Tea Overlooking the Zambezi and Other Great Gigs

It's all in a day's work for professors who lead educational tours

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By PIPER FOGG

Craig Stanford is used to traveling the hard way. An anthropologist at the University of Southern California, he has studied the behavior of primates in dozens of countries, accepting the spartan accommodations that go along with academic field research. In remote areas of Bangladesh, India, Peru, Tanzania, and Uganda, he has lived for months without electricity or running water. He has endured constant exposure to snakes and disease and worked long hours in the hot sun.

So when he agreed to lead an alumni tour to Africa two years ago, Mr. Stanford got his first glimpse of luxury travel. He and eight guests flew in a fleet of tiny private planes around South Africa, Botswana, and Zimbabwe. At a stop in the remote Okavango Delta, in Botswana, they arrived at a hotel compound to find a heated pool, a masseuse, and gourmet meals. The group marveled at vast herds of elephants and wildebeests from open-top jeeps before stopping for high tea, served on linens and china overlooking the Zambezi River. Mr. Stanford had to give a few lectures along the way, but that came naturally to him. Having spent years working with the renowned primatologist Jane Goodall, he had plenty of stories to share. The trip, valued at more than $8,000, didn't cost him a cent.

Many colleges, private and public, large and small, offer trips with an educational component these days, usually through the alumni office in conjunction with an educational-travel company. The National Geographic Society and the Smithsonian Institution also organize such tours. While there are packages to fit many budgets, the upper-echelon offerings are especially enticing to academics fortunate enough to be invited along. They travel free of charge and sometimes earn a small stipend to boot. They join paying guests at fine restaurants and attend such events as concerts, plays, wine tastings, and tea ceremonies. Scholars serve as cultural and educational guides, setting the programs apart from other organized tours.

Professors find an attractive contrast to the academic lifestyle. "These are not the vacations I would take myself," says Susan Ackerman with a laugh. As chairman of the religion department at Dartmouth College, she has been a faculty leader on alumni trips to Egypt and Europe that were offered by Dartmouth, Harvard University, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in New York. She has sipped Champagne on a four-masted sailing yacht, dined with foreign dignitaries, and toured art galleries after hours.

"There is this 'how the other half lives' aspect to this experience," she says.

In looking for faculty experts, trip organizers seek out popular professors who lecture well and like being around people. The main requirement, beyond giving a few talks, is to be available to the paying guests, who are largely wealthy and white-haired. Professors must be willing to linger over meals and chat with alumni. Taking cues from the historical and cultural surroundings, they have to be able to give impromptu lessons on a bus, train, or ship. They must be willing to hold forth on the steps of a temple, in the midst of a village market, or in the depths of an ancient cave.

Faculty leaders are "peppered constantly with questions," says Amy Kotkin, director of Smithsonian Journeys. "You've got to be the kind of person who thrives on that." If you are, says Mr. Stanford, "it's a huge treat."

After leading a trip, most scholars are hooked. John W. Rick, an associate professor of anthropology at Stanford University, led his first trip 20 years ago, and estimates he has led nearly three dozen since then. For his scholarly research on early hunter-gatherers, he flies to archaeological digs throughout Latin America. By leading alumni on trips to those same spots, he saves on travel costs. And occasionally on labor costs as well: In 2001 he brought alumni to join his dig at Chavin de Huántar, an ancient temple site in Peru. He got free help, while the alumni got hands-on experience (and a tax write-off).

The group was able to take part in a bona fide discovery there, Mr. Rick recalls. One day the diggers opened up what turned out to be a ceremonial chamber containing 20 strombus trumpets, traditional instruments made from conch shells that had not been touched since they were placed there. "People got their money's worth," he says.

During such excursions, Mr. Rick goes out of his way to hook his group up with local contacts. They arrange for VIP treatment, such as entrance to private areas at historical sites or museums. "It's sort of elitism travel," he says.

Last August the professor and the alumni ate dinner with the Peruvian president, Alejandro Toledo Manrique, a Stanford alumnus. And on a trip to Guatemala, they dined with that country's then-president, Jorge Serrano Elías, also a Stanford graduate.

The most deluxe trip Mr. Rick has taken was a private jet tour around the world, organized by Stanford. A specially outfitted Boeing 757 with large seats and a private chef whisked the travelers to 10 countries in three weeks for "Sanctuaries of the Ancient World." The plane circled Easter Island for spectacular aerial views. In Cambodia the group checked into the legendary Raffles Grand Hotel d'Angkor, a French-colonial landmark with manicured gardens and a pool the size of a small lake. In Machu Picchu, Peru, they stayed at the only hotel located at the ruins themselves.

"It gives you a glow of privilege," says Mr. Rick, who at times is embarrassed by the extravagance. In addition to free meals, airfare, and accommodations, he is paid $100 a day for his duties, plus money for laundry and telephone calls home. And if there's anything the group wants to do, Mr. Rick has found he can hit up hotel concierges to make unusual arrangements. In northern Peru, he asked for an appointment with a local shaman. The concierge went off to the local "witches' market," Mr. Rick says, to track down a medicine man willing to do a demonstration at the hotel. "It's not something you'd ask for in New York," says Mr. Rick. "Your imagination is your only limit."

H. Catherine W. Skinner, a Yale University researcher in the department of geology and geophysics, shared the royal treatment on a 13-day trip to Iceland last June, one of about a dozen tours she's been on in the past 20 years. It cost $6,990 per person. The best part, besides being able to travel free with her husband, a Yale professor and fellow trip leader, was being able to enjoy the natural beauty of the island. Because local guides took care of most of the logistics, like choosing restaurants, she was free to hike blue glaciers and inspect a lava flow preserved from an eruption in 1783. Ms. Skinner is fascinated by population dynamics, so she was particularly interested in learning about genetic testing of the country's unusually isolated population.

But even luxurious accommodations can't always prevent the occasional pitfalls of travel. When Dartmouth's Ms. Ackerman went sailing on a yacht that carried her group from Portugal to England, it hit some rough seas. It was the first time she had to give a lecture with a barf bag under the podium, just in case.

Another benefit of leading travel tours is the opportunity to meet accomplished and interesting people. The passenger list for one of Ms. Ackerman's trips included the late Peter Benchley, author of the novel Jaws, whom fellow travelers persuaded to lecture about his work. A trip Mr. Rick led to Egypt included Robert S. McNamara, the former defense secretary, who agreed on the spot to give an informal talk. And sometimes top university officials join tours. Stanford's provost went to Peru with Mr. Rick in August. Kenneth B. Wolf, a Pomona College historian, has found himself on trips with trustees and well-connected alumni. He will become an associate dean in May, he says, and so "those kinds of trustee connections will be useful."

Not all faculty members are eager to lead educational trips. Some have been ribbed for going on "junkets" or have to answer to colleagues who question how they could spend weeks entertaining rich retirees.

Other professors are nervous that they would have to be cheerleaders for the college. "Some say, 'Why would you want to travel with these people?'" notes Mr. Rick.

Ms. Ackerman admits that she has to be constantly aware of the guests. "You're always on," she says. "You become the public face of Dartmouth." But she has met "a lot of people who really have had fascinating lives and experiences," she says. The travelers are adventurous and curious, she says — "not the Carnival Cruise type."

"They're a good and responsive audience," agrees Ronald Gottesman, a professor emeritus of English at Southern California. He was planning to join several other faculty leaders on a jet trip around the world in March and April, co-sponsored by his university and the Smithsonian. He has done a lot of preparation, composing lectures and reading up on sites. At Machu Picchu, he was preparing to give a talk called "How to Make a Mummy."

Being retired, Mr. Gottesman, 73, finds that the travel keeps his mind engaged. "It's very much an extended education for me," he says. The same goes for his wife, who, like most spouses or guests of faculty leaders, gets a substantial discount. She has to pay 30 percent to 50 percent of the $50,000 price tag. "It's still a good deal," says Mr. Gottesman. "She just has to smile."

With deluxe journeys available to faculty members, it's a wonder more professors aren't jetting off around the globe. But, of course, there is work to be done on the campus. Most professors try to work lengthy trips in during college breaks, sabbaticals, or semesters in which they have light teaching loads. With e-mail and the Internet, it's usually easy to check in from abroad. And some trips are offered in the United States, such as tours of the route taken by Lewis and Clark.

Ms. Ackerman is chairman of the religion department, so she planned her Egypt trip to coincide with Dartmouth's spring break and appointed an acting chairman in her absence. Southern California's Mr. Stanford, who is chairman of the anthropology department, arranged his travels so that he missed only one seminar while he was in Antarctica in January.

"This is my one indulgence," he says. After years of tent living and catching malaria in the field, he adds, "I think I'm entitled."