Alchemy

Alex and I have purchased premade sandwiches at little grocery stores we've found over here - it's a cheap way to get a few meals that will last all day - very handy when you're having a day made up entirely of travel. Yesterday was one of the stereotypical travel days. We wake up in Paris, and are due in northern Netherlands by the evening. So we get up at 9:00, pack up our things, and make it to our train from Paris to Brussels that leaves at 11:00. Around 12:30 we're in Brussels, and since we left a thing or two at our wonderful host home in Brussels, we're stopping by their house to pick them up. A quick errand, then it's back to the train station, where we take a 3 hour train to Amsterdam. But our host in the Netherlands is closer to where Skylar lives, so we take a 2.5 hour train from Amsterdam north to get to Leeuwarden.

The journey from Amsterdam to Leeuwarden requires a connection to be made in Amersfoort, so about 40 minutes after leaving Amsterdam we switch platforms and trains. Once on that train, we're expecting to rest the rest of the 2 hours until we arrive in Leeuwarden. But about 45 minutes later that train stops, and an announcement comes over the intercom saying that this train would be staying here, and we'd have to move to a different train to continue on to Leeuwarden for the evening. More shifting.

Finally, we arrive in Leeuwarden, where we then have to find a bus to a specific stop to find our host for the evening.

Honestly, folks, this is a stereotypical travel day for us. We've been doing this thing for almost a month now, and it really is beginning to feel just like a day in the life. Get up early, pack our things. Catch our first train, expect to make a few connections along the way as we traverse the continent to our next destination. You get used to carrying around your big backpack in the tight spaces and the narrow hallways that trains have. You get used to lifting them over your head to shove them into the compartments over the seat. You get used to shifting your things around to get what you need for the train ride out of your bag (in my case: food we purchased at the little grocery shop in the train station, journal, bible, pen, and sometimes iPod; for Alex it's his iTouch, our food, and sometimes his journal).

But there were a couple changes to the stereotypical plan that made yesterday's all day train travel really miserable for me.

First of all, I noticed in Paris that my big backpack has begun to rip. There's the part of the backpack that goes around the waist, and it's meant to carry all of the weight (the shoulder straps are really more for stability rather than meaning to be the weight-bearing part). But somehow, something caught on the plastic part that keeps one of those waist straps in position, and has sliced right through it nearly 85% of the way. Fortunately, the waist straps still serve their purpose when it's on and I'm strapped in, but when it's off, the waist strap moves about independently, usually causing it to rip a little bit more. (Good news: I think it will last me through the rest of the trip, especially once we add some duct tape to the situation. The bad news: This makes putting on and taking off the backpack a little bit more tricky, especially in all those tight spaces upon trains that I mentioned. And it makes the straps in general a bit more fragile.)

Second, do you remember those premade sandwiches I mentioned earlier? We first discovered them in the UK. They have quite an array of choices, and really, they're top notch quality. Nick's friend Jacqueline first introduced us to the concept when we were at Windsor Castle and we stopped at an M&S for lunch. We've enjoyed this type of meal a number of times in the last month, and at one point I even had a salmon sandwich! A strange concept, but it was actually quite tasty.

So yesterday we're in one of the many train stations, with a few minutes before our next train departs. We wisely use this time to validate my new rail pass and grab some food. Alex grabbed his favourite, the BLT, and a Club sandwich. I couldn't really find much (since it's not even in English) that looked familiar, but then I noticed another Club sandwich, and the interesting salmon sandwich I had enjoyed a couple weeks previously.

A tidbit of information on Alex and I. Before we left home, I was having a discussion with my mom about Alex and I saving money while on this trip. Flippantly I made the comment, "We'll just eat once a day and sleep on trains," to which my mom wisely replied, "Now remember, your brother is bigger than you and eats a lot. Make sure to let him eat." Except Mom, I've been meaning to tell you: Since we've been over here, Alex hasn't been as hungry as we might think. It's your daughter that wants to eat every couple hours, and even though we've just had a full meal at McDonalds, half an hour later she's still craving bread, cheese, chocolate, something else to snack on. (I think our host in Paris thought there was something wrong with me.)

So it's no surprise that while Alex can wait, and desires to make his food last a little bit longer; as soon as we sit down on the train, I'm hungry. I dive into my salmon sandwich, and enjoy a bit of the baguette we purchased with some cheese. Ahh, sweet satisfaction.

But about an hour later, we're not even close to reaching our destination. We have multiple trains and legs of travel ahead of us, and I don't feel well. By the time we're on the first train from Amsterdam to the Netherlands, I'm starting to wonder if I'm going to get to enjoy the 'culprit', that salmon sandwich, a second time, and in reverse. And then I feel so terrible that I'm actually hoping to regurgitate it so it will be out of my system.

At this point, I'm just plain unhappy to be where I am. I'm tired of carrying my broken backpack around, I'm tired of running with mere minutes to catch our next train with this broken backpack, and a stomach that is threatening to murder me if I keep trying to run, regardless of what good reasoning I have to do so. I'm tired of feeling nauseous, being jostled by the train during my nausea, and being locked out of one of the bathrooms on one of the trains. All I want to do is lay down, and stop being on trains, or buses, or waiting at metro stations. I just want to feel better, and everything about my current situation is preventing that from happening.

I've been reading the beginning of the Old Testament lately. I've always been pretty interested in the story of the Israelites going from Egypt, through the wilderness, into the Promise Land. In print, to spend 40 years in the desert/wilderness is just a number, but to really consider spending 40 years wandering in a place you can't call home, that's gotta be frustrating. But the story demonstrates to us that sometimes such a period is necessary in order to get to where you really want to be. There's an aspect to the journey, to the wilderness, that's meant to teach us a thing or two about the type of person we're becoming. One of the reasons for the wilderness for the Israelites was to teach them about how to live as God's people, so that when they came into their blessing, when they received the life they'd been dreaming about in the midst of their slavery, that they would know how to truly appreciate and experience this blessing. (Very "new wine, and needing to turn the old wineskins into new wineskins" kind of thing.)

Who's read the Alchemist? Great book. Talk to Alex about this book, and he will forever sing its praises. I'm a big fan myself. Alchemy is the process of turning ordinary things into gold, and the story is all about a boy finding this 'treasure' he's dreamt about, and the journey he takes/gets taken on in order to discover it. But like any wisdom of the ages, the book is quick to point out that any journey worth taking, while the universe will anxiously assist anyone attempting to pursue their passion/achieve their destiny/take a worthwhile journey or pilgrimmage, that doesn't mean such days will be completely without struggle, disappointment, frustration, set-backs. It's absolutely true that we should just accept that the days where you feel like crap and you're wondering what this whole thing is for - these days will happen. They are unavoidable. But  most of all, they are necessary. They are a crucial part of the journey. Not only do they help us appreciate to a greater degree the good days, and the simple things, like being able to sit down, the joy of connecting with a dear friend, a warm shower and a hot meal, the ability to sleep horizontally instead of vertically, etc...

...but they help to augment a change occuring deep within us, teaching us something about the type of person we're meant to be. It is truly a blessing that life doesn't just hand us the gifts and dreams that we so deeply crave, but first teaches us how to be the type of people that can really enjoy and appreciate our much desired gifts and dreams.

And when you think about it, even the miserable parts bring about something really great and helpful, just as vomiting all last night helped me to rid the problematic sandwich from my being. Let's be honest, after I was done, I did feel much better, and was even thankful to be throwing up, despite how painful and unpleasant such an act is, because I knew that it was absolutely necessary for me to feel better.

That being said, even the days such as yesterday make the journey worthwhile, as they teach us something about ourselves, they help us to learn valuable lessons, and they help us to shed layers and habits and toxins that might otherwise stay in our system, our lives, our habits, etc. Because whether it's this pilgrimmage, or life in general, the point of a journey is not merely to arrive. Arriving is only possible once the trek is made, and the answers usually aren't found unless the process of getting to them has been endured. The journey is just as much a part of arriving as actually arriving, and it is important we remember its necessity. We are experiencing growth on the journey that makes us ready for what we're arriving to...not to mention in the days of struggle the days without struggle are that much sweeter, and more appreciated.

"For I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us." -Romans 8:18

The American Dream

Pulp Fiction was right: At McDonalds in Paris, the quarter pounder is officially called "Royal cheese." And it's delicious.

Alex has decided that the official American dream is simply: Free Refills. And he's right. Europe has not jumped on board as we might like as we go about our trek.

Cynthia, you were right. Europe does not take to peanut butter quite like we do in America. The concept is strange to most people we've met. The other day we had the pleasure of being on an American military base. Alex and I are now the proud owners of some delicious Reese's Peanut Butter cups and Reese's Pieces.

Still no Taco Bell to be found though. However, last night I dreamt I was at home, craving Taco Bell. Then I realized, "Wait a minute, I'm at home! I can have Taco Bell anytime!" I hop in the car, and start to drive to the nearest one. I'm almost there, and I wake up. Bummer. But speaking of food, last night with our wonderful host, Matt, (who is eccentric and creative, he collects penguins, is a big Tim Burton fan, profoundly hospitable, and authentically French), we were exposed to a delicious combination of French bread, cheese, and wine. Whether it's bread and cheese or tortillas and queso, I'm a big fan. 

The French keyboard is similar enough to ours that it's usable, but different enough that it takes an eternity to type something that formerly took me under two minutes to hammer out.
1) Shift is required to type a number, and the period.
2) M is where the comma should be, and vice versa.
3) Q is where A should be, and vice versa.
4) Z is where W should be, and vice versa.
Don't even get me started on the apostrophe, the parenthesis, and quotations.

By the way, what we call "French Fries" aren't actually French at all. They originated in Belgium, where they are referred to as "friets."

So far, the French have been nice and helpful. We had a full French conversation today too:
Stephanie: "Bonjour! Où est le catacombs?"
(He points to the building we're just across the street from, and smiles.)
Us: "Merci beaucoup!"

Yep, we're proud of us too. :)

'Backpacking' does not equal 'Vacation'.

I made a comment yesterday morning about our vacation of backpacking being a bit more challenging some days than a vacation would imply. Alex promptly corrected me, "I don't think backpacking is ever a vacation, Stephanie."

Yesterday quickly agreed with him, and I think they're both right. (This isn't to say backpacking isn't incredible, but it's certainly not a "relax, take a load off, worry about nothing for the duration of your holiday" kind of excursion.) Yesterday proved that for a number of reasons, backpacking is not exactly what one might call a vacation.

1) "No further sailings on this route." The rail pass schedule you were given to ease your travel plans is updated by the individual companies the minute the rail pass leaves the interview, apparently, so the book you're given as a handy reference is hardly that. What I mean is this: even though the rail pass timetable for 2010 will say you can take a ferry on these dates from Germany to Finland, that doesn't mean that actually exists. Sometimes the one ferry the rail pass says will take you from point A to point B has cancelled all their scheduled crossings for the forseeable future.

2) Tight budgeting. You have to stay on a budget, since you have no source of income, and sometimes this means you eat peanut butter and jelly for 5 days in a row, and try to pretend you don't miss Taco Bell so much that you've had more than one dream you're enjoying it. (Maybe Taco Bell will read this blog, and appreciate my love for it so much that free Taco Bell for life will be in my future...)

3) Public transportation: 1; You: 0. Sometimes you'll miss your bus stop, because the bus driver took a different route than the destination and markers you had memorized. When you ask him to help you fix your dilemma, he'll try to help you with his broken attempts at English, but will eventually be required to do his job and carry on with the bus route, and he'll leave you stranded at the sketchiest bus stop in the middle of no where, with the not-so-encouraging, "There might be a bus coming by, but probably not tonight."

Rule #3: DO NOT miss your bus stop. Especially if it's past dark, in a foreign country where English is not the primary language. You may end up walking home.

And walk we did. Because yesterday we managed to find the only person in Brussels that doesn't speak some English: our bus driver. So despite getting him on the phone with our hosts hoping he can tell them where to pick us up, he quickly gave up, and left us on the side of the road.

So we're walking...

...3 kilometers in what we think is the right direction, in what appears to be an abandoned part of Brussels.

Rule # 4: You MUST pay attention to everything when you're traveling. It is absolutely crucial that you look alive, learn the keen perceptive skills, and take note of every detail. Because you never know when recognizing a word you only glanced at 7 hours earlier could be the key to your salvation, and that hot meal you were promised but can't seem to make it home to.

Last night as we got on the bus, it was the last leg back home, and we were tired from all the different legs of transportation. But it was a different bus, the wrong route, and even though it said it was going our way, it completely passed our area to stop in the Overijse commune (what they call towns/cities here), and as I mentioned, we were blessed with a bus driver who spoke minimal English.

Later we find ourselves dropped off in the middle of nowhere, at the sketchiest bus stop I've ever seen.

So we start walking, because we don't have any confidence that a bus will be along to rescue us at this bus stop before the next morning.

3 km to Overijse.

These are the streets no one lives on, the streets buses don't frequent after dark, and you certainly don't find sane and cautious people walking them (if they can help it).

2 km to Overijse.

The sidewalk becomes a muddy shoulder to the street, and the speed limit is 70. We're in mostly dark attire, and I flash my cell phone light at cars as they speed past, hoping to avoid a quick and anticlimactic death in the abandoned and dilapidated margin of Brussels.

1 km to Overijse.

We have no idea what we'll do when we run out of kilometers. We're praying something looks familiar before we run out of ideas. Funny how God often works that way...sometimes it's no booming voice or epiphany, but a simple idea you just think, "Perhaps we'll try this now..."

Our minds run wild with horror film plots as we traverse a street even the cars speed past refusing to stop or show hesitation by slowing down, only daring to tread these concrete waters to get through to where people reside, and angels don't dare tread.

Finally, Overijse Centrum, and what looks like the echoes of civilization.

I once heard that when using a compass, or trying to find your way, there are two pieces of crucial information. First, you need to know where you are. Second, you need to know where you're going. After that, finding your way is simple. It's determining the first two that usually provides the challenge.

We have an idea of where we need to be, but with no means of determining where that is in relation to its commune surroundings, it may as well be a place we only imagined. Earlier, when the bus driver left us in what looked like a potential setting for the Brussels Chainsaw Massacre, we had no idea how to tell anyone where we were. Neither did the bus driver, before dropping us off. And the phone numbers for the bus companies we found were out of service or don't connect after a certain hour. We were on our own.

But now, we had an idea, and it was enough to phone our hosts so they could come fetch us. Turns out our wildnerness skills were quite savvy, and we were a mere kilometer or two (at that point) from familliar, navigate-able territory.

My parents used to tell this joke when I was younger. A man who believes wholeheartedly in God lives in a two story house, and one day, it rains so hard that it floods. As the waters rise, a boat comes by.

"Come with us, we'll take you to safety!"
The man responds, "No, no, the Lord will save me."
Despite their insisting, the man won't budge. So they eventually leave.

The rains continue to come down, and the flood waters rise. The man is eventually forced to the second floor.

Another boat comes by, and the people plead, "Come with us, we'll take you to safety!"
But the man stubbornly persists, "No, no, God will save me."
So this boat also eventually leaves.

The rain continues to pour, and the floods continue to rise. The man is forced to move to the roof.

A helicopter comes by.

"Come with us, we'll take you to safety!"
But the man refuses. "No, no, God will save me."
The helicopter persists, but eventually leaves, just like the boats before it.

The floods continue to rise, and the man eventually drowns.

When he gets to heaven and approaches God, he's furious. "What is the deal?! I had faith in you, I believed with all my heart you would save me! Explain yourself!"

God replies, "Who do you think sent the two boats and the helicopter?"

Funny how the wisdom of society is often found in the lightheartedness of its ramblings, or in the creative side that is meant to entertain. As we heard in V for Vendetta, "Artists use lies to tell the truth."

Point being, faith and belief in something or someone is a tricky thing.

I don't think faith is easy, and sometimes it looks illogical. I think it requires you to step out of the comfort zone of having all the options figured out. At the moment I have no idea how we'll get from Germany to Finland, but I'm not concerned, and I trust we'll get there somehow. Looking at the rail pass book for the last couple months, I really thought it would be a piece of cake to hop from place to place. But sometimes in life, the ferry gets cancelled without asking if that's convenient for you, and you realize your ability to successfully plan 100% of the time is an illusion no matter what your belief system is. You end up places you never thought you'd be. You get disappointed, and things definitely don't go the way you think they should 100% of the time. Yet, disappointment and changes to the plans you have are not mutually exclusive with having a bit of faith, perhaps no larger than the mustard seed.

I've noticed some characters in the bible believing in something and leaping without really knowing how they'll be caught, and I always thought this to be so strange. They just seem to know (and believe through and through) that if they have a God with the heart of a Father that loves them and promises to provide for their needs, then they'll be taken care of. Somehow. Someway. Honestly, it does look a little crazy. I think faith is a little crazy, even though I believe it absolutely worthwhile. The world demands answers, people want to know how it will work out. I think Morpheus said it best when he was challenged with, "Not everyone shares your beliefs," and he simply responds, "My beliefs do not require them to."

Maybe sometimes we do fall. I don't have this whole thing figured out, not even close. I probably never will. But there is something about faith that trusts the answers will come when necessary...

"When you come to the end of all the light you know, and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: Either you will be given something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly."

Looking back, the UK felt so easy to navigate compared to what we're doing now. (Yes, I know, save the schpiel about the similar language and relatively similar culture, etc). But just because it was easier and we didn't run into the same problems we're now running into, that doesn't mean this part of the journey isn't worthwhile.

The disappointments can be beautiful if the heart is able to go with the flow, trusting more in the heart of the One guiding than in the ability for events to go exactly as planned. This doesn't mean we sit at the bus stop and just wait, or ignore the boats and helicopters when help arrives. No, we get up, start walking, follow the help when it comes, and trust that in taking those steps of faith, in taking what steps we can, then the rest of the path will be provided for us.

And it seems when we take a leap and try believing in the One guiding, we often find it is our faith that has saved us. (Luke 7:50, 18:42)

One of my mentors gave me this verse as I set out for this backpacking 'vacation': "Go ahead and prepare your horses for battle, but remember, your safety comes from the Lord!" (Proverbs 21:31)

We've only just completed day 21, and our cup seems to runneth over on adventures. I stand corrected Alex; backpacking, this trip, it's no vacation. It is so much more challenging, exhilerating, strengthening, and rewarding. Thus far, I've quit my job not knowing what I'll do to earn money in the future, survived a car wreck logic would assume I shouldn't have walked away from, hopped a flight to places I didn't know how to navigate, not knowing when I'll return. I've stayed at people's homes whom I've never met, fallen asleep in places trusting everything would be as it should when I wake up. I've wandered in cities completely lost hoping to find something familiar soon. I've hopped onto trains praying the directions I was given will actually take me where I want to go. And thus far, I have safely arrived, enjoyed delicious meals, made new and fantastic friends, not lost anything more than a rail pass, and had adventures to last a lifetime.

I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be. - Douglas Adams

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes. - Marcel Proust

Tarantino running to Brussels.

I'm running...

... down a slippery, broken escalator in Gare du St. Lazare, chasing Alex and Gary, trying to find the metro we need to take us to the Gare du Nord station, where our next train leaves in less than 20 minutes. It is unclear whether I am more concerned with not falling, or making the metro train in time regardless of the cost.

All the signs are in French. (As well they should be, this is their country.) Through the train and metro stations I feel I'm running through an Escher piece as the escalator descent seems endless, praying that what I think says it leads to where we need to go actually is where we need to be.

I don't know any French. I can say "thank you" ("Merci") and "such is life" (c'est la vie). Alex doesn't know any French. Nor does the Scouse (Gary from Liverpool) with whom we're racing through the stations. When you don't know the language, you fixate on the one thing that says where you need to be, and you simply tell anyone you ask for help that one phrase. (In our case, "Gare du Nord"). Add the pathetic, "please, for the love of all that is good, help me" face, and you pretty much have a recipe for success in any country. (At least in this one we're less likely to hear anyone say, in a language we can understand, 'you can't miss it.')

Still running. Forget losing weight walking everywhere, how many calories does one burn when at a full-on sprint carrying a 'packed-to-capacity' backpack? This information could come in handy.

This morning started on a ferry, which was all around relaxing. We hopped the ferry last night at 21:30 from Rosslare, Ireland. 18 hours later after sleeping in berth accommodations and enjoying the cool ocean air and view, we land in Cherbourg, France.

Logic would lead one to believe that where the ferry arrives, there will be an easy and obvious connection to the Cherbourg train station. Mental note: From what I've seen thus far, logic won't serve you well in France. No connection to the train station. No bus to take ferry departures to anywhere. What you can do is call for a taxi, and pray to whatever diety you believe in that it arrives with alacrity, because the last train leaving Cherbourg to Paris for the day departs in half an hour.

Looking back, I'd like to think we could have planned this better. But we were destined to have this day from the beginning. The ferry we caught was the only one going at a time we could make it. It arrived into the station only an hour before the last train left for the day to get to Paris. 45 minutes after the train gets into Paris we have to switch train stations, i.e. find our way across town, in order to make the last train of the day leaving for Brussels. So, either sleep in a train station, (Cherbourg or Paris, take your pick), or make the trains. 

By the way, half an hour before departing the ferry, I'm doing the standard 'double-check'.

Passport? Check.

Sandwiches/food we have for the journey? Check.

Pay-as-you-go phone? Check.

Eurail pass you just validated the day before and will need for the next two months to move about the 21 countries you have planned on the to-do list? Uh oh...

Don't ask me where I left it, the last place I remember having it was in the pocket in which I always keep it. Perhaps it fell out. Perhaps it's vanished. Perhaps it was stolen, although I don't know when that might have happened. But regardless of how it happened, the fact of the matter is: My. Eurail. Pass. Is. Gone.

Adventure/inconvenience on the pilgrimage? Check.

The nice thing about the rail pass is that it will get you on most trains for free. The down side to rail passes is when you lose them. "No, we don't insure them, replace them, or provide you with any means of getting in touch with us should you run into an issue."

As you can imagine, I run the gamut of emotions between this realization and the first train from Cherbourg to Paris. Tears, peace/calm, frustration, and finally, as the French would say, "C'est la vie". I purchased a ticket from Cherbourg to Paris, but had the nicest ticket agent woman who only spoke a bit of English helping me, patient and kind as could be. (Which is exactly what I needed in my emotional state at the time). We all made it to the train with only minutes to spare. As I sat down on the three hour train from to Paris, I realized how thankful I was for the simplest of things:

1) The fact that simply being able to say "thank you" in someone's language can go a long way.

2) Being able to sit down.

3) Successfully making a train that almost left without you, and would have, had you been just a minute later.

4) The nice French man helping me with my ticket through to the train as I frantically struggle with the ticket-reading machine and try to pretend tears aren't streaming down my face.

5) The fact that my father is a genius, and a loving genius at that, who set up a local Skype number that counts as a local call from our phones, and we can call them anytime we need.

6) The company/fellowship of our Canadian and Scouse friends who needed to make the same train, and rode the taxi with us.

Life is good, we're on the train, and between my parents and I, a plan is already set in motion on how to provide a solution to my lack of rail pass predicament.

But alas, neither Alex nor I can rest easy, because we still have another train to catch, and we're not approaching the right station.

I'm running...

... down the slippery, broken escalator, chasing Alex and Gary our Scouse friend, hoping to find the metro to Gare du Nord in time. Apparently there are 4 or 5 different metro rails you can take to get there. But the nice ticket lady tell us we just need to take "E", and it will take us directly there. So the signs for "E" we follow. Down 6 escalators, through 2 tunnels, and finally come to a fork in the road. "To the right, 'E 33'; to the left 'E 34'". (Lord, help us.)

I approach a fellow wearing headphones (the universal 'do not disturb' sign). No time to heed his plea for isolation, I have no time, and a train to catch.

Me: "Which (she points) to Gare du Nord?"

Him: "Either. (By the way), 'Magenta' is 'Nord'."

Me: "Merci beaucoup!" (*More on the necessity of the multi-lingual 'thank you' to come in future blogs...)

So we caught the E at platform 33, which had 'Magenta' on the roster of stops. I'm not sure how we were supposed to know that 'Magenta' was 'Nord' had we not asked the nice French fellow. I'm thankful for him as well.

On the metro, and (praise the Lord), Gare du Nord is the first stop. (Which means, "North Station"). We just might make it to the train we really can't afford to miss. But once in the North Station, it's not exactly an easy time getting to our train, which now leaves in 10 minutes. Fortunately, by knowing the type of train we're taking ("Thalys") and by process of elimination, we follow the signs ("Grandes Lignes", which means "Inter city trains" and had "Thalys" on the same sign) that lead us to our train, minutes from departing the station. (FYI: On the train to Paris, we noticed in the rail pass book a note that said a reservation was required. But we just figured we'd take care of it once we arrived at the train station. We've always managed to get on the trains with the rail pass before.)

However, because this was the day of Murphy's Law, when we arrived at the train, they wouldn't let Alex on. (Keep in mind I had to buy a ticket back in Cherbourg, and therefore had a reservation. But Alex still had his rail pass. Up until this point we thought that meant he was the lucky one today, and I was the unlucky. Apparently not.) We were directed to a man in charge three cars down. We're running down the length of the train, praying we can make it on before they close the doors in 180 seconds. Fortunately, the man in charge speaks English. (Again, praise the Lord).

Me: "We need to get on this train."

Man In Charge: (Looks at my ticket). "Well you can."

Me: "No, we need to make a reservation for my brother here." (Shows Alex's rail pass).

M.I.C: "No, he needs a reservation. ALL HIGH SPEED TRAINS REQUIRE A RESERVATION."

Me: "We realize that now. Please, is there any way we can get him a reservation now?"

M.I.C.: "Ticket office." (Points back from where we came, far away from the train we stand next to.)

Me: "We'll never make this train if we go all the way back to the ticket office. We need to be on the next train."

M.I.C: "There is no next train."

Me: "We know. And we're very sorry we've done this wrong. What do we have to do to get him on this train leaving right now?"

M.I.C.: "98 euro."

Me: "98?! Shouldn't it be cheaper?!"

M.I.C.: "If you bought at the office, yes. But you can get on the train right now, at car 5, for 98 euro."

Me: "Thank you! Will we make it in time?"

M.I.C.: "I close the doors. You'll make it. You're welcome."

We hop on the train at car 5, put our massive and now incredibly heavy bags down, and decompress for a second. Our Scouse Samaritan friend offers to bring us drinks they can purchase from his seating (since he's in first class). We're more than grateful, and just happy to have made the train we need, and to have successfully avoided sleeping in the train station. The Scouse Samaritan returns with what can only be called shot size bottles of Coca Cola. I grin. What a day indeed.

The Flemish man in charge comes by to check tickets. Alex gets ready to pay the man the exorbitant amount, when M.I.C. says, "You know what I'm going to do for you this one time? I'm only going to charge you what it would have cost if you had made reservation at the ticket counter. You, lucky guy." Only 35 euros out of pocket now, Alex and I sit back, enjoy the comfy chairs and the lifted burden of our backpacks, and enjoy the Coca Cola. Our Scouse Samaritan friend visits, bringing us drinks and good conversation, making the 1.5 hour high speed train ride to Brussels peaceful, joyous, and refreshing. At the station in Brussels (Bruxelles Midi) we exchange contact information, and wish him well. Hopefully we'll meet up with him at his home in Amsterdam later in our trip.

We head out to the information station, anxious to meet our hosts in Brussels for the next few days, where they've said they'd meet us. (To add some drama to the day, we haven't yet figured out the ins and outs of making calls over here, especially from country to country. So I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to call our Brussels hosts. I ended up calling Dad, who Skyped them, and he called us back to tell us how to meet them. Again, way to go Dad for being so brilliant, crafty, and proactive in how you love your eldest two children as they trek across unknown territory, brave but naive in their journey across Europe).

I'm drinking a Dr. Pepper.

Alex and I are sitting at a table with Pam and Tim, who are yet another blessing to add to the list we've been given today. I'm drinking a Dr. Pepper, eating hot dogs, enjoying Nacho Cheese Doritoes (these haven't been overseas yet that we've seen), and Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookies. Life is good.

I am thankful for:

*Fellow English speaking travelers headed in the same direction as we were today. The group all trying to find our way helped lead the others.

*The Liverpool Scouse accent. It will forever remind me of the Good Scouse Samaritan named Gary, who helped us find our way, kept us laughing in the process, and bought us metro tickets and drinks along the high speed train to Brussels.
*My parents, and their fantastic support and help on this journey, not to mention their patience with me as I frantically call them from a ferry trying to figure out what to do now that my rail pass is not turning up.

*The good Flemish conductor kindly helping us make the train, and then very kindly only making Alex pay the ticket reservation price, instead of the full 98 euro it usually would be when you buy at the train.

*Our Belgium hosts, providing us with a bed, a shower, a warm greeting, American food, Dr. Pepper, and an endless supply of kindness.

*The fact that regardless of the circumstances, the Lord not only provides the means, but people and circumstances to bring a lightheartedness to a stressful and tough day or situation.

*The fact that we are still alive, have a place to sleep, food in our stomachs, and are learning to appreciate the simplest of things in life.

Merci, mon Siegneur.

“When you travel, remember that a foreign country is not designed to make you comfortable. It is designed to make its own people comfortable.” –Clifton Fadiman


“Bizarre travel plans are dancing lessons from God.” –Kurt Vonnegut

UK and Ireland, done.

Dublin was Day 15, 16, 17, and part of 18. (March 16th, 17, 18th, and the morning of the 19th)

On the 16th (day 15) we took a train from Cardiff up to Holyhead, where we got aboard a ferry from Holyhead to Dublin. First. Ferry. Experience. Ever. And I tell you what, it was the coolest. (Although admittedly, I walked around possibly jinxing us as I continued to mention to Alex how much it reminded me of the Titanic. What?! That's my frame of reference for giant boats... You know you'd be thinking the same thing.)

It was a three hour ride, and we enjoyed free wifi, a neat assortment of restaurants and levels to explore, a stellar (but expensive) game room, and my favourite, the marvelous view of the ocean. (Little did I know it would be an even more incredible experience on our ferry from Ireland to France, where for 18 hours it was just me and the sea. Sheer tranquility.)

Our host in Dublin was Berenice, who can only be described as truly an inspiration. At such a young age she's done so much, travel, learning German, hitchhiked, etc. She loves art and sees the world and herself with such an honest optimism, you just can't help but want to see more of the world through her perspective. She was also an incredible host, feeding us, showing us around, and providing such splendid conversation.

Seriously, we are loving this couchsurfing thing. 100% of our times surfing have been over-the-top incredible.

We arrived on the 16th, and by the grace of God met up with Berenice. Against the hurdles of only communicating via internet, having no phones or working phones with which to reach each other, and directions we seemed only capable of misinterpreting, we did indeed find each other. On the bus out to her part of town on the evening of the 16th, we met some vivacious, crazy, and legitimate Irish teenagers, who were headed out to party but were kind enough to direct us to the appropriate bus stop we needed. (The Dublin bus system doesn't announce the next stop or really have signs that are easy to read from a distance. The stop is quick, and you pretty much have to know your exit as it approaches, otherwise it's really easy to miss.)

They were hilarious and helpful, and we found a welcoming and warm home and host Tuesday night. Wednesday was St. Patrick's Day, and the city certainly knows how to party. But as it turns out, the locals are more interested in relaxing on the day off, drinking casually at home, and enjoying a barbeque with the family, instead of getting out and about in the madness with what seems to be mostly tourists. We didn't find any green beer, they don't seem to dye the river green (as it's apparently green enough from being so dirty), and while the pubs and streets were packed with people, it was mostly tourists they were packed with. We had a good time experiencing the atmosphere though, and Alex was able to meet up with a camp friend he knows from back home. We went to Dublin's oldest pub, and had as legitimate a St. Patrick's Day as we could find.

Unfortunately this trip to Ireland we didn't make it out to the coast and countryside, but not without trying. The trip would have taken all day, so we decided to chill in Dublin and spend more time with Berenice. She gave us a nice tour of the city on the 18th, and pointed out quite a few neat sights, including cathedrals, famous parks, the birth place of Oscar Wilde, Trinity University, etc. We met a few of her friends, and saw an art exhibition in the evening.

The morning of the 19th we got up and had a relaxing time before heading off on the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) to catch a train down to Rosslare Europort.

The first part of our trip is completed. We've traveled the UK, and experienced at least a part of Ireland. Now it's off to the rest of Europe, to begin our Eurail passes, and to explore the parts that speak a different language than we're used to. After being over here about 3 weeks, it's finally stopped feeling like a vacation, and started feeling more like what it is, a 2.75 month break from what normal life typically entails. Hopefully we're learning tons of good, character building things. We're certainly having adventures, mishaps, meeting tons of great people, exploring, experiencing tons of cultural differences, and most likely growing in tremendous ways. One can only hope that after 2.75 months we return to you  changed, better versions of ourselves. :)

Talk to you soon.

“People don’t take trips – trips take people.” –John Steinbeck

"You can't miss it..."

Thus far, the UK has really overestimated us.

Everyone says this when we ask for directions: "You can't miss it." The locals are widely and inappropriately confident in our ability to navigate their streets thus far. Or perhaps, when someone says these words to us, they're actually jinxing us. Because somehow, we always end up missing our turn, taking the train/bus too far, walking past our destination, not walking far enough, ending up in Taunton, etc. (Keep in mind, we're only in the English speaking countries so far...). Not to mention, when a local says to us, "It's just on the doorstep of your hostel," I now know to prepare myself for a good 6-30 mile (excuse me, kilometer) jaunt. But this is the beauty of traveling, is it not?

We are such obvious travelers. When backpacking, I don't see any possibility of "blending in." Everyone stops to see if we need help, as we trudge through their streets, weighted down with our belongings, trying to find where they put the street signs in this city.

Rule #2 when traveling: Save your picture-taking and marveling at the beautiful city for after you've dropped off your bags at the locker/hostel/home at which you're staying. I realize that as you walk from the train station/airport, etc, you're walking through a new, captivating, and impressive city, and you want to take in all the sights as they come at you. But don't stop. Resist the urge. Do not pass go. Do not collect £200. Because the minute you start taking time to smell the roses, take in the scenery, inevitably causing you to walk a bit slower with your big backpacks upon your back (it does not matter that you're hardcore and can carry them with more ease after nearly 2 weeks of doing this day-in and day-out), one of four things will happen:
1) Every 3.5 locals will stop and ask if you know where you're going. (This would be very helpful, if they didn't all seem to give different sets of vague directions);
2) The elderly will swarm up in front of you and then walk slowly in a huddle, making it impossible for you to do anything BUT stand around in the same spot for a good half and hour (forget being lost, now it's "lost and immobile");
3) Cars driving in the opposite direction than you're used to will clip you as they speed by, unimpressed with how much you're trying to appreciate their city; or
4) People will push you down and kids will throw rocks at you. (Ok, that last one hasn't actually happened to us, or anyone that I know of.)

Before I embarked upon this backpacking excursion, someone told me it was worthwhile to get lost in each big city. After unintentionally experiencing this more times than they probably meant to recommend, in addition to reflecting on times I've been lost in the past, I now consider this pretty good advice.

When the locals tell us, "you can't miss it," it turns out that in the grand scheme of things there lies a deep and profound truth.

Because honestly, life happens everywhere. Truth and God can be found in all places, all people, all situations, all things (John 1:3). In our jobs, our sports teams, our regular coffee spot, our movie theatres, our banks, our travels, our vacations, our visits home: life is happening in all of these places, and in all of these places growth and learning and wisdom can all be obtained and experienced.

We've been meeting so many great people on our journey thus far. It's a dream to be on a great and exciting adventure, filled with new sights and incredible places each day. Yet as I sit with such beautiful and captivating people in these cities that are so foreign and glamorous to my American eyes, I realize that my vacation spot is in fact their home, and that my home, a place I am often tempted to view as mundane and unglamorous, could be their 'escape from it all' someday, or hypothetically. And if I can travel abroad and find places others know to be home, then, vis a vis, a place can be either spectacular or monotonous - which one seems only to depend upon the eyes perceiving and perhaps the company one keeps in those places.

"Monotony has nothing to do with a place; monotony, either in its sensation or its infliction, is simply the quality of a person. There are no dreary sights; there are only dreary sightseers." - G.K. Chesterton

We seek so much for direction and answers to where we should plan to be tomorrow, but perhaps life can meet us exactly where we are. And indeed it does. We wait anxiously for that which we deem glamorous, but life/our purpose(s) in life begin here and now, in the day to day, even in the mundane.

If you wish to live, to love, to learn, to have adventures, to be happy, to rest more, to make amends...

...begin now. Begin here, where you are at this very moment. The only thing stopping you is the way you see your surroundings and the people around you. Life is happening here as well as that future time you're dreaming of, and this is the moment you have for certain. Don't tread lightly as if you will miss your exit or turn and end up forever wandering in an abyss. Sometimes getting lost (in a new city or life itself) is the best way to find our way. Sometimes the unplanned adventures and uncharted paths are the most exciting, and turn into the most precious of memories.

But also remember: life is filled with opportunities for u-turns, or perhaps you can simply make a turn up at the next crossing and to the right (or left) in order to regain the original path. The point is, you really can't miss it: life, that is, in addition to opportunities to take joy in life, to love the people around you, to have adventures.

Regardless of the road you take, life is happening right there where you are, right here next to us in our present time, in our present locations. There are people to serve, to love, to listen to and learn from, to find beauty in, all around us. The only condition that needs changing is our ability to see and take advantage of the opportunities at hand.

"An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is merely an adventure wrongly considered." -G.K. Chesterton

“Half the fun of the travel is the aesthetic of lostness.” –Ray Bradbury

The rundown.

Day 8: Inverness. You've already heard the story of our seach for Loch Ness that led to hitching. ;)

Day 9: Left Inverness, on to Aberdeen. This place is beautiful. Here we met Sophia, our first couchsurfing host. She brings light to the darkness, and is wonderful and inspiring. Also saw the North Sea, and wrote a giant "happy birthday" on the beach to French Toast, who turned 16 (as I type this, the official day was yesterday). Had the pleasure of meeting Sophia's friends as well, all equally incredible. I have a feeling a trip back to all of Scotland with at least a week in Aberdeen is in my future.

Day 10: Leave Aberdeen, sad to say goodbye to the radiant Sophia. But went to Edinburgh, which we immediately fell in love with. Coming out of the train station, you're suddenly captivated by the gothic architecture that juts out from everywhere. It's a magical sight to behold, in my opinion. It came as no surprise to find that this is the city J.K. Rowling was observing when she wrote the Harry Potter books. We found "The Elephant Room", deemed "The birthplace of Harry Potter". There's a view of Edinburgh Castle that surely inspired the wizarding world, in addition to a cemetary with gravestones of actual names such as "McGonogall" and "Tom Riddle". Kickawesome. Saw Edinburgh Castle, went to a play at Bedlam Theatre, met plenty of locals, loved our hostel, and enjoyed the cool but beautiful weather.

Day 11: Day 2 of Edinburgh. This may have been our favourite city thus far. 

Day 12: Left Edinburgh (sad to leave too), and we headed to York. Dropped off our bags at the hostel, and then hopped a train to Manchester. Saw ManUTD stadium (impressive), but overall the city of Manchester wasn't all that impressive. (It could have been we just didn't see great parts besides the stadium). Stayed the night in York in what claimed to be a youth hostel, but the only other tenants we saw were under 12 or over 50. Strange...

Day 13: Left York, back to London for a moment, where we met back up with Nick and his friend Bella, and had the great pleasure of seeing "The Big Lebowski" in the cinema. (I would not joke about such things. :) ) Then we kicked it over to Bath, where I checked out a service at Bath Abbey, and afterwards Alex and I went out to a pub called "The Raven" with new friends met at the Abbey service. Our new friends gave us a personal tour of their city, complete with history and necessary background information, and we enjoyed fantastic conversation. (FYI: I'm amazed at what versatility the word 'pie' has. Where I come from, pie = dessert. NYC: pie = pizza. And here in England: pie = meat and potatoes, etc wrapped in flaky crust deliciousness. All tasty, but delving in requires a bit of reprogramming for the palate.

Day 14: Left Bath, went to Cardiff, which included a tour of where they often film Doctor Who, and Salisbury, which included a look at Stonehenge. Both were quality, I'd say. It's neat to see all the signs in English AND Welsh. Also, our hostel in Cardiff kicks serious face. I'm currently waiting on laundry to dry, whilst on the computer, in the main area/bar, listening to one of the hostel employees serenade everyone with favourites ranging from Elvis to Lady Gaga, and the ever popular "Wonderwall". Absolutely brilliant.

We're averaging at least two new friends a day. It's exhilerating to have everything you need to exist on your back. The rail passes were a brilliant investment. My new favourite thing is having tea and Scottish shortbread. (Makes not having Taco Bell bearable). Needless to say, we're having an incredible time. :)

And now you're all caught up. :)

“We wander for distraction, but we travel for fulfillment.” –Hilaire Belloc