From Athens to Augusta: A Fulbright Odyssey

Picture this: a 38-year-old researcher, fueled by the desire to embrace every facet of her Fulbright journey and truly enjoy Georgia. Beyond the laboratory walls, there is also life — an opportunity to explore the heartbeat of Athens and beyond.

So, on a Friday morning, drove by impulse or perhaps guided by destiny, I found myself purchasing a bus ticket to Augusta for the next Sunday, a two-hour journey by bus. From the beginning to the end, this was an adventure of blockbuster proportions.

 

The unconventional journey began with a peculiar sight: the bus departure point was a gas station. Standing there, 30 minutes early, in the cold, in front of a gas station, I observed the flow of Athens' inhabitants — their lives, their cars, their stories. It might not have been the trendiest spot, but it was the right one. As time ticked away without a bus or fellow travelers in sight, doubt sneaked in. "Oh no, what a mistake. This was a fraud. Always me!" Yet, a decision to wait prevailed, knowing delays can be part of any transit adventure. At last, 20 minutes past the hour, the bus materialized, and its jolly driver welcomed me aboard.

 

I showed my ticket, but even though she had my name on a paper, she could not find my ticket. Nevertheless, she told me that she would let me in, and I asked if I would be able to come back, to which she replied, “I do not know”. I entered anyway. At least I am going. One problem at a time! The bus was almost empty, with a Latin American family, perhaps off to visit relatives.

 

The travel was amazing — seeing the farms, the houses, hearing the people on the bus. Then, the bus stopped in the middle of nowhere with a mechanical problem. 

My first thought was, “Poor passengers, if they knew how much chaos I attract, they would leave this bus right now”. My second thought, “I am going on an adventure”. After 10 minutes, the bus driver started the bus again, and here we go. Washington, GA, a progressive small town, became an unexpected chapter. The bus turned out in the middle of the road, attracting the attention of a real sheriff. Mechanical hiccups and a roadside consultation followed, but after a resilient 20 minutes, we were back on track.

 

Augusta, my destination, greeted me with open arms. My first stop was Springfield Village Park, adjacent to Springfield Baptist Church — the oldest active African American church in America. This park, a tribute to the Springfield Community, a vital part of African American history in Georgia, displayed sculptures by Richard Hunt, a celebrated African American abstract sculptor.

 

Next on my agenda was the Freedom Bridge, historically known as the Jefferson Davis Memorial Bridge or 5th Street Pedestrian Bridge. As I gazed at the Savannah River, a sense of accomplishment washed over me. I dreamt it, I planned it, and I made it. 

There I was on a cold but very sunny day. I decided to do the Augusta Riverwalk, a multi-level brick trail spanning from 6th to 10th Streets along the banks of the Savannah River. With the view of the houses of North Augusta, South Carolina, a cinematic moment unfolded — a helicopter landing near the river, on a small area that I thought was for a boat, showcasing the myriad ways people could get home. Poor neighbors!

 

Crossing bridge on the 13th street, I inadvertently ventured into South Carolina, ticking off two states in a single day. Exhausted but happy, I walked back to the bus station, and this time, the bus was punctual. The same bus, the same driver, but thankfully, no mechanical stops. As I journeyed back to Athens, the undeniable truth lingered — I did not regret a moment of this adventure.

 

“Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So, throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

 

Onward to new horizons!