The interior of the Palais des Festivals

Last time I was there, I ate lunch at a café table next to Michael Douglas and a beautiful model. I watched a very young and shy Isabelle Adjani being interviewed in the lobby of the Carlton Hotel. I gaped at a rather large Shelley Winters, a faded beauty who still radiated charm, sunbathing on the meticulously raked sand. Yes, that was Cannes in 1975—the film festival, that is.

Returning this year, I found the Festival to be a whole new world: extensive at 27,000 attendees, multi-cultural in its audience and offerings, more extravagant than ever in its private parties, more exclusive than ever in its accreditations. The Cannes Film Festival is the number one film industry event of the year, ahead of Sundance, Toronto, Berlin, and Venice. Reserved for professionals, it is a unique glimpse on the world of the 7th art—from the creative and production aspects to the finance and business angles.

The country pavilions in the International Village, Cannes

With special permission to develop an educational program focused on the Festival, I sported my accreditation badge and was given access to the off-limits-to-the-public Palais des Festivals, to the many screenings on offer through the main competition and all the side-competitions (“Un Certain Regard”, La Quinzaine des Réalisateurs, and La Semaine des Critiques), to the International Village housing tented pavilions for most countries on Earth and to the award ceremonies for each category. What a thrill!

I sat in the seat in front of Max Von Sydow during the screening of a restored version of The Desert of Tartars. Richard Dreyfus spoke to us about his first film ever. Forest Whitaker came to the stage at an award ceremony to support a protégé who won an award. Zhang Ziyi (Crouching Tiger and House of Flying Daggers star) presented an award as a member of a jury. In screenings, I sat within seats of Alexander Payne (director of Sideways and The Descendants) and James Franco. And then there were the impromptu encounters: Mariel Hemingway came right out of a store into my path, panicking that she had lost a ring. Squeezing past a throng of people, I found myself behind Kim Novak as she was whisked into a car.

The real thrill came when the three teenage actors of La Jaula d’Oro (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2042583/), a superb Mexican movie about an ill-fated journey from the slums of a Guatemalan village to Los Angeles, won the Un Certain Regard Prize for best talent. There stood the heroes of this tragic tale—from shanty town escapees to black-tie attendees–accepting awards from cinema luminaries on a light-flooded stage. My heart filled with pride for their accomplishment!

My heroes from La Jaula de Oro!

Cannes is a glamorous backdrop for the festival. La Croisette, the main promenade along the Mediterranean, sparkles with elegant party venues. The grand dame hotels like the Carlton and the Martinez percolate with stars coming and going, while security is at an all-time high. The International Village lines the sea behind the Palais, looking like a lavish medieval encampment with flags of many nations flapping over tented peaks. Here each country hosts film buyers, producers, directors and aspiring filmmakers for information sessions, private cocktail parties and happy hours on their individual seaside terraces.

The Carlton during the Festival, Cannes

If there is one thing I found most surprising about my experience in Cannes, it is the nature of the attendees. As a non-professional, I expected I would find vanity and pretention in ample quantity. Instead, as I stood in line for screenings or visited the various international pavilions, I met one person after another whose modesty, forthrightness and genuine enthusiasm for their work impressed me and made me fall in love with Cannes and its Festival all over again.

I find Cuba endlessly fascinating. When you travel to Cuba, you always end up leaving with more questions than answers. Yet, beyond the cultural richness of this island nation, there is another way in which Cuba gives this U.S. citizen pause. Cuba provides an intriguing lens through which to view our own nation. It casts shadows where there should be light and it reveals recesses of our national psyche that lack logic and good sense.

The Capitolio in Havana, fashioned after our very own Capitol

So here are some of my many questions:
•   Why do we implement a policy that restricts our citizens’ freedom to travel where they wish when we object to the same restrictions on freedom imposed by the Cuban government?
•   What other countries does our own government prohibit us from visiting other than Cuba? (None!)
•   When we have resumed relations with China since the 1970s and Vietnam since the 1990s, both nations with Communist regimes and human rights abuse records, why do we continue to isolate and economically oppress Cuba, 90 miles off our shores?
•   How effective has isolationism been in punishing and/or undermining the Castro regime?
•   Who are the real victims of U.S. policy in Cuba?
•   How does a small minority like the conservative Cuban Americans in Congress wield so much power in our democratic system?
•   How much leverage do we have in influencing Cuba’s future direction if we do not encourage economic engagement with Cuba?
•   Why do we export over $700 million in U.S. agricultural products (rice, beans, corn, frozen chicken) to Cuba every year when there is an embargo in place?
•   What other early 1960s policy still dominates our polemic today?
•   Why are we devoting tax-payers’ dollars to policing a complex set of regulations governing our relations (or lack thereof) with Cuba, an island of just over 11 million people?
•   When foreign countries implement laws that make fun of our own (eg. Helms Burton Act), is it not a sign that we lack reason?
•   In a post-Cold War world, what are we afraid of?
•   What will happen when Fidel and Raul die?
•   When will this all end?

Hatred runs deep, I know. Yet it seems we are in a position to take a risk here. How about trying a new policy, since the one that has been in place for over 70 years has been so completely ineffective?

The fantastical world of artist Jose Fuster, Jaimanitas

No one can deny that one of the many pleasures of traveling usually includes the local cuisine. Whether savoring a rich foie gras on a toast point in France, a saffron-tinted paella in Spain, a creamy carbonara in Italy, a fragrant cilantro-laced larb in Laos, the crispy lacquered skin of a Peking duck in China, the spicy lamb of a Moroccan merguez sausage–there is no end to the fond sensory memories these delicious dishes evoke. So when you are told “you don’t go there for the food,” it takes a hit on your eager anticipation of the upcoming journey.

Deep-fried baby octopi at Melia Cohiba Hotel buffet

ATA has sent hundreds of travelers to Cuba since the fall of 2010, on both professional and people-to-people programs. And sadly, we do advise all of our guests to expect mediocre meals while on the island.  State-run restaurants serve bland, repetitive meals, usually including Moors & Christians (black beans and rice), roast pig, fried plantains, beets and shredded cabbage, and possibly a flan or rice pudding for dessert.  Paladares, privately-run restaurants that are proliferating with recent economic reforms encouraging entrepreneurship, serve a more varied and interesting cuisine.  Some of my recent paladare meals (at Café Laurent and La Guarida in Havana and at Villa Lagarto in Cienfuegos) included shrimp brochette, pork chops, and swordfish. However, none of these meals came close to the fine Cuban cuisine available in the U.S. or elsewhere.

So this disappointing showing begs the question: why are chefs in Cuba not able to produce a higher quality of cuisine? I have heard various answers. The high cost and lack of availability of produce and foodstuffs,  the until-now limited demand for high-end meals, the fairly weak chef training programs and culinary career opportunities, the surprisingly limited fishing that takes place around the island.

A typical Cuban menu, Old Havana

Eighty percent of what Cubans eat is imported, and 40% of that comes from the U.S. (rice, beans, corn).  This dependence is a serious economic weakness and makes foodstuffs expensive for the average Cuban, not to mention for the restaurant owners, both state and private.

Forever resourceful, Cubans are finding ways to address the need for fresh vegetables, luxury food items, and hard-to-find spices.  With a more open door for Cuban Americans to visit and send packages to their relatives, a steady stream of restaurant supplies is flowing into the country. Community vegetable gardens are sprouting up in urban areas.  Between May 2011 and April 2012, I already noticed a huge improvement in the quality of the cuisine. Fruits and vegetables were more readily available, and the shrimp and fish were a little less over-done.  The New York Times on May 18, 2012 reported on an interesting culinary project taking place at the time of this writing–Project Paladare (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/18/world/americas/in-cuba-cross-cultural-art-project-involves-food.html). Such culinary collaboration between Cuba and foreign chefs will only further the refinement of Cuban cuisine.

In the end, Cuba in all its glory—with its passionate culture, its vibrant people, its whimsical art and ubiquitous music—fills every sensory need a traveler has and more.  So while we assume food is a key component of any successful travel experience, Cuba proves that there is more to life than the material, corporeal needs of human beings.  Cuba feeds one’s soul in a way few travel experiences—or meals–can.

In a few years, with any luck and the continued loosening of the US travel policy on Cuba, resources will increase, culinary training will improve, and the excellent Cuban cuisine we enjoy in Miami and elsewhere will be emulated where it originated—the island nation itself.  And then Cuba will be hard to beat as a destination that truly has it all!

Dear Friends,

Laab (also written ‘larb’) is a dish originating in Laos that has become a staple of menus across Thailand.  Its name means “luck” and this dish is a frequent star at the table during festivals and special occasions. It also makes the perfect gift for guests, conveying your good wishes along with some fresh sustenance all on one plate.

Some Laab Ingredients: Mint, cilantro, shallots

To me and my family, laab is a perennial favorite. Loving simple, speedy Southeast Asian cuisine, I became enamored of Thai dishes long ago.  My children, at very young ages, when asked their favorite foods, would cite “pizza, peanut butter and laab,” raising quizzical eyebrows on inquiring adults.  To this day, turning to the laab page in my Thai recipe book, the tell-tale scribbles of my two-year-old daughter (who is now 14) attest to this dish’s place in my family history.

So finding myself in Laos recently in the company of my colleague, Chris Roper, who shares my culinary interests, we decided to go on a pilgrimage to find the best laab. In Luang Prabang, we settled into the lovely Bamboo Garden restaurant, by the fountain, and ordered Laab Gai, the chicken version.  It arrived with a garnish of cucumber and cabbage, and young, delicate sprigs of cilantro and mint. The usual seasonings of fish sauce (usually squid) and lime juice were subtle, with scallions and cilantro dominating, textured by the barely perceptible crunch of roasted rice powder.  The spice was very tame, and Chris and I felt a little disappointed.  Very good, but this laab had not reached full potential.

A monk in Luang Prabang prepares a spicy green papaya salad

We moved on to a place recommended to us by our Lao guide, Mr. Kamh. He claimed it was the best laab in town.  Skeptically, we claimed a two-top at “Pizza Luang Prabang.”  A two-tiered terrace of exterior tables camouflaged an unattractive interior, where plastic-covered tables, a linoleum floor and kitschy decorations made me question our choice.  Two Italian men chattered away next to us, enjoying a smoke after their LP Pizza.  We ordered our laab—beef this time–and some Lao coffee.

When the waiter placed the dish on the table, we leaned in to inspect it.  Interesting: this time we saw unexpected ingredients.  Baby bean sprouts and thinly sliced lemon grass added texture and citrus to the overall freshness of this lucky Lao salad.  The rice powder was also more prevalent, adding a nutty undertone that was very pleasing. Again the lime and fish sauce were subtle, almost after-thoughts.   And there was another ingredient that was hard to identify, a barely discernible vegetable.  Again the spice level was low, and for us, spice addicts, a bit disappointing. Nonetheless, we agreed this laab won over the Bamboo Garden’s.

Our third laab tasting was compliments of Mr. Tie (pronounced “tee”), our chef on the Mekong Sun, a lovely little ship that travels from Luang Prabang to the Golden Triangle. Mr. Tie is a baby-faced 26-year-old who has been cooking since he was a teen.  He clearly loves his craft and puts his heart into every dish. He provided a full cooking demonstration for all the passengers, revealing a few aspects of preparation that were new to me.  For example, he added fish sauce as seasoning to the chicken before cooking it in the pan.  He not only added fried shallots but also fresh ones. He taught us how to roast our own rice: with lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves—in a dry pan.  Then the browned rice is transferred to a mortar and pounded into a powder (I buy small packets of rice powder at home, saving at least 30 minutes!). Then he revealed the secret ingredient I could not identify in Luang Prabang: raw yard-long beans, sliced into tiny rounds.  This addition adds a whole new, greener dimension to laab.

Mr. Tie's ingredients are laid out for laab gai preparation

Mr. Tie’s laab was very similar to Luang Prabang Pizza’s—excellent in its freshness and crunch.  Again, I would add more lime juice and chili powder, but this is a personal preference.

My time is Laos is a gift I am not soon to forget, and laab is one lucky way I can continue to keep a little piece of Laos in my life and in my heart.  For all those who dream of going to Laos, I present you with a recipe that I hope will bring you the good fortune of one day seeing this magnificent country.

Larb Nua (Beef Larb)

1 lb beef, minced or ground

2 cloves of garlic, chopped

1-3 red chili(s), chopped (spice level according to taste, of course)

1 tbsp chopped shallots

2 tbsp Thai basil, chopped (can replace with coriander, if you prefer)

2 tbsp mint, chopped

1 tbsp roasted rice powder

1 tbsp spring onion, chopped

1-2 tbsp of Nuoc Mam or fish sauce, to taste

Juice of 2-3 limes (taste and see if you like it with more citrus!)

2 hothouse cucumbers, sliced lengthwise and seeded, cut into 6 inch “boats” OR iceberg lettuce leaves

Hot peppers dry in a village along the Upper Mekong

Variations Seen in Laos:

-         Add fresh bean sprouts

-         Add chopped yard-long green beans

-         Add chopped lemon grass

Fry the beef in a wok or large frying pan, without oil, until browned and cooked through. Leave to cool.

Lightly brown the garlic, chili and shallot in a pan over medium heat, again without oil. Pound them together then mix this paste with the meat.  Stir in the fish sauce, lime juice, rice powder. Toss in the Thai basil, mint and scallions and stir. Serve at room temperature.

Prepare the cucumber “boats” and/or separate the iceberg lettuce leaves and place in dish for serving.  Laab is then spooned into the cucumber boats (my children’s favorite!) or wrapped in the lettuce leaves.

Sóen Sâep!

Wishing you Luck and Happiness with a fresh plate of laab gai!

Boy plays and swims around boat docked on Mekong beach

The splashing of water lures me out to my stern balcony. They must be diving under the ship to fix the faulty propeller, I think. As I lean over the edge of the railing, I discover I am wrong: four Lao children are swimming gleefully around the boat on a competitive circuit, the weakest swimmer ending up dangerously swept downriver by the strong Mekong current before grasping the stern of a longtail boat docked nearby.  He struggles hard to keep up and eventually disappears with the others upstream again.

The Mekong Sun, our ship

The clean, sandy beach where we have docked for repairs presents cameos of life along this mighty Indochinese river.  A woman in a straw hat busily plants her vegetable seedlings, while keeping an eye on her nearby toddler, who happily digs her own holes.  Another woman waters her sandy field, and scolds children who come too near as they practice their somersaults, cartwheels and handstands. Three children emerge from the water and run to join the gymnastic group, one of the littlest pausing to remove her chafing, sandy underwear and continue on unimpeded.

From the beach, one of the crew beckons me to join them. He and a group of passengers seem to be heading inland. Clearly, the
repairs are going to take a while.  Within minutes, I emerge on the wide, sandy expanse, impressed by how the muddy Mekong, during the drier season, can sport beaches to compete with the seaside resorts of the world. Our small group climbs the dunes into the jungle to discover wooden pens containing healthy piglets, sows and ducks.  A few more steps upward, and the stilted
thatched traditional Lao homes emerge, neatly arranged along a main artery parallel to the Mekong.  Hearing giggles
behind me, I turn just in time to see two naked boys of seven or eight years rushing past, wet clothes in hand.  They grin at me unabashed, then stop at a clothesline up ahead and neatly lay out their shorts and shirts to dry, disappearing into their home.

Children in Khokphu Village, Laos

Every adult and child we encounter smiles broadly and the traditional greeting echoes throughout the village “Sabaidee!”  Hens and chicks scuttle under a home, two pot-bellied pigs squeal their way under a fence and trot past us, ducks of all kinds paddle around a small central pond, and random dogs and kittens sun themselves on ledges and in doorways.  Mothers wearing the intricately woven sarong skirts lean in doorways with babies on their hips, and occasionally call out to older children, perhaps admonishing them to behave. Giddy children follow our progress, as we tour their empty new school (it’s Friday afternoon), complete with five classrooms, desks and blackboards.  The villagers saved for years to buy the construction materials to build this school, and now they are able to educate not only their little ones but also several other nearby villages’. Neatly piled bricks, wood, and bags of cement under eaves suggest that another construction project may be under way soon.

Heading to the top of the village, at the highest point, we come upon a temple, home to a handful of monks.  A boy of eight or so in a saffron robe is busy sweeping the large fallen teak leaves and debris from around the temple grounds.  An old monk
and his young apprentices sit idly under a thatched pavilion, talking and relaxing.  Saffron robes catch the saturated rays of sun on a clothesline behind the temple. Marigolds, Helliconia, and Crown of Thorn flowers abound, adding even more color and a sense of paradise to this elevated, peaceful scene above the Mekong.

A young monk tends to the grounds of his temple, Khokphu village, Laos

As we come back down through the village on our way back to our boat, an old woman with high cheek bones and twinkling eyes strolls past elegantly, clothed in a woven Lao skirt and simple shirt, with a towel regally wrapped around her head.  “Sabaidee!” she repeats again and again, smiling at each of us toothlessly.  Something about her makes me wonder if she dressed up just for us.

View from Mekong Sun deck

Returning to the Mekong Sun, our floating home, I return to the orchid-ringed sun deck and take in the soft light of the waning sun on the river.  The breeze is fresh and I marvel at how this major waterway and South East Asian lifeline can be so clean and smell so sweet in the Pacific Century.  It can’t last for long, I fear.  The Chinese and Thai have many dams planned in the next decade, and the industry that is so absent now will arrive, no doubt marring the beauty of this land and spoiling the purity of these waters. I only hope that the happiness and serenity of Khokphu village and many others along the river’s edge will survive the inevitable development ahead.

The Mekong at Dawn

I confess, I love the stories behind a revolution. They are exciting, bold, romantic, epic. They also entail struggle, pain, blood and death.  Unlike wars between nations, revolutions attempt to throw out an old system and replace it with something fresh, more just, more virtuous. Idealism runs rampant until reality sets in and human nature, with all its foibles, takes over and finds itself once again with a system that is flawed, and often as unjust and cruel as the previous one.  Yet through this process, a national fiber is stretched, yanked, distorted, and pounded, until the country re-emerges into a new dawn, and rediscovers who it has been all along.

Dawn over Havana

There is something very distinctive about visiting a country that has lived through a revolution, and even more so when the citizens still remember the event firsthand.  The experience of strife and distress tests the human mettle, and makes those who survive stronger and more keenly focused on life’s priorities and their fundamental cultural values. The end result is a distillation of culture that conveys the soul of the place with more potency–a full embrace of authentic cultural identity.

I found this to be true in Cuba, from which I returned a few days ago.   The island nation exudes a warmth and passion that have clearly been a part of the national fiber since the beginning, but perhaps have become much more powerful over years of hardship.  Here is a people who speak of love freely, who call each other (whether lover, friend or colleague) ‘mi amor,’ who begin to move their bodies the minute they detect a musical beat, and who kiss you on your second encounter.  Feelings are not beneath the surface as they are in many cultures.

In Cuba, expressing emotion is the only way to be, to exist, even when conducting business. They pour their heart into all they do and say. There is a sincerity of purpose and pride that struck me as refreshingly pure. Whether it was the sociologist in charge of the Clinic for the Prevention of HIV/AIDS or Papa Tin who founded the Colmenita project to help children with disabilities become happy, well-adjusted teens, I marveled at the amount of heart every Cuban I met put into to their work.

Children sing and dance at the Colmenita Project

Suffering is no stranger to Cuba–traumatizing events, from the Revolution in 1959 to the Soviet Union’s pull out in 1990, have put this island nation through hell.  Yet that national fiber appears stronger than ever and an indomitable spirit endures—one that loves, dances and sings with renewed gusto.

I remember my father telling of his frustration and powerlessness during a meeting of top American officers in Saigon in the 1960s.  They discussed strategies that made no sense, they exhibited a complete ignorance of Vietnam and the Vietnamese people, they discounted advice from their fellow officers who had seen combat in this foreign land.

My father, Howard Simpson, wrote this book on Dien Bien Phu, "the battle American forgot"

My father was in no position to disabuse this group of their tactics. He was just an advisor to the political warfare section of the South Vietnamese army, whose experience in Vietnam dated back to 1952 and included time at Dien Bien Phu, the battle where the French lost their colonial hold on the country. Furthermore, these officers were Ivy League and West Point graduates, while my father had studied at an art academy in Paris on the GI Bill after landing on Utah Beach on June 6, 1944.  He had no place in this circle.

Today I find this story underlines the importance to me of education abroad for all U.S. college students.  In the past decade, study abroad professionals on campuses across the country have been making headway, changing set attitudes among faculty and administrations, and encouraging students to consider a stint in a foreign country.  Despite concerted efforts, however, the number of U.S. college students who study abroad remains very low and represents less than 1% of the total number of American undergraduates. When a student does choose a term abroad, it is usually for a summer term only, eight weeks, while semester-long programs are less favored.

Students learn calligraphy on a CET China program.

At Yale, there is the ultimate commitment to education abroad in the Richard U. Light Fellowship that allows students to study intensive language in China, Japan or Korea multiple times over the course of their undergraduate years. The scholarship covers all expenses. According to the Director of the Light Fellowship Program, Kelly McLaughlin, “Since its inception, the fellowship has awarded $13 million dollars to 900 Yale students (including undergraduate, graduate and professional) for fully funded language study.”

Other universities, like Lewis & Clark, Kalamazoo, St. Olaf, report that over 80% of their undergraduates study abroad.  Schools that proudly number among the top in the number of students studying abroad include University of Minnesota (75% of their undergrad population), Middlebury (63%), and American University (60%). (Source: Open Doors; IIEnetwork.org<http://IIEnetwork.org&gt;; 2009 Data Tables)

There is increasing support for the notion of making a study abroad term part of an American undergraduate education.  Currently, there is a bill pending called the Senator Paul Simon Study Abroad Foundation Act.  NAFSA, the primary association for education abroad professionals, describes the bill’s goals as follows:

• Increasing participation in quality study abroad programs.
• Encouraging diversity in student participation in study abroad.
• Diversifying locations of study abroad, particularly in developing countries.
• Making study abroad a cornerstone of today’s higher education.

In short, the bill aims to develop a more globally informed American citizenry.  For now, its progress has been slow, though the Senate Appropriations Committee did set aside initial funding of $2 million in August this year to start a program following the same model as the Simon Bill. With so many other urgent legislative items, I fear this priority will continue to languish.

Inspired by the spirit of the Simon Bill, several of my colleagues at CET Academic Programs and Academic Travel Abroad and myself established a 501c3 non-profit organization this year called the Fund for Education Abroad (www.fundforeducationabroad.org). Our mission is to eliminate financial barriers to study abroad through scholarships for deserving students, particularly those in under-represented groups like minorities, non-liberal arts majors and community college students.

We are holding our first benefit here in Washington DC on Tuesday, November 9, at George Washington University.

In this intimately connected world, can we really afford to delay in making a term abroad part of every college-educated American’s experience?  How different would the world be if our leaders had each spent time studying abroad, learning a foreign language, adapting to different mores, overcoming barriers of understanding, dispelling American stereotypes, and generally appreciating differences and finding commonality in the human experience?

Imagine if, way back in 1965, those military officers had studied abroad in Asia, learned the language,  developed a finer understanding of Asian history, culture and guerilla warfare and analyzed the intelligence with deeper insight.  It’s hard to speculate on how history may have changed course, but one can only hope that the conversations would have been better informed and the results less disastrous.

Over the years, I have developed a theory: a good traveler makes the very best of friends.  In other words, if you can travel the world comfortably, adjusting good-humoredly to the unexpected, respecting other cultures, tasting new cuisines and dishes, appreciating your hosts, and remaining gracious through discomfort, then you are not only a great traveler, you have proven yourself a fine human being.  You embody all that world religions encourage us to be:  kind, generous, selfless, appreciative of life, and treating others as you would want to be treated.

Traveling involves tasting it all!

I was sharing this theory with a friend recently, and she admitted that she has a similar theory: that good hosts make great friends.  She expanded by saying that there are those who love to host, and those who love to be guests.  Of course, you can enjoy being both. However, a great host is one who puts their guest first, who is ever-aware of others’ needs and graciously fulfills them without interrupting the flow of everyone’s enjoyment.  A great host makes every guest feel special and well-attended to, takes into account any special needs (diets or favorite drinks), and makes sure no one ever feels excluded, weaving them into the conversation with a well-placed question.

A great friend, being helped across a stream, Ait Ben Haddou, Morocco

It wasn’t until after our exchange of theories that I realized that a traveler is essentially a guest, and that my friend and I were simply focusing on two sides of the same equation. This balance of host and guest, traveler and host country, represent the give and take that is essential in all human relations.  We give and we receive, and it is the way in which we do both that demonstrates our care for others—and the quality of our humanity.

In Nubia, with Gracious Host

Dear Friends,

The tale of the Egyptian Prince Tutmosis III and his encounter with the Sphinx of Giza fascinates me.  On a hunting trip in the Valley of the Gazelles some time before his reign, Tutmosis III decided to take a nap to escape the midday sun. He chose the shade below the head (the only visible section) of the Great Sphinx of Giza.  While he slept, the Sphinx spoke to him and told him that, if he dug the Sphinx out of the sand that covered it, he would be assured the throne of Egypt.  So Tutmosis III set to work and excavated the Sphinx, the very first restoration of this site, undertaken circa 1400 BCE. The story of this dream is recounted on the stelae at the Sphinx’s feet.

What captivates me about this tale is the fact that, even in 1400 BCE, the Sphinx and the Pyramids of Giza were already ancient, having existed since 2650 BCE, and that the protective layers of desert sand had already buried all but the Sphinx’s head over the preceding 1200 years.

Egypt’s ancient wonders abound, but it is not until you stand within inches of the deeply carved cartouches of Ramses II in Karnak or the stunning turquoise of painted vulture wings on Hatshepsut’s Temple, or the intricate delicacy of King Tutankhamen’s jewelry, that the impossibility overwhelms you.  How can such beauty have survived 2000, 3000, 4000 years? 

Vivid colors of a Vulture's Plumage on Hatshepsut's Temple

Entering the imposing structure of Ramses III Temple, there is a series of chapels to the left.  Little color remains, and the carvings seem simplified, unremarkable.  It turns out, these chapels date to Alexander the Great’s time—circa 332 BCE. Modern, by Egyptian standards!  Yet paling in comparison to the elaborate scenes of battle and power depicted on Ramses III’s own temple walls.

Deep in the Temple of Luxor (circa 1400 BCE), past the small area that once served as a chapel for Roman soldiers during the 3^rd century CE, there is a shrine built by Alexander the Great, depicting the Greek king as a pharaoh.  Here, you can stand between the outer wall built by Amenhotep III and the inner wall of the Greek shrine.  Within a couple of feet of each other, the contrast is sharp: over a 1000 years pass from the time the Egyptian outer wall was carved to the time the Greeks erect their shrine. Yet, Alexander the Great’s craftsmen lose this contest: their work appears amateurish at best.

It’s not often that Alexander the Great comes across as lacking accomplishment.  Yet ancient Egypt puts many more modern cultures to shame.  Even the Romans, who seemed to lack the respect and interest Alexander showed Egyptian culture, appear boorish and uncultured in comparison.  The Roman chapel within the Temple of Luxor is made of scavenged temple stones, betrayed by the upside down body parts and images carved on their surfaces.

Image of Ramses III on his Temple

Reflecting on all the perfection that bears tribute to Egypt’s royal ancestors, I can’t help but wonder what we have lost over time in sophistication, technique, and ambition. And I rejoice in the protective benefits of the sands of Egypt—without them, what treasures would have been lost to humankind!

For information on our educational journeys to Egypt, please visit http://www.smithsonianjourneys.org/tours/egyptianodyssey2010/.

When an earthquake occurred in China during students’ spring break, and an Icelandic  volcano spewed ash across European skies, and Greeks threw projectiles on Syntagma Square in Athens, several friends and professional associates asked me the same question: “Why are you in this crazy business?!”

Well, it all harks back to why we list “Never a dull moment” as one of our corporate values.  Those of us who have committed our careers to the world of travel and international education love the ever-changing world in which we live and thrive on its unpredictability, its surprises, its challenges and its mystery.  None of us could survive in clock-watching jobs, where routine is the norm and changes cause great discomfort and anxiety.  Quite the opposite:  we love the dynamism of change, the rewards of evolution, the promise of a different tomorrow—a world in which learning truly never ends.

After 22 years in the educational travel sphere, I sometimes think “I have seen it all.” I couldn’t be more wrong, because no sooner has that thought occurred than I am presented with yet another “first.”  Whether it’s having a group return from Turkey on 9/11 and have to land in Nova Scotia to be accommodated on a Canadian military base, or facilitating the return of stranded travelers during a volcano eruption, or accommodating a request for a wedding ceremony to be performed on our chartered yacht in the Aegean Sea—I am confident now that I will never have seen it all.  And for this, I am eternally grateful.

The fields of educational travel and international education (representing both sides of the Academic Travel Abroad business: tours and study abroad programs) usually attract individuals who are intellectually curious, enjoy challenges, have a sense of exploration and discovery and a deep appreciation for life in all forms.  This rich community is well represented within ATA.

During our Spring Dance Party at my house last Friday, this positive energy and love of life was very apparent!   Our community is diverse (representing not only various states around the country, but also Japan, China, Syria, Iraq, Israel, Italy, France and Panama!), the conversations were animated, and the dancing was energetic and fun.  This is a group that works very hard, yet understands the importance of work-life balance and knows how to relax.

So in the midst of world upheavals, I thank my lucky stars that I work amidst such talented, intelligent and spirited individuals.   Thank you all and may we continue to learn new lessons every day.

 Kate Simpson