists, I had never expected to find it here. I felt the side door open and harsh sunlight hit my face. I had to be completely still while the men – anywhere from four to seven of them – took our belongings. My dad’s Yankees cap was snatched from my head. My MSU bag with my cameras and wallet I’d just replaced two months prior slid from my lap. My iPod was taken right after that too. I didn’t budge a muscle.

After they had everything of value from me, I wished the men would just leave. But then dry hands grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the van. I tried to convince myself that this was not really happening.

I peeked through a downward gaze so I could orient myself the best I could. I saw dry, yellowish-brown leaves. They sat me down. Bugs were biting at my ankles and buzzing in my ears, but I didn’t dare swat them. I wasn’t even supposed to be there.

This was really happening.

One of the men picked me up by the arm and patted me down, though it felt more disgusting than just a general search. He sat me down again. I quickly took another peek so I could size up my surroundings. One of the guys from my trip was laying face-down, his hands behind his back. There were a few quiet sobs. The men sat someone next to me and then behind me. I felt the same dry hands tie a rope around my wrists. Then a cloth covered my head.

A voice repeated he word “agua” over and over again. One of the men was offering water to us. He grabbed my chin and gave me a few big gulps. Convinced the water was drugged, I let as much as I could dribble out the corner of my mouth.

I started to hear sounds that I couldn’t exactly place. Guns loading? The men announced that they would move us along a fence. My mind was racing: Why were they going to put us in a line? They were sick. They were going to pick us off one by one.

But after they moved me, I heard more strange sounds. It sounded like zippers. They were going through our stuff again while we sat along the fence. The robbers then told us that we were not to move for two hours. Afterward, we had to wait almost another two hours for another van to come pick us up. While most of us remained in Guatemala for the rest of the trip, some went home early. I stayed.

Our cell phones, our cameras, our iPods, even some of our hats are probably being sold as I write this. But all of those are just personal items; I was just thankful to get away with my life. After I got back, though, and away from the immediate fear that gripped my body, I was able to reflect more on my experience.

On the flight home, I missed my precious belongings when the flight attendant asked the passengers to turn off cell phones or when other travelers flipped through the pictures on their digital cameras. ‘I would totally use my electronics if I still had them,’ I thought.

Then it hit me. What was wrong with me? Was I not the same girl who was in awe of Guatemalan people’s simple lifestyles just days before – lifestyles that didn’t include electronics? The thought actually crossed my mind, ‘Maybe those men were right to rob me. Maybe I’m acting like a spoiled American with money.’

While I was crossing country borders, I realized I’d crossed cultural ones too. Right now, the American mindset is all about “going green” and getting rid of the extravagance that uses up too much of our natural resources. But oftentimes, we forget about the little luxuries we do have. Many people in Guatemala don’t even have the choice to have cell phones. I had chosen to immerse myself in a culture where digital cameras and iPods weren’t a part of everyday life. Being caught between cultures brought a sense of guilt over me, despite the fact that I was the one who was robbed at gunpoint.

I could make up any reason for why the men robbed us in the first place. They could’ve thought we were rich, spoiled American kids. On the other hand, since the men were so “friendly” to us by giving us water and shade, they were probably so poor that they had to rob us just to get by.

Adjusting to being back home was a lot harder than I would have expected it to be. Not only did I have to cope with bad weather and bland food, I had to explain to my professors and my friends that I was kidnapped. I told my parents while I was still in Guatemala, and of course, they were afraid and felt helpless that they couldn’t do anything about it. When I finally arrived home, they had a day or two to succumb to the fact that I was OK.

I received the most “poor baby” remarks after the news stories ran a few days later in The State News and national media. Suddenly, the words “kidnapping” and “molestation” were starting to define me rather than the good work I’d done. One reporter was so angered that none of us wanted to talk to her that she wrote a story implying that we made the robbery up, calling us “alleged victims” and reduced the work we’d done from making hiking trails to “digging trenches.”

Now with the great advances in online articles, every Joe Schmo can throw in his two cents and say that we were stupid for going to Latin America in the first place or that we got what we deserved for volunteering in another country before our own. Someone even said that Latin America was a “horrible place filled with horrible people.”

But despite all this, the 11 o
f us have really come together and formed a support system for each other. The comfort we tried to instill in each other during the robbery with gentle reassuring nudges and slight grasping of hands is the same comfort we’re still seeking back home in the U.S. We relied on each other’s strength as we tried to move the van which was stuck on a rock. After our return, we’re still checking in with each other just to make sure we’re all holding up after the media frenzy. We are living the slogan of Nueva Alianza: “La union hace la fuerza.” The union makes the force.

What we still worry about, though, is that the story of our trip threatens to mean more than our trip itself. Beneath all the hype about the robbery, the people of Nueva Alianza are forgotten. Our friends, family and reporters back here in the U.S. are closing their own eyes to our work, which will help that community of warm people build up their tourism, economy and their lives. And that is worth a lot more than just a couple of iPods. 

 

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At Gunpoint in Guatemala

The men with double-barreled guns forced their way into the van. One climbed into the front seat, held a gun to the driver’s temple and forced him to speed up, make a sharp turn and crash through a barbed wire fence, leading us into a field. The tires ran on crunchy leaves before we came to a sudden stop. The driver floored the gas, but the van wouldn’t budge. We were stuck.
The Guatemalan air, which just a minute before had smelled of the sugarcane that dominates much of the countryside, lost its sweetness.
We were on our way to Lake Atitlan to relax after a hard week of developing the tourism industry of Nueva Alianza, a village in Guatemala. Part of an alternative spring break, we had spent our time carving out biking trails and swimming holes, meeting a mix of warm and friendly people. We were enamored by the lifestyles we saw and were able to become a part of – people working long and hard days for the greater good of the community. It was refreshing to be a part of this over spring break, rather than the typical college spring-break tradition of building up the liquor industry in Palm Beach, Fla., like most of our peers were busy doing.
But after that week of taxing manual labor, we were ready for a reward. Swelling with a sense of accomplishment, 11 of us piled into our van and set out to with our drivers to take some time to lay out in the sun at Lake Atitlan, the deepest lake in Central America.
We never made it.
We passed through slums tucked in lush greenery, roadside stands, and pick-up trucks with pre-teen boys lounging in the bed. The farther along we went there were more rusted buildings and more women walking up to the van attempting to sell a bag of mangoes to make a buck. Despite it being a poor part of Guatemala – in fact, more than 75 percent of the country lives below the poverty line – it held a charming beauty.
[zahkia2]But while closing in on our destination, the drivers of the van showed us the ‘paso mysterioso,’ a stretch of downward-sloping highway that our van was attempting to climb. As the van was defying gravity, a truck sped up next to us. Instead of pre-teen boys lounging in the bed, these were armed men, with guns aimed at the driver and at us. They were shouting, “Close your eyes!”
My spine had never been so stiff. While I had known Mexico has been in the news for attacks against both locals and tourists, I had never expected to find it here. I felt the side door open and harsh sunlight hit my face. I had to be completely still while the men – anywhere from four to seven of them – took our belongings. My dad’s Yankees cap was snatched from my head. My MSU bag with my cameras and wallet I’d just replaced two months prior slid from my lap. My iPod was taken right after that too. I didn’t budge a muscle.
After they had everything of value from me, I wished the men would just leave. But then dry hands grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the van. I tried to convince myself that this was not really happening.
I peeked through a downward gaze so I could orient myself the best I could. I saw dry, yellowish-brown leaves. They sat me down. Bugs were biting at my ankles and buzzing in my ears, but I didn’t dare swat them. I wasn’t even supposed to be there.
This was really happening.
One of the men picked me up by the arm and patted me down, though it felt more disgusting than just a general search. He sat me down again. I quickly took another peek so I could size up my surroundings. One of the guys from my trip was laying face-down, his hands behind his back. There were a few quiet sobs. The men sat someone next to me and then behind me. I felt the same dry hands tie a rope around my wrists. Then a cloth covered my head.
A voice repeated he word “agua” over and over again. One of the men was offering water to us. He grabbed my chin and gave me a few big gulps. Convinced the water was drugged, I let as much as I could dribble out the corner of my mouth.
I started to hear sounds that I couldn’t exactly place. Guns loading? The men announced that they would move us along a fence. My mind was racing: Why were they going to put us in a line? They were sick. They were going to pick us off one by one.
But after they moved me, I heard more strange sounds. It sounded like zippers. They were going through our stuff again while we sat along the fence. The robbers then told us that we were not to move for two hours. Afterward, we had to wait almost another two hours for another van to come pick us up. While most of us remained in Guatemala for the rest of the trip, some went home early. I stayed.
Our cell phones, our cameras, our iPods, even some of our hats are probably being sold as I write this. But all of those are just personal items; I was just thankful to get away with my life. After I got back, though, and away from the immediate fear that gripped my body, I was able to reflect more on my experience.
On the flight home, I missed my precious belongings when the flight attendant asked the passengers to turn off cell phones or when other travelers flipped through the pictures on their digital cameras. ‘I would totally use my electronics if I still had them,’ I thought.
Then it hit me. What was wrong with me? Was I not the same girl who was in awe of Guatemalan people’s simple lifestyles just days before – lifestyles that didn’t include electronics? The thought actually crossed my mind, ‘Maybe those men were right to rob me. Maybe I’m acting like a spoiled American with money.’
[zahkia1]While I was crossing country borders, I realized I’d crossed cultural ones too. Right now, the American mindset is all about “going green” and getting rid of the extravagance that uses up too much of our natural resources. But oftentimes, we forget about the little luxuries we do have. Many people in Guatemala don’t even have the choice to have cell phones. I had chosen to immerse myself in a culture where digital cameras and iPods weren’t a part of everyday life. Being caught between cultures brought a sense of guilt over me, despite the fact that I was the one who was robbed at gunpoint.
I could make up any reason for why the men robbed us in the first place. They could’ve thought we were rich, spoiled American kids. On the other hand, since the men were so “friendly” to us by giving us water and shade, they were probably so poor that they had to rob us just to get by.
Adjusting to being back home was a lot harder than I would have expected it to be. Not only did I have to cope with bad weather and bland food, I had to explain to my professors and my friends that I was kidnapped. I told my parents while I was still in Guatemala, and of course, they were afraid and felt helpless that they couldn’t do anything about it. When I finally arrived home, they had a day or two to succumb to the fact that I was OK.
I received the most “poor baby” remarks after the news stories ran a few days later in The State News and national media. Suddenly, the words “kidnapping” and “molestation” were starting to define me rather than the good work I’d done. One reporter was so angered that none of us wanted to talk to her that she wrote a story implying that we made the robbery up, calling us “alleged victims” and reduced the work we’d done from making hiking trails to “digging trenches.”
Now with the great advances in online articles, every Joe Schmo can throw in his two cents and say that we were stupid for going to Latin America in the first place or that we got what we deserved for volunteering in another country before our own. Someone even said that Latin America was a “horrible place filled with horrible people.”
But despite all this, the 11 of us have really come together and formed a support system for each other. The comfort we tried to instill in each other during the robbery with gentle reassuring nudges and slight grasping of hands is the same comfort we’re still seeking back home in the U.S. We relied on each other’s strength as we tried to move the van which was stuck on a rock. After our return, we’re still checking in with each other just to make sure we’re all holding up after the media frenzy. We are living the slogan of Nueva Alianza: “La union hace la fuerza.” The union makes the force.
What we still worry about, though, is that the story of our trip threatens to mean more than our trip itself. Beneath all the hype about the robbery, the people of Nueva Alianza are forgotten. Our friends, family and reporters back here in the U.S. are closing their own eyes to our work, which will help that community of warm people build up their tourism, economy and their lives. And that is worth a lot more than just a couple of iPods.

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