Travels 2.0 by Safia Southey

Five years ago I wrote up a list of some of my favorite travel experiences - and now, at 110 countries, I thought it was time to provide some updates!

In 2018, my classmate said to me, “I really want to go to Crimea but none of my friends are willing to go with me–you go to pretty wild places, want to come along?” And of course I did, followed by a week of gallivanting through Simferopol, Sevastopol, and other gorgeous Crimean cities, stumbling across local fairs filled with pirogues and plov and Tatar dancing, studying for finals. We ran out of money before the end of our trip and couldn’t take out any more due to sanctions, but we just about made it until we were able to leave and head to Moscow. There, we spent Russian Independence Day watching tanks run down the street and jets scream above our heads.

That same year, my friend and I embarked on a road trip through every tiny city in Europe I had previously missed. While on a mission to get lunch in Lichtenstein, we ended up traveling through at least four countries in a day (Lichtenstein, Germany, Switzerland, Austria). We often slept in the car, waking up to the sunrise above Strasbourg and Munich.

In 2019, I went on a one month trip with my father through Southern Africa. We went scuba diving in Cape Town, saw sand dunes in Namibia, safari’d in Botswana, bungee jumped in Zambia, spent New Year’s Eve camped out in Zimbabwe, white water rafted through Victoria Falls, dove with sea lions in Mozambique, nearly got kicked out of the country on our way to Swaziland, and saw the world’s saddest waterfall in Lesotho (and possibly got malaria there as well).

2020–I finally embarked on my long dreamt of trip to Central Asia. Filled with chaos and beauty at every turn, I am still shocked that I emerged alive from that trip. Seeing gorgeous Islamic architecture and blue tiling, finding a cargo ship/ferry to take me across the Caspian Sea (and getting hit on by the captain), hitchhiking from the boat to a small town in Kazakhstan, being invited into random homes for lunch, then getting suck in that town with no money and having to barter my headphones for a ride across the border into Uzbekistan, etc.

In December 2019, I met my incredible partner–the beginning of many adventures. Teaching Cole to scuba dive in Hawaii, coffee tasting in Columbia, getting kicked out of Barbados for having the wrong PCR test, diving with sharks in the Maldives (where I got so hungover on my last night I could barely leave the hotel), visiting (nearly) every cathedral in France, sleeping in the Barcelona airport after messing up on 24-hour time, exploring the Amazon Rainforest in Ecuador (my country #100!!!!!), climbing 300 vertical meters to visit the Tiger Cave in Thailand in the pouring rain, finding him rabies shots after being bitten by a monkey on a jetski, and wandering around Angkor while delirious from heat stroke.

Spring 2022, walking through Israel with my mother, seeing where I had taken my first steps at the Wailing Wall, visiting Masada, spending time with my momma. 

Summer 2022, I visited my dad in Rwanda, and together we crossed the border in the DRC. There, we hiked hours to see East African gorillas and watch families of primates roll around in the forest and groom each other. We visited a Chimpanzee Rehabilitation Centre, met a local community of native Pygmy people, and drove through the countryside with anti-UN killings and escalating going on just a few kilometers away.

Later that summer, I spent a week with my best friends in Porto, eating the best sardines of my life made by Hannah and grilled by Grace, drinking Port, playing music until 3am every night, and reading by the beach.

And still that same summer, I hitchhiked for two weeks around Morocco. Losing my passport on day 1, we searched through the desert to try to find the diving school car that had it. Being contacted a week later on Twitter that some man saw it in a different town and let me know where to find it–and it was there! Sadly at the same time, my mother had mailed me my other passport, which was apparently illegal, and it is still to this day being held by Moroccan authorities.  

December 2022, I went hitchhiking again, but this time in West Africa! My friend Jake and I rode on top of a 20-hour iron-ore train through the Sahara desert in Mauritania (on Christmas), which was one of the most beautiful and peaceful experiences of my life. We hitched a ride with the ambassador to Senegal, who gave us a place to stay, papers to cross the border, and even cash that he insisted was worthless to him. Jake and I were nearly stranded in many places that trip, sitting in the sun outside Chinguetti listening to early 2010s music, riding busses and motorbikes on our long journey to and from King Kunta Island in The Gambia. We often found ourselves in the middle of nowhere and loved absolutely all of it. 

After celebrating the best day of my life on June 17 in Sitges, Spain, Cole and I embarked on an adventure. Our time in Thailand and Cambodia was filled with white water rafting, lots of scuba (he got his advanced license!), zip lining, hitchhiking, actual hiking, a cooking lesson, hot springs, jetski (where Cole got bit by a monkey oh no), rock climbing, temple hopping, and more. BUT, he had to leave our trip because he got his dream job, leaving me to explore all of Vietnam solo. I made my way up the coast via hitchhiking on the backs of motorbikes and sleeping on busses, walking 15 miles a day in the 95 degree heat and reading like a maniac. The trip culminated with a three day motorbike tour through the Ha Giang loop, where I wound through mountains and clouds, through lush green mountains and torrential rain, through red mud and the most beautiful landscapes of my life, in a place seemingly untouched by time. 

I ended my South East Asia trip by visiting my dad in AlUla, Saudi Arabia, which was filled with gorgeous landscapes and protected areas and history and culture. There, I decided to run 3 miles at noon in 105º heat, of course immediately giving me heat stroke from which I was only recovered by a sunset picnic at Elephant Rock with delicious Pakistani food and pink lines running through the sky. 

I am very excited for the future, and where the rest of my travels take me. :)

Vietnam by Safia Southey

Hello all! One of my goals for this year was to write a short piece on all my heftier trips, and so I wanted to share a bit about my recent trip to Vietnam. After an incredible trip through Thailand and Cambodia, Cole had to return to work, leaving me with the perfect opportunity to explore Vietnam on my own. Armed with a visa with an expiration date and a desire to immerse myself in the country's beauty, I set out on a two-week adventure to nine cities. While this blog was initially written as a journal, I hope it will serve as an informative account of my experiences in Vietnam.

 July 9, hitchhike to Ho Chi Minh (6h)

  • Main sites: Ben Thanh Market, Nguyen Hue Street, Book Street, waterfront

  • Incredible hitches from Phnom Penh to Saigon! One man in a taxi took me all the way to the border, and a family picked me up there and took me to HCM. They even took me to lunch - noodles, it was really nice. They had a 10-year-old son with perfect English who gave me a Pokémon card, a really sweet boy. He was missing a hand, I’m curious if that’s an after-effect of the war and use of Agent Orange.

  • Absolutely obsessed with Saigon, it was incredible and lively and bustling and overall really cool. Lots of markets and nice restaurants, not too touristy but very international nonetheless. It still had a very authentic feel to it - I just absolutely loved wandering through the city at night. I walked a ton and even found a book street! I ate summer rolls with peanut sauce and a passion fruit juice at the main market, and couldn’t get over how nice and fresh the food was in comparison to Cambodia and Thailand. It was like Bangkok + Paris + New York, but with none of the aggression. It had a beautiful waterfront and lots of green spaces, felt very clean and safe, but also very hip and edgy - a grunge that I really appreciate. Big ups. 

 July 10, day in Ho Chi Minh, overnight bus to Dalat (10pm-6am)

  • Main sites: cathedral, War Remnants Museum, Central Post Office, Saigon Opera House, A O show, Ben Nghe Food Market

  • Wandering around Saigon during the day was a bit hot and devastating. I got a coffee and sat by the water, saw all the things I wanted to see. Cried a bit at the War Remnants Museum, in the Agent Orange section. I got really bored and homesick and tired and hung out in a mall food court for a while, once I checked out of the hotel and had nowhere to go. Traveling solo can be a bit devastating at times, especially in the heat. Went to a touristy performance at the opera house - so weird, and impressive - definitely didn’t regret it but it was a wild experience. Then I went and got on my night bus! Definitely a trying day but taught me a lot - also I spent the day listening to a long podcast on the Vietnam War and it really did teach me a whole lot.

 July 11, day tour in Dalat, hitch to Nha Trang

  • Woke up from the night bus and went into a tour of the Dalat countryside! It was really quite lovely, we saw animals at a coffee shop where they make weasel and elephant poop coffee (which smelled incredible but I didn’t try), and saw a beekeeping place and tried the honey and larvae. We saw two waterfalls - one much more spectacular than the next, and I sat while watching them and reminisced about the summer and how lovely it was. We saw a giant lady Buddha and I climbed up her, and got nice pho. I made friends with a British man who I got along quite well with, he reminded me of my dad. After a final coffee shop / flower garden stop, I got dropped off on a highway to hitch to my next location. Vietnam has an abundance of motorbikes and a lack of cars, so my first three hitches (starting at 5pm, in vaguely rainy weather), were all on the backs of motorbikes. I finally got let off an hour from Dalat and really didn’t know what to do, I was in the middle of nowhere, when a man in a limo van came and generously picked me up to go to Nha Trang. He blasted house music and we fully had a rave in his car, it was so much fun, even though he barely spoke a word of English. I finally got to Nha Trang and could feel the energy of the city, and was very happy and energized and exhilarated from the hitchhiking journey (although it kind of put me off hitchhiking for the rest of the trip).

 July 12, day in Nha Trang, overnight bus (9:15pm-8am)

  • Did some work at the hotel and then walked all around. I saw a local performance at Ponagar Temple (very cool structure) and got a bahn mi sandwich from a cart on the road. It was quite nice and very cheap. I laid on the beach for a while and went swimming, the town was a bit touristy but overall very lively. I walked an hour towards the bus station but then got bored and hitchhiked a ride on a motorbike to the bus. The man was quite sweet and gave me 100k Vietnamese (~$5), despite my attempts to return the money. I met a group of German students traveling around as well while waiting for our bus. 

July 13, Da Nang day trip from Bac Nam

  • The bus was late coming in and I had to run to the meeting place for the day tour, but luckily made it. The tour was a strange adventure through a French-themed amusement park - saw the Golden Bridge which was my goal, a bridge held up with giant hands in the sky. I ate delicious Vietnamese doughnuts, these fried sesame balls, and a chicken sausage on a stick. The park was up in the mountains (we used cable car) and had a beautiful view of the water down below.

  • Bus to Hoi An, 5:30-6:30pm

  • Hoi An was beautiful, absolutely breathtaking. It was a town straight out of Spirited Away, all lit up with food carts and lanterns in the sky and on the water. There was an extensive night market with trinkets and homemade goods, and the streets were lined with incredibly cheap beautiful clothing, as the town is known for its tailored suits and outfits. I regret not getting a dress. I wandered around, watched the boats all lit up on the water, with candles and lanterns peppered between them. There was live music and lots of exciting restaurants and bars. I had a tofu Vietnamese rice paper “pizza” from a street cart, and got a couple cheap beers from the local mart to enjoy at my homestay. Definitely my favorite location.

 July 14, spend half day in Hoi An

  • Spent the morning wandering Hoi An, walking about 10 miles through rice fields and the beach, while listening to Pride and Prejudice. Considered buying some outfits but sadly didn’t. Instead, I got a bit more sunburned while enjoying the vast green fields and water along the way. I ate a nice chicken rice dish with fish sauce before my bus, which was another sleeper that I consistently find strangely cozy and nice.

  • Bus to Hue (12:45, Hoi An Full Moon Bus - 16:45, Tbus Hue)

  • Hue is very cool - breezy, open, not as busy as HCM but still has a lively downtown walking area. I walked through all those areas to the boardwalk where there were some nice boats, and then across the bridge to where the imperial city sits. Big Times Square vibes - a little gaudy and bright, doesn’t feel as personable, less of a unique local culture. Found a cool night food market with local food, got myself a nice pho - I should figure out how to read all the different menu items. I rarely order pho because it requires you to sit down and the people watch you eat and I feel self-conscious, I rather walk away with my food, but tonight was alright. All the kids waved and said hello to me (something I experienced throughout my entire trip). I walked 14 miles and drank roughly 5 liters of water today. I’m getting very good at walking in front of motorbikes, although I am a bit homesick for my friends in New York.

July 15, half day in Hue, imperial city

  • I had a lovely morning exploring Hue and the imperial city. The imperial ruins were very impressive and spread out, the history was impressive and visible and I enjoyed wandering about. The city itself was cool, but a little cold (personality-wise) and didn’t make a big impression on me. I crossed the water and saw interesting growths in the ponds, and then after a brief reprieve in the hotel to charge up, I walked along the canal to the train station. It was really quite beautiful and verdant and clean; the heat is impacting me less and less, and I feel okay as long as I drink lots of water. Waiting for the train now, just had a lovely rice dish with some pork and shrimp. The train was delayed but the station has air conditioning and wifi and I am comfortable reading until it arrives. I need to do laundry desperately.

  • Train to Dong Hoi (13:41 - 16:41)

  • Hang in Dong Hoi - I made a friend in the train here! A young Iranian British girl, very cool. After a fine train ride - my first in Vietnam - my new friend and I decided to wander the city. We walked down the Main Street until about found the water, and then we located the walking street filled with food carts. Had a really great bahn mi, and we ate together by the water. We got along really well, talked about family and school and planned future trips to South America and Iran. She eventually left for the next city and I began my way back to the train station, taking a detour across the bridge. It feels like Los Angeles: a bit bright, wide streets, there may be interesting things but they’re not easily found.

  • Overnight train to Hanoi (10:43pm-10:35am), annoyingly bright

July 16, Hanoi (Hanoi Charming House)

  • Beautiful morning on the train, not the best sleep of my life because people didn’t turn all the lights off but overall I think better than the busses. Or at least equal - the trains have full chargers which is nice, and better views.

  • Wandered Hanoi through tiny side streets, a souk style market, clothing/fabric area (lots of silks), beautiful water area with bridge and surrounding park, all very lively even when I got out of the immediate center. Walked through the national park and saw the more beautiful pink flowers. Walked past another outdoors clothes market, this one filled with camouflage and military gear, some of it American - unclear whether any of it authentic. Headed back through the main downtown market area, ate the best lunch of my entire trip by far (even though it cost a whole $5!!!), and saved half of it for dinner which made it all super worth it.

  • Very cool night market, the whole street becomes like a huge party filled with lights and food and excitement. Very fun - even though I was very tired and wired, which made it a bit overwhelming. I have no idea how they set up so many stalls, for streets and streets! It was incredibly impressive and extensive, filled with absolutely everything. There was even a pottery painting shop / activity that took over a whole block!

 July 17-20, Hanoi & Transport to Ha Giang

  • Main sites: Imperial Citadel of Thang Long, Chùa Tran Quoc, Phu Chu titch, and the Lenin Park

  • Woke up tired and homesick. Yikes. Explored some more, walked through the lively downtown area to a more open space full of grand official buildings. This area was really cool and green, felt like the Buckingham Palace part of London - very formal and curated, less “wild” than downtown. Walked part way across the bridge to admire the large Ho Tay body of water. Along the way, just in the street, I saw people playing board games, getting haircuts, gathering around food, selling clothing and other random goods, playing music. It made me really happy to people watch and explore. In retrospect, it feels like an older population than Saigon, but that might be a product of younger tourism there. I also passed by a lovely flower market! All the outdoor shops made a lovely sight to walk through. After a quick stop by the hotel to check out, I got a bahn mi sandwich, filled up my water at a potable water station, and found a bench by the park to eat and hang out! Wandering afterwards, I stumbled across a variety of parks and even a cathedral! Cole would be happy. Very few tall modern buildings; architecture looks like it’s from the 60-90s, it’s not built up like Bangkok (or at least not the part I’ve been in). It’s really easy to wander for hours and barely repeat. Hard for me to figure out what I like more, HCM or Hanoi. Hanoi has more room to explore and is a bit more chaotic, which I typically love, but made me feel a bit suffocated and overwhelmed when things really filled up at night. HCM was more curated and calm but still really intensely cool.

  • Bus ride to Ha Giang was absolutely gorgeous - incredible mountain silhouettes and a very orangey red sunset that overlaid everything. Villages and temples and towns peppered the road there, along with vast fields and rice paddies. The deep red dirt is such a contract to the US and makes everything feel more dreamlike and intense in comparison.  The sky began to look somewhat smokey like it was on fire, until it was all a blaze of red. The colors were vibrant beyond compare - and then suddenly, the sky was black. We stopped for lunch and I had a rice tofu dish, which I had actually been craving.

  • During these last two days I’ve been reading more social justice books and they’ve been invigorating and intense.  I also have been listening to music on this bus, and I think that’s what I’ve been missing this last week: music. Much happier.

 July 18-20, Ha Giang Loop: three day motorbike loops through the north of Vietnam!

  • Day 1, it’s already so fun - rainy and wet and windy and scary. With a group of people, winding through mountains and agricultural areas. Lots of rice paddies, children waving and saying hi, people doing work and not caring about us much. We stopped about every 15k to take photos and chill. It was very beautiful and dreamlike. Been taking the opportunity to reflect on the book I’m reading and thinking about growth and happiness, take account of what I’m grateful for and how I can best use my privilege to redistribute power. We were all so exhausted by the end of the day but it was so worth it. It’s hard to express the experience of these days, a lot of breezing through mountains and villages and agricultural spaces. It was incredibly to see how people in this part of the country live. The loop is a relatively recent development, and so it was interesting to see how locals still got very excited by our presence, instead of being frustrated by it (although that might change in coming years). 

  • Day 2, breakfast and then on the road! Incredibly foggy, felt like we were driving through clouds. It was like we were moving through landscape paintings with the fog and sun just vaguely peering through, the rain lightly drizzling on us to make it a full adventure. Looked like a different planet, like land that time forgot - like dinosaurs are going to pop out at any moment. It’s incredibly lush and intense. Switching elevation so often that we’d pass through the clouds, sometimes it’d seem like they were rising from the ground, and other them when it’d be descending from high above. Some roads were very rough and unpaved; puddle and gravel filled the way. With the weather, I’m happy I didn’t drive it myself. I got quite emotional thinking about how lucky I am to have adventures like these and to live a life surrounded by love.

  • Incredibly cute children in the middle of this gorgeous landscape. I can’t believe people just live here. Some of the young boys dressed in berets and played the flute, as there used to be a major architect / flute player who dressed like that and lived in the area, becoming a major celebrity and role model for the children. We stopped at a French military base, very magical. Astonishing rock structures - some really black, lava like rocks too - and green just bursting through everywhere.  The fog made it incredible, I started crying a couple times; definitely a moment of “awe.”

  • After we finished driving on day 2, we swam in a nearby lake, and had a little party. All the drivers would come up and have us take shots of “happy water” (a type of corn wine) with them. We must have had around 15, on top of several beers. People were dancing and singing - overall a very exciting time, plus we were celebrating my driver’s alleged birthday which made it all the more wild.

  • Day 3, the first hot day! It was a whole new perspective, without the rain and the fog - just bountiful green and bright sun. We stopped by a lake at one point with the clearest water, the air absolutely filled with butterflies and dragonflies. It was straight out of a fairytale.

  • Eventually, we all got back on a bus to Hanoi, followed by a boring evening and a flight to Laos - but this is where my Vietnam travelog ends!

 

OVERVIEW / MAIN THOUGHTS RE VIETNAM AS A COUNTRY:

  • Real care for fashion and style, all the young people looked very cool 

  • Kind, welcoming, safe, even after dark. I never even once felt unsafe, and it wasn’t as aggressive as, say, Bangkok

  • Thriving local culture, lots of community spaces including public parks and bodies of water; people were always out doing things together

  • If you visit, Ho Chi Minh City, Hoi An, and Hanoi are total musts - everything else was interesting, but those three were definitely the best and some of the coolest cities/places I’ve ever visited in my life

  • Incredible street food - very good and consistent in quality and price

    • For reference, 10,000 ($0.42) for a 1.5L water or can of beer at a minimart, 20-30,000 ($0.85-1.27) for street food like bahn mi or pho, 50,000 ($2.11) for bigger dishes from local restaurants

    • Bun cha was my favorite but there was always a variety of bread, rice, and noodle dishes to choose from

    • There were also nice cafes and restaurants, although I didn’t frequent those – although they didn’t seem to be for the exclusive use of tourists, which was nice

  • Abundance of fresh fruit and juices and sugar cane

  • Deep care for coffee

 

I'm grateful for the privilege of having such incredible adventures and the opportunity to learn and grow through travel. Vietnam, thank you for an unforgettable experience!

Things I have learned from a year in London  by Safia Southey

I am a New Yorker to the bottom of my core 

London is incredible diverse if you define diversity in terms of white Europeans

You never know how much the sun really matters until it disappears

Those double decker busses are scary when you’re on a bike 

£20 theater tickets to see random Doctor Who actors live are a major win 

Conflict studies at LSE = Irish civil war 

How can so a city with so much history be so bland 

The north and the south are not friends 

If you thought the number of Starbucks in New York was bad, just wait until you process how many Prets there are in London (but I do love that subscription plan)

Electric bikes are incredible

As many strikes as Paris but people don’t get that into it so it’s less fun 

Please for the love of god find me a cafe / restaurant / pub that is not a chain 

These subways are so deep???? 

New Yorkers and Londoners are both alcoholics but in NY it’s classy with cocktail bars and wine nights rather than just chugging piNTS OUTDOORS

Things cost the same as New York but people get paid way less so idk how that works 

French men are annoying no matter where you are in the world 

However, this city does make Paris seem acceptable by comparison 

London is if Columbia was a city - and by that I mean harshly corporate and neoliberal in its core identity 

Foxes are just abound ? Definitively a win 

West Africa Reflections by Safia Southey

When you put your trust in people, they reciprocate. When hitchhiking, you are able to jump into people’s worlds for minutes to hours, (from 1km to 453km), learning about their families, jobs, politics. It is a deep dive, the absolute fastest way into learning about a new place. People are shocked that you are visiting their home and want to hear your thoughts on their country, sharing what they are most proud of. Others want to discuss U.S. politics, asking how you feel about AOC and McCarthy. Some don’t speak the same language or aren’t particularly interested in speaking at all–they just saw you on the side of the road and wanted to give you a ride.

After 93 rides through Mauritania, Senegal, The Gambia, and Guinea Bissau with an average wait time of 6 minutes, it is hard to believe in anything other than the innate goodness of people. The rides vary from Land Cruisers to motorcycles to commercial trucks to locomotives to government vehicles to construction equipment. Nobody asks for money, unless there is a miscommunication; more people attempted to give us money than asked for it. They get concerned for our safety, are impressed by our distance traveled, and all are insistent that we come back and have a meal with their family.

Mauritania was potentially the best singular country experience of my life, nearly completely due to the people we met. When exploring–through cities, fishing ports, the camel market–people seemed unfazed by us, so unused to the experience of tourists that they often didn’t process our existence. We were able to walk through their lives as observers, very unlike the typical travel experience of things moving around you. Every person we came across was extraordinarily kind and helpful, giving us snacks and tea as we rode with them, telling us about new development in the country, what industries were thriving, the intricacies of certain social political dynamics. Someone even provided us with papers to fast track the Senegalese border, just because he could. Many asked for help getting an American visa. We were somewhat nervous about the experience riding on top of the Iron Ore train, as while we knew it wasn’t illegal, we weren’t sure whether people would try to persuade us not to go–however, when we got to the train, we were surrounded by smiles and waves by miners, train inspectors, locals, and police. The only negative experience was when someone thought we were French, which makes sense given the former French colonial presence. When we corrected them, they were incredibly pleased and gave us a high five.

Traveling south from Mauritanian to Senegal was somewhat jarring–after being completely inundated by the Sahara, crossing the border, you see the sand fall away and the landscape come green and lush in a matter of kilometers. The clothes turn colorful and form fitting, the food becomes spicier, and the music starts to sound like drums and excitement. Power dynamics between different local racial groups become less pronounced, white tourists are suddenly visible, and cities become taller and more developed. Snickers and Speculoos disappear, to my disappointment. Fewer people ask us to have dinner with their families and stay at their houses (which seems to be a very Middle Eastern / North African phenomenon), but they remain incredibly kind, excited to talk to us about America, local politics, law school, our families, their families (always with many kids, and sometimes many wives), upcoming construction projects, the impacts of colonialism, etc. We talk to people about our travels, as well as theirs, with many having traveled throughout Europe and Africa for work and for pleasure. Southern Senegal was particularly gorgeous, filled with marshes and greenery everywhere you look. In one car, we discussed the role of climate change, and how domestic wealth inequality has been negatively impacting the environment, drying up wetlands. Bats and palm trees peppered pink and purple skies.

Entering The Gambia was particularly exciting for us given that they speak English (I can only speak so much French). After waking up beachside, we waited for hours for a ferry from Banjul to Berra with hundreds of Gambians trying to get to work, selling snacks and water to their fellow passengers, visiting family. Mere kilometers from the city, we were plunged into the depths of rural Gambia, a beautiful and lively tree-laden, dirt-pathed loop around the country, filled with small villages, young children playing on the street, farms, donkeys, old ladies sitting outside, school busses, and motorbikes (several of which picked us up on our way to Kunta Kinte island, despite having no way to communicate with us whatsoever). The shift between urban and rural in all these countries was quite stark, with clear wealth inequality and differences in physical development. Surprisingly, Gambia felt more remote than parts of Mauritania that were completely embedded in the Sahara, probably because Mauritania depends extensively on foreign products (making American candy available even in the smallest towns), while Gambian villages were widely self-sufficient, making them feel more “foreign” in many ways. We met lots of expats and repatriates: a Gambian man who now works as a taxi driver in Scotland, Lebanese men who own a chocolate shop in Banjul, a British doctor who moved to Gambia.  

Guinea Bissau was completely under construction, with every road in the capital being rebuilt with funding from China. It’s a country that runs on natural beauty, plagued by a history of coups and colonialism. There are saltwater surf hippos and hundreds of baby nesting sea turtles–none of which we got to see, as there is only one ferry that runs to the main archipelago every 1-2 weeks. There existed an absurd number of taxis and busses, donkeys were replaced by hogs, French replaced by Portuguese. It was gorgeous, and very, very hot.

I can’t help but feel some of the trust and generosity we encountered stems from cultural factors, a focus on the community and the family. According to my travel buddy Jake’s statistics, which were taken over dozens of countries all over the world, the lowest wait times are in Muslim regions, which fits with my personal experience. When talking to friends and family, I was often asked, “what do they get in return,” “are you trading sexual favors for rides,” “aren’t you afraid of kidnapping,” etc. I really cannot express how deeply safe it feels to be in these cars, where people are more concerned for you than you are for yourself, who want to make sure you get to your destination, who want to make sure you are okay. These experiences force you to consider the individualistic tendencies of western culture, as there is a clear distinction. When you visit a new country, you drink the tea. You eat the food. You talk to the people. You share your world with them, and they share theirs with you. Coming in with a sense of distrust deprives you of the full experience. You must embrace everything–and honestly, hitchhiking is the fullest embrace I have experienced yet.

The Mirrors of Russian Doll by Safia Southey

The 2019 eight-episode comedy-drama series Russian Doll is fraught with seemingly miniscule references and motifs that subtly drive the show forward. The plot centers on Nadia Vulvakov (played and created by Natasha Lyonne) and Alan Zaveri (portrayed by Charlie Barnett), two individuals who are trapped in a Groundhog Day-style time loop. However, instead of “rebooting” every morning, they simply die, taking them back to their original placement: Nadia at her birthday party, and Alan at his apartment just before his girlfriend breaks up with him. Only when they are able to examine their inner demons (at times literally) and conquer their insecurities can they truly save each other. There are many subtle analogies scattered throughout the series, including addiction and recovery, and video games, as noted explicitly in the show by Nadia Vulvakov, a game developer herself. However, this essay will delve into an object analysis of season one of the show, studying the repeated references of mirrors and their significance to demonstrate that Russian Doll uses mirrors as a physical demonstration of how individuals handle their inner turmoil.

 

Framework

Throughout Russian Doll, mirrors and identity are closely interrelated. Mirrors represent an outside look into the inner self, and in studying Nadia and Alan’s interaction with their own reflections, it becomes clear that they are not fundamentally willing to explore the deeper side to themselves, their “inner demons.”  The import of the mirrors, and the framework that we will be using for analysis, is most clearly defined in episode six, “Reflection,” during which we learn that Nadia’s mother, played by Chloë Sevigny, shattered all the household mirrors while Nadia was young during an undiagnosed mental health episode. When Alan enquires into “why mirrors,” to which Nadia’s aunt Ruth answers: “Reflection. Proof of existence. Another pair of eyes. See, that’s why therapists are important. Without them, we are very unreliable narrators of our own stories” (5:35). Later in that same episode, Nadia asks her friend, a homeless man named Horse (portrayed by Brendon Sexton III), “How do you know that you’re real? Do you think that we need people to be, like, witnesses?” (17:18). These moments seem almost inconsequential if not examined through the lens of the entire show. Ignoring the fact that the entire show is a series of mirrored sequences, due to Alan and Nadia continuously repeating the same night (up to roughly 24 hours later), the show is filled with references to mirrors. From the starting show to book references to camera shots, mirrors follow us throughout the season, becoming a metaphor for the need to stop relying on others to determine who you are and prove your reality, and to rather do it yourself. 

 

Physical Mirrors

Russian Doll episode one begins with Nadia peering into the bathroom mirror during her birthday party at her friend Maxine’s house (image 1). The shot conveys the perception that we, the audience, are in the mirror, looking back at Nadia. The viewer is immediately, and consciously, put in the position of “a second pair of eyes,” as phrased by Ruth. We are the outsiders, watching Alan and Nadia try to escape from the time loops, providing the characters with the comfort of reality. Other than these moments in the bathroom, we rarely ever see the characters look at a mirror. The only other instance during which we see Nadia observing herself in a mirror is after Horse cuts her hair, to which she responds, “I look like my mom” (image 2). This moment tells us more than it potentially lets on: on the rare occasion that Nadia looks at herself in a mirror, she sees her mother–who seemingly had deep psychological issues–rather than herself. In fact, on nearly every occasion during which someone mentions Nadia’s mom to her, she immediately changes the subject, reacting almost as if she is offended. Nadia alludes later in the season to her guilt for her events that led to her mother’s death, which is perhaps why she seems so reluctant to perceive herself straight on–those demons from her childhood continue to haunt her.

There is only one other instance during which audience sees Nadia somewhat interact with a mirror, despite not actually looking in it. In episode 5, while visiting Ruth’s house, Nadia finds a set of Russian dolls and start unstacking them; however, we only see Nadia’s face during this through her reflection (image 3). While this moment seems more like a cinematographic easter egg than a genuine moment of character exposé, it provides more information than it lets on. Russian dolls, also known as nesting dolls, point to the idea that within each figurine, and each person, there are several layers before one reaches the most inner self–like peeling back layers of an onion. At this point, Nadia is unable, or just unwilling, to peel back her layers and discover her deepest self underneath. The fact that she does not look in the mirror during this sequence while she unstacks the nesting dolls demonstrates this fact, with the refusal to peer at her reflection reflecting her inability at this point to examine herself and unpack her inner resentment and guilt.

This scene with Nadia also points to another character’s relationship with mirrors. Ruth’s house, unlike that of Nadia and Alan, is filled with mirrors (image 4). Given that Ruth is a therapist, we see her relationship with herself different; unlike Mike, she does not rely upon the mirrors for her sense of self, but also feel no need to avoid them. Here, we see the “middle ground,” or the “healthy” relationship with mirrors. Considering that Alan is portrayed as having deep psychological issues, including suicidal thoughts, and Nadia as a “lady with a death wish” (S1:E8, 22:32), it is perhaps unsurprising that these characters do not want to truly see themselves.

The one time we see a mirror in Alan’s apartment, he is looking away from it, almost purposefully (image 5). The only other interaction he has with mirrors is in episode 4, when he confronts his girlfriend’s lover (Mike, played by Jeremy Bobb) and breaks the mirror in his office just after shouting “You don’t know me” (image 6). Alan’s response demonstrates a deep anger towards not only Mike, but towards being seen in this vulnerable moment and being “known” at all. Other than Alan’s relationship with mirrors, what is particularly interesting in this moment is Mike’s reaction to the mirror being shattered: after Alan leaves, he asks his student, “How’s my face? The mirror’s gone so I can’t tell” (21:54). Clearly Mike’s relationship with mirrors is so antithetical to that of Alan and Nadia that he depends on them for his reality.

Another recurring motif is that of people, animals, and objects simply disappearing. The first reference to this phenomenon appears in episode one, when Nadia’s cat Oatmeal seemingly vanishes while in her arms (20:25). Actual people start to slowly disappear as well, as evidenced by a comparison between a sequence in episode 2 when Nadia walks down the street (image 7) and a future iteration of the same scene, in which fewer people are present (image 8). At first it is nearly unnoticeable, but by the end, Nadia’s party is completely empty besides from her and her friend Maxine. Objects also start to disappear, including Alan’s engagement ring (image 9), and, most importantly, the mirrors that Alan and Nadia keep rebooting in front of (image 10).

However, with each person and mirror that disappears, one fewer conceivable “proof of existence” exists. Ironically, despite their seemingly intense desire to avoid looking at themselves too hard, with no more mirrors, friends, cats, or fish to find comfort in, Nadia and Alan are forced to turn inwards to confront themselves.  Whether the characters need mirrors like Mike, or avoid them like Nadia and Alan, a sense of self-hatred lingers throughout the show. The only difference between them is that while Alan and Nadia are somewhat aware of their insecurities and psychological issues, Mike seems to suppress them so deeply that he must rely on external validation (via the mirror, and sex) to maintain an illusion of happiness, despite his flippant comment that he is “the hole where a choice should be” (S1:E5, 18:31).

 

Phycological Mirrors

It is not only physical mirrors that are represented in the show, but internal ones as well. As Ruth notes in episode 5, “Right now I am looking at you as you are today, while also looking at you as that peculiar little girl I knew” (11:16). This theme of duality is crucial to the show: while Nadia is one person now that she is grown up, we understand later that the little girl she was when her mother was alive, the one Ruth refers to in this aforementioned line, is still inside her, emerging as a deep-seated fear from her time with her mother and the guilt she holds on to for surviving it. This internal grief manifests physically in episode 7, when Nadia begins to physically see this younger self (image 11, 12), with every sighting causing the adult version of her to die. As the show progresses, not only do the characters turn to internal issues (rather than trying to solve their issues by questions drugs and such), but so do their deaths, which by the last episode are instigated by causes such as asthma, liver failure, and internal bleeding (rather than being hit by a car). Nadia can no longer ignore her reflection as it is there in front of her, and she must face it head on–which forces her to die over and over again until she can properly confront it.

Nadia continuously refuses to acknowledge her flaws, disregarding the extramarital affair she has with her ex-boyfriend John (portrayed by Yul Vazquez) and making a joke out of the idea that she is being punished for her wrongdoings, as suggested by Alan in episode 5 (1:05). She is called “the most selfish person I have ever met” by Alan in episode 7 (15:31), demonstrative of her survivalist mindset and apparent need for self-preservation, which is perhaps why she refuses to truly observe herself through the mirrors other than in Maxine’s bathroom. She is unable to process the two versions of herself, ignoring her younger self, the version of her that feels deep shame for her actions as a child and thus is unable to process her misdeeds growing up. Instead, she sees a romanticized version of herself; however, in refusing to reconcile the two, she is clearly deeply emotionally confused.

The show climaxes in episode 7 with Nadia dying in front of her ex-boyfriend’s daughter Lucy, who seems to transform, if only in Nadia’s mind, into her younger self (image 13). This is the first time that Nadia meets Lucy after backing out several times. Lucy represents a different kind of mirror, one that shows Nadia not who she is now, but rather one that reminds herself of that young girl she was and the emotional confusion and guilt she possesses regarding that time in her life. However, upon finally confronting this head-on, Nadia pulls a piece of mirror from her mouth (image 14), as Lucy says calmly, “she’s still inside you” (S1:E7, 23:42). The “she” in this line is purposefully vague, however, given that this moment is immediately followed by a flashback to Nadia’s mother breaking all the mirrors around the house, it can be inferred that Nadia has kept a piece of her mother with her throughout her entire life, weighed down by her guilt, and perhaps by the version of her mother that she sees reflected in herself.

Ruth unknowingly puts words to this phenomenon earlier in the episode, saying: “You were this tiny seed buried in darkness fighting your way to the light. You wanted to live. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world. Do you still have that in you? [Nadia shakes her head slightly] Nadia, I look at you chasing down death at every corner. Sweetheart, where is that gorgeous piece of you pushing to be a part of this world?” (18:54). Evidentially, this “tiny seed” does still exist, and is the cause of Nadia’s sightings/hallucinations of her younger self. Nadia wants to live but does not feel like she is deserving of it at this point because of her mother. However, when Nadia’s younger self in the future saying “Are you ready to let her die? This is the day we get free” (24:29), Nadia is finally giving herself to surrender the guilt and fear she has harbored and allow herself, for once, to want to live. She has embraced her reflection, accepted it as part of herself, and thus is finally saved.

In the next episode, Nadia reboots where she always does, but with all the mirrors and people returned and thing occurring as normal. She reacts to her party with an exuberant excitement that she does not display upon her initial entrance into the party in episode one. Having saved herself, can finally help save Alan–as he does the same for her.

 

Cinematography

In the first episode, we see Nadia visiting a deli and seeing Alan for the first time. The shot is mirrored: on one side we see Alan, in need of assistance due to his extreme post-breakup inebriation, and on the other side, there is a group of obnoxious Wall Street bros (image 15). In this moment Nadia decides to ignore Alan and pick on the others, a demonstration of her so-called selfishness at this point in her character development. This scene is replicated several times further in the series, most drastically in the final episode. After Nadia and Alan have finally done the work of addressing their suppressed issues, they are now in a place where they can support each other through one final test in which they must literally save the other. This is reflected in episode 8, when there are two versions of both Nadia and Alan in separate mirror universes, each universe having only one individual who possesses the knowledge of their past loops. This is visualized with four squares, each showing one of the now four individuals in play (two versions of Nadia, two versions of Alan), mirrored across the screen (image 16). Again, they are psychically confronted with a mirror, this time being an entirely separate universe.

With her newfound selflessness, Nadia this time ignores the Wall Street bros we saw in the first episode and instead attempts to help Alan. Both succeeded in saving the other, we again see the mirrors appear, this time with only two divisions, representing the two mirror universes each consisting of a now united Alan and Nadia (image 17). The mirrors are decreasing, and Nadia and Alan are slowly finding their way to a less disjointed, singular existence where they can recognize they own flaws and address them face on. The show ends with these two universes combining, the Nadia with knowledge of her past lives (distinguishable by a white shirt) and the Alan with the same knowledge (distinguishable by a red scarf) are reunited, with the other Nadia’s disappearing behind them (image 18). In this moment, the mirror selves do not necessarily vanish, but perhaps are merely incorporated into Nadia’s new self, the most inner version of her own nesting doll. 

 

Emily of New Moon

Russian Doll is populated with obscure references to musicians, directors, and even books, most notably being Nadia Vulvakov’s favorite novel, Emily of New Moon. As Nadia says in episode 5, “everybody loves Anna, but I like Emily–she’s dark” (12:56). However, in delving deeper into the plot of Emily of New Moon, it becomes clear that there are more similarities between Nadia and Emily than just their dark personalities. Both are orphaned, have an Aunt Ruth, and have a strange relationship with their own reflection. Speaking about her relationship with the “Wind Woman,” Emily says “’I’ve known her ever since I was six. We’re old, old friends–but not quite so old as you and I, little Emily-in-the-glass. We’ve been friends always, haven’t we?’ With a blown kiss to Emily-in-the-glass, Emily-out-of-the-glass was gone.” (Montgomery, 5). In this moment, we see a deeply lonely girl who’s primarily companion has been her own reflection.

However, once her father dies and Emily must move live with her late mother’s family at New Moon, the mirrors are positioned too high to see herself. Even when she can view her reflection, she sees this version as a different “Emily-in-the-glass” from the one at her old home with her father at Maywood. Like Nadia, Emily no longer looks at herself in the mirror, despite it previously being a source of comfort for herself. She does not recognize her own reflection following her father’s death, and consistently wishes she would also pass away so she could join him and her mother in the afterlife: “He said he’d wait around and go slow until I died, too, so that I could catch up with him. I hope I’ll die soon.” (Montgomery, 35). This is reminiscent of Nadia’s death wish, which she admits to in episode 8. It seems that there is a type of survivor’s guilt that accompanies both Nadia (following the death of her mother) and Emily (following the death of her father) that makes both characters almost ashamed of looking at their own reflections.  

 

Conclusion

Throughout Russian Dolls’ various loops, it seems that the universe is almost forcing Nadia and Alan to examine themselves. While they are quick to run away from the mirrors that keep appearing in front of them upon each reboot, they cannot escape the increasingly internal causes of their respective deaths or their reflections when it comes to physical manifestations of themselves popping up, as in the case of Nadia’s younger self. In her attempts to figure out why these loops are happening, Nadia hypothesizes that she and Alan are the same person (S1:E4, 18:44); while this isn’t the case, there is some truth to the statement. Despite their expansive differences, Nadia and Alan are mirrors of each other’s deep insecurities, most distinctly their shared fear of being crazy. However, when she no longer has the mirrors to assert her existence, she must rely on Alan to do so, who reflects her worse fears back at her. Both she and Alan must come to terms with how their neuroses have harmed those around them, as well as themselves, finally reconciling their darker mirror selves with the versions they want to be–unstacking their own emotional Russian dolls. Thus, the mirrors become a symbol of self-reflection, healing, and forgiveness of oneself, demonstrating that, while the help of others is necessary, only you can truly address the deep issues plaguing you. 

 

Annex

 Image 1, S1:E1, 0:06

Image 2, S1:E3, 17:36

 Image 3, S1:E5, 9:36

Image 4, S1:E5, 9:46

Image 5, S1:E4, 4:56

Image 6, S1:E4, 21:35

Image 7, S1:E2, 4:05

Image 8, S1:E2, 19:08

 Image 9, S1:E4, 23:19

 Image 10, S1:E6, 24:07

Image 11, S1:E7, 4:21

Image 12, S1:E7, 11:05

Image 13, S1:E7, 23:52

 Image 14, S1:E7, 23:49

 Image 15, S1:E1, 6:24

 Image 16, S1:E8, 10:41

Image 17, S1:E8, 21:02

Image 18, S1:E8, 28:37

 

Central Asia, Part 3 by Safia Southey

The next cities were a whirlwind of beauty, history, and culture, which began at 2:00 am when I disembarked from the train that I did not miss and picked up by a friend who kindly offered to take me around the city. After a few hours of sleep, we met back up, starting with a sumptuous breakfast of the fabled non; tandoori-baked Bukharan bread roasted to chewy perfection, fried eggs, local pastries, and fruit — featuring persimmons, which were a sweet and juicy first for me! We meandered through the magnificent Old Town, visiting endless mosques and madrasahs. I must say, though I had been amazed by the single mosque I experienced in Nukus, Bukhara was in a league of its own; Turkish-Islamic architecture, rich in high minarets, caravanserais, majestically swarming the city. I can’t begin to name everything that we saw, but for those interested, it included the Bukhara Fortress, Nasruddin Hodja, Magoki-Attari mosque, Nadir Divan-Beghi madrasah, Char Minar, Kaylan, and the Kok-Gumbaz mosque. My guide even took me to a synagogue, noting that “I can tell you’re Jewish, you look it.” I feel like that experience was supposed to have more relevance to me, but honestly not even my culture could compete with the gorgeous mosques that surrounded me.

We delved into every aspect of Uzbek life, discussing make-up trends (eyebrows are important), politics (the late president Karimov is still deeply and widely adored, despite being a “ruthless autocrat” that encouraged undemocratic aspects and corruption under his 25+ year rule), and religion (Bukhara being a mainly Muslim city with a substantial Jewish population, although it isn’t very religious; apparently religion not playing a large role in everyday life). In fact, Bukhara was just named the capital of Islamic culture for 2020 for its contribution to the development of Islamic civilization. The Uzbeks grew out of a mingling of ancient, settled Iranian populations with a variety of nomadic Mongol or Turkic tribes that invaded the region between the 11th and the 15th century. We ate consistently throughout the day, snacking on corn from street vendors, cake from a little German cafe, and my favorite — Uzbek plov, the main local dish, consisting of lamb, rice, and sweet carrots. We encountered dozens of tourists, nearly all Russians, with not a single Westerner in sight. “It’s not the season,” it was explained to me, “all the Germans and French come in the Spring, but the Russians come now because it’s still warmer than where they’re from.” 

My tour guide was an English teacher who ran a tutoring center, so we decided to stop by and visit his students to give them a chance to practice their English with a “real” American. Sitting in a circle, I was asked question after question about life in New York, but them being students, it mostly focused on my education and what advice I had for them for getting into good American schools, and more importantly, how to get a visa. After my brain being appropriately picked, we respectively returned “home” to rest a while, and then met up for Uzbek barbecue and shisha. This time, we fell deeper in the rabbit hole of politics and culture, discussing the death sentence (which Uzbekistan doesn’t have) and how long a prison sentence should be (Uzbekistan doesn’t lock people up nearly as long as the US does), racism (people of color being so rare in the country that Uzbeks are more shocked to see them, with the concept of ‘racism’ being relatively unconsidered), democracy (Karimov was popular; does it matter if he was president for half a decade or if the elections weren’t 100% accurate?), and American slang (provoked by my new friend asking “what does ‘thug life’ mean?”). 

Finally, I returned home, exhausted from an intense day of exploring and adventure, legs weak, stomach full, eyes and mind still overwhelmed at the beauty enveloping me — and my faith in men restored after such a wholesome experience with a new friend. 

I awoke the next morning at 3am, quickly cabbed to the train station, and entered the cleanest and most beautiful train I’ve ever sat on — Amtrak could learn a thing or two from the Uzbek train system. I soon arrived in Samarkand, and after a short nap, embarked on exploring the city I had been dreaming of for the past two and a half years. 

That first day, I walked for miles, marveling in awe at the architectural masterpieces characterized by their balance of traditional design and modern innovation. Unlike in Bukhara, the landmarks are slightly more spaced out in Samarkand, forcing me to traverse the city from corner to corner. Starting with the Registan, I entered the Tillya Kori Madrasah, the Ulugbek Madrasah, and the Sher Dor Madrasah. I made my way through a park, passing by an impressive statue of the late President Karimov, to the Bibi-Khanym Mosque and Mausoleum, and then through the Siab Bazaar. I passed through a beautiful cemetery, Shah-i-Zinda, (meaning "The living king," and connected the legend that Kusam ibn Abbas, a cousin of the prophet Muhammad, is buried here), until I reached the Gur Emir Mausoleum, at which point it started snowing — no, blizzarding would be a better word for it. I made my way through the sacred tombs, surrounded by incredible tile-work, each room with dazzlingly intricate patterns of blue and green, made even more stunning by the snow blowing around me. However, I did feel slightly sacrilegious with AJR blasting in my ears. After lingering through the mausoleum, I visited the Afrasiyab Settlement and the Jewish cemetery, eventually finding myself at the outskirts of town at the Ulugbek Observatory. It was a day of constant amazement and awe at the architectural wonders and religious sights, most of which dating back 600 years. 

The next day, after a cozy sleep in my quaint yet very polished hostel, I went back exploring, retracing my steps and ensuring I didn’t miss a single inch of this gorgeous city. Along my way, two girls heard me loudly singing along to my Black Keys on the street and invited me out to lunch, wanting to practice their English. They sang their local music to me, and inquired about life in America — dating culture being their favorite. The people I’ve met in Uzbekistan have all been enormously kind and helpful to me, wanting to learn everything they can and share their views as well. It’s been especially surprising to hear their reactions when I note I’m a human rights major, themselves commenting on the poor human rights situation present in Uzbekistan. Under Mirziyoyev religious persecution and arbitrary arrests have decreased slightly, but still remains present, along with extensive forced labor practices in the countryside. It was inspiring to see the people critical and watchful of their country, yet still hopeful at the promising steps being made to reform the country’s awful human rights record.

After a few days in Samarkand, I took on the next country in my journey: Tajikistan. It was similar to the process of entering Uzbekistan, with a shared taxi to the border, crossing by foot, and then finding a car on the other side to take me to Dushanbe. But unlike the other drives I endured, this one was gorgeous, with five hours circling through mountains, initially purely rock and dirt and then transforming to towering snow, with the sun glowing upon them. I could hear Genevieve in my head saying, “that’s GOD up there.” The Varzob and Zeravshan rivers streamed through the hills, with the bluest, turquoise water I have ever seen accompanying us along the drive. Two young boys of 7 and 12 sat in the back, giggling while trying to make conversation with me. I polished off my book by Terry Pratchett an Neil Gaiman, Good Omens, during the ride, and to the extreme delight of the boys gave it to them after. With traditional Tajik music filling my ears and nothing but snowy mounds in sight, reminiscent of my birthday drive to Andorra, it was one of the happiest experiences this trip. 

I arrived in Dushanbe late at night, to a hotel room that was way too nice for what I paid for (thank you Booking.com for the free upgrade), excited at what the next day would bring

Central Asia, Part 2 by Safia Southey

This next part is a doozy. After arriving in Beineu and exploring for a couple days, I miss my train — not because I was late; in fact, I was waiting for several hours at the station. No, I purely didn’t realize that the train had arrived, and by the time I located it after asking around for several minutes, it was departing right in front of my eyes. Turns out the next train left the following day, but was sold out, just like the train leaving the day after. After begging the train clerk for help, they said I could try to come the next day and bargain with the conductor for a spot on the sold out train. 

This is where my big problem began: I had no money. In this small village, none of the ATMs accepted my American debit card so I couldn’t get cash, and neither the hotels nor the train station would accept my card. Plus, I couldn’t buy a ticket online because the train I needed was hosted by Russian Railways and thus required a special form you could only get in Russia. Essentially, I was stranded in this village abound in billowing dust and small shacks; the vague smell of fried food permeating the stale air. I genuinely thought I might have to stay and work at the hotel washing dishes until I gathered enough money to leave. However, I scrounged up my remaining cash and, despite being a bit short, convinced the hotel to let me stay an extra night. 

The next day, I trekked in the fresh snow to every bank in a 5km radius to no avail, until I finally found a small hotel that accepted debit cards and made a deal to swap a charge for cash. However, they could only give me 10,000 tenge, which is about $25 — not enough to get on this 24 hour train by any means. So, I hired a taxi to take me to the border of Uzbekistan for about half of my remaining money, and decided I would wing it on the other side, either by hitchhiking or finding a cheap taxi that could take me to Nukus. A couple of incredibly sweet and helpful Uzbek boys coached me through messenger on what to do once I got to Nukus, and together we found a train to Bukhara and (free) housing once there, and a train from Bukhara to Samarkand. This meant one less day in Samarkand (which sucks as this was the part of my trip I was most excited for), but at least I wasn’t stranded in Beineu, which was the main worry. Plus, this way I got to explore Uzbekistan a little more, negotiating the socio-political and historical aesthetics of Nukus and Bukhara more thoroughly.

I crossed the border into Uzbekistan on foot in less than 20 minutes, the passport control being incredibly easy despite the ominous “good luck” sign that loomed over customs. And, compared to the first one I ever attempted, a harrowing border fiasco between the West Bank and Jerusalem, this was remarkably painless. 

On the rationale for this trip, it’s necessary to know I’ve been obsessed with Uzbekistan for over two years now. In my early days of working as a political-military analyst for the Hudson Institute, all my assignments were about Uzbekistan, which led to me choosing it as a topic for several Sciences Po assignments as well. I had deeper knowledge about this one country than nearly anywhere I had previously visited, especially regarding the reforms made under the new president Mirziyoyev, and wanted to see it for myself more than anything. However, at that time, visas for most countries in Central Asia were very difficult to obtain, requiring an invitation letter or an official tour. But much to my delight, Uzbekistan and others opened up to tourism just this past year, providing me with the perfect opportunity to finally embark on my dream trip.

On the other side of the border, finally in Uzbekistan, I swapped my tenge for somoni, the local currency, and luckily found a shared taxi that was willing to take me the seven hours to Nukus. However, I didn’t have enough cash for the ride, there were no ATMs and all the banks would be closed by the time we arrived — so in a (successful) act of desperation, I bartered my somewhat broken bright pink noise-cancelling headphones to make up for the remaining 80,000 som (roughly $8). I was just happy it didn’t come to anything less easily replaceable, especially after all the recent harassment. Plus, I think my father would kill me if I traded his prized portable charger, which was a lifesaver during this trip, for a taxi ride.

This trip has not been one for particularly gorgeous photos (though that might change once in Samarkand), but it has definitely been the most exciting and difficult journey of my life. Crammed into the back of a cab with three other passengers, my huge backpack lay on my lap, compacted by an elegant older woman in a cozy fur coat sitting too close for comfort. For hundreds of miles, I gazed at the flat orange terrain scattered with nondescript towns marked by short clay huts and torn up billboards. Barren and oppressive, apocalyptic smoke rose from every building. For seven hours, we shook along dirt roads that rivaled those of rural Malawi (in regard to bumpiness). I was hoping to make use of my headphones one last time before we were tragically parted, but alas, they transferred me to a different car, which smelled like dog, with a different driver an hour away from Nukus, and I reluctantly handed them over.

Finally, Nukus appeared, a glowing city with ATMs and hotels with shampoo AND conditioner, and that accept debit cards!! I felt like I had entered paradise.

After a lovely sleep and indulging in a huge hotel breakfast of potato pastries, eggs, and chocolate, I went exploring through the city. Swerving through bicycles on the streets, I came across the central market. Stalls, wagons, boxes, brimming with everything from fruit to lingerie to electronics — providing me with a very cheap replacement set of headphones. The wafting aroma of freshly baked pastries and fish mingled in the air, and that with the feverish  tumult of hagglers all vied for my attention. I wove my way through the lanes of vendors, taking photos of those willing, my shoes getting increasingly muddy following the previous night’s downpour. I found my way to the Nukus Museum, where Russian avant garde art hung alongside that of Socialist Realism; I was especially taken with the art of P. Benkov, Z. Kovalevskaya, and V. Lysenko. Otherwise, the city was an interesting mix of half-built abandoned homes, ancient fortresses and mausoleums, offering much to see and eat and experience.

I rambled along the channel dividing the city, making my way across the glistening water to the Muhammad Imam Iyshan Meshiti mosque. This was what I was most looking forward to: the regal, colorful, classic mosques of Uzbekistan, with intricate patterns ornamented with turquoise tiles. I was too timid to step inside; as I didn’t want to disturb the ongoing prayers, but I lingered outside for nearly an hour, mesmerized by the bright domes and minaret, magnificently arresting in the midday sun.

After several hours of exploring, I finally returned to the hotel, slightly homesick as I passed very New York-looking yellow taxi cabs. I packed up my things, got cash so as not to get stranded again in the future, said goodbye to my exquisite lodgings, and walked an hour through dusty, rural Nukus to the train station, determined not to miss another train.

Central Asia, Part 1 by Safia Southey

My trip started off rough, with an important first lesson that all our professors would appreciate: don’t trust Wikipedia. I have historically relied heavily on its page “visa requirements for US citizens,” but apparently Azerbaijan only provides visas upon arrival when flying on Azerbaijan Airlines from New York, which sadly I was not. However, I was able to quickly apply for an emergency visa at the airport and only three hours of waiting and the second season of You later, I was able to finally enter the low-lying coastal hub of Baku. 

I was tossed in the front of a taxi, which leads me to lesson two: always sit in the back seat. No sooner had I settled in, the driver affectionately grabbed my hand, clearly excited at an American in his vehicle. However, this quickly evolved into him grabbing other parts of me while I awkwardly tried to bat his hand away. I won’t dwell too much on this part, nothing bad seriously happened, and while it did end with me shouting as I struggled to leave the car, I was able to escape relatively unscathed. 

I checked into my little bare-bones hotel and quickly went to explore the city. Baku is gorgeous, with a thriving city center full of European restaurants and stores. I ambled along the promenade by the water, lining the Caspian Sea, and got lost in the towering, regal mosques of the Old Town. Christmas decorations flooded the area, teeming with Santas and bubble-blowing vendors selling children’s toys. I walked for the entire day, through the cobbled walls and sea-lined streets, marked by looming towers of LED lights and Western enclaves, until I reached the borders of the city. Finally, I returned to my modest hostel and slept like a baby. 

Now, I had to figure out the boat. The Caspian Sea ferry goes from Alat, an hour south of Baku, to Kuryk, Kazakhstan or Turkmenbashi, Turkmenistan. I couldn’t get a visa for Turkmenistan, so Kuryk was my destination. The ferry doesn’t have a schedule, and leaves at random hours on random days 1-2 times per week, so the only way to figure out when I could board was to call every day (with the help of the kind people at my hostel). I found out it was leaving that day, my second in Baku, at 5pm, so I wandered the city a bit more and then hopped in a car down to Alat (this time in the back). I arrived cautiously early, at 4pm, and wandered the empty port by foot until I was able to get a ticket. I snuggled up in the heated waiting room in refuge from the cold outside with a handful of others, all going to Turkmenbashi, none of them English-speakers. I waited, hour after hour, every so often traversing across the port to annoy the security guards to ask when the ferry would be arriving. Finally, at 10pm, the freshly pressed armed guards came to my little waiting room and notified me that I could board the ship. 

This wasn’t entirely true - the boat had arrived at the port, but it needed to load the 43 cars and trucks before it took passengers. I waited out in the cold until it was my turn, but before that moment came a young Kazakhstani polyglot offered to let me sit in his car. Thus, lesson three: learn who to trust, and who not to trust. This is not my strong suit, but to be fair, it’s not the easiest task in the world. As a young woman, I’m often offered kindness from strangers, it just matters who expects what in return. This boy, just 25, having recently come back from studying in Canada, seemed decent enough to me, so I sat in his car and accompanied him as we all entered the boat. It turns out he was planning on driving to Beineu after landing in Kuryk, which is exactly where I needed to be for my next train, so we made arrangements to meet on the other end and drive together until that point. 

The most terrifying part of the boarding experience was when going through customs, during which the Azerbaijani authorities looked at my passport and realized I had an Amernian stamp. Apparently, it is forbidden to enter the country with such a stamp, and they simply didn’t notice it at the airport. However, despite their shock and horror, I was on my way out of the country and they anxiously let it slide. 

By the time we were all settled on the ship, it was about 1am. I was the only passenger traveling without a car or truck, the only Westerner, and the only woman — except for two lovely women on the crew who adopted me for the length of the trip. Even though my ticket was for a four-person cabin, they placed me in an empty, locked, two-person room with a private bathroom and shower. However, apparently this wasn’t good enough because about 30 minutes later they came back with the captain and escorted me to a private crew suite, afraid that the truck drivers would get drunk and harass me in the night. I ended up with a spacious single room with a gorgeous view of the glistening turquoise water, and after I put down my stuff, the captain gave me a tour of the bridge and declared that it was now “my boat.” With a big smile, I finally went to bed at around 2:30am, and the boat took off two hours later - a full 12 hours after I had arrived. 

The online reviews of this boat include horror stories, with people spending three days on the boat with no food or water. My experience was extremely different, with three meals served (mostly lentils and kasha, which was not particularly to my interest, despite my Russian heritage on my maternal side), and the trip taking about 27 hours from stepping on to stepping off the boat. In fact, one of the women even woke me up during a nap because she realized I wasn’t at dinner. The second-captain also took me under his wing, giving me tea and Azerbaijani sweets on the bridge as we discussed religion, politics, and gossiped about the drama of the ship. However, the conservation somehow veered into his sex life with his wife and how she never wants anal, and how he learned how to go down on her from his American colleagues. I quickly left to explore the rest of the boat after declining his offer to do the same to me. 

I had free reign, the boat being much more like a cargo ship than any kind of cruise. I wandered through its double decked hull, up and down the extremely narrow stairs, ducking through the engine and avoiding touching anything that could derail the trip. 

We pulled into the Kazakhstani port at about 3am, and while my customs process was fast and painless, we were only able to fully leave the area at about noon due to the car needing to go through registration. However, with a couple of Terry Pratchett books and it being the first time I had internet in over two days, I wasn’t complaining. Finally, the young Kazakh man who agreed to take me to Beineu and I began the drive, whizzing through huge swaths of empty road, surrounded by empty territory reminiscent of Namibia, Jordan, Iceland. He had no aux cord or radio, leaving one frustratingly annoying home-brewed mixtape CD to listen to, filled with mariachi, reggae, Blurred Lines, and Take Me Home, Country Roads. The area was known for its oil and gas industry, which was explained to me as we passed hundreds of drilling sites, and the occasional camel. We stopped in Shetpe for lunch at the driver’s brother’s house for a traditional meal of beef and potatoes, with hand-made waffle cones as desert. While eating, the brother’s wife inquired in broken English, while tending to three young boys and a baby, about life in America. “What do you usually eat? Do you cook? How expensive is food? How expensive is rent?” She was simultaneously horrified and amazed at my answers, and I felt a little embarrassed admitting to how often my roommate and I order in sushi. 

Soon, we were back on the road, and the driver and I awkwardly tried to make small talk. “So, you are married?” he asked. Fourth lesson of the trip: always say you have a boyfriend, or are engaged. However, I discovered a bit of a catch-22 in this regard: many men will only respect your space if they believe you are the property of another man. But, if you have a boyfriend and are not married or engaged, you’re clearly a slut and therefore open territory. So, next lesson: just wear a ring and pretend to be married. It’s so much easier that way, and I’m currently trying to make an acceptable ring out of a keychain and necklace to prevent further issues. The boy was very kind, I believe that I was correct in deciding to trust him for the drive; he only tried to hold my hand once before being swatted away.

Finally, at about 10pm, we pulled into Beineu, which to my surprise was not a city but in fact a tiny village that happened to have a train station. The streets were lit up with sparkling strobe lights, with children setting off fireworks in the street to celebrate New Years, and I was a bit overwhelmed. The handsy driver helped me get my ticket to Bukhara, and went on his way to finish his journey home. Turns out the next train left two days later, which meant I was stuck in this strange little place for roughly 43 hours, leaving lots of time to explore. I dipped around the corner and found a little hotel with a comfy big bed, which was much needed after being awake for 24+ hours. The most frustrating moment was when the hotel guy followed me into my room and asked if I really wanted to sleep alone, but he finally left after some strong words. Again, get that costume jewelry, ya’ll.

I sat in my little room, thinking back on the past year, very thankful for all my experiences thus far, the opportunities I have been given, the people I have met and hold close. I toned down my traveling this year — I wanted to spend more time truly appreciating where I was, to travel consciously, and not to visit incredibly “problematic” places, which were all part of my 2019 resolutions. I still want to work on being more environmentally conscious, and I definitely didn’t live up to my promise to act with purpose or to be better to myself. I still have a lot to work on, but I think I’m on the right path. I think this trip is an important chance for me to improve upon myself, being possibly the most intense and risky that I have embarked on so far, mostly due to its length and the fact that I am completely alone. I am absolutely loving it but it reminds me that I need to stay safe, and that despite all my past adventures, there is still quite a lot to learn.