God's Call is Abroad

Moving On...

2009-08-13T15:04:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm moving on from GCIA (God's Call is Abroad...can I call it GCIA? I like acronyms). I've started a brand new blog called Popcorn Day: Musings from the Conscious and Unconscious Mind of Brian Schroeder. (And for those of you who don't like clicking links and instead prefer the old-fashioned way of putting a URL into the address bar, the address is: brian-schroeder.blogspot.com. That's where I'll be writing from now on, and it would be SO COOL if you all followed it as well. It's going to be a lot of fun; Popcorn Day is about my every day life, including dreams of mine, both awake and asleep, and things that I think are exciting.

I've told you this before, but it was great to share my journey with you on GCIA. Please keep reading and move on with me to Popcorn Day!

Peace,

Brian

The Story of My Kite

2009-08-10T14:49:00.001-07:00

Well, here we are. After trying to drag this thing out for a long as I could because I freaking love it, we are at the conclusion of my travel blog. Two months in Europe has become a spark of intricate memory in my mind, immeasurable joy riddled with crippling anxiety, but all worthwhile and rewarding.

I look back and can’t believe all the things I have done, and I look at my kite and think about all the amazing sights it has seen, too. Over the two months my kite was held closer than sometimes even my passport—my only true and significant souvenir, I would not leave it unguarded. It’s my kite, after all. Something that I found some people didn’t know was that each time I flew my kite, not only would I take a picture of it, but I would also write on the kite the date and the location in which I flew it. That way I’ll always remember what sky it touched.

To get the ball rolling, I gave it a Bon Voyage Flight in Onalaska, Wisconsin, on top of a very pretty bluff.

The first European flight was in Lübeck, Germany, a flight that ended up being very difficult, but thanks to some camera-savvy friends, we got a good shot.

Next was a flight in the beautiful island of Wyk auf Föhr in Germany. I was so very happy to fly my kite there because, as it turns out, Wyk auf Föhr was one of my favorite places in my entire journey (and is arguably the best flight I had).

Flight #4 was in Salzburg, Austria, a place that is so very close to my heart now that I’ve been there. It had been a dream of mine to see the original place of The Sound of Music, and I finally got to check that off the list. Of course I had to fly my kite there.

The fifth flight took place on one of the dangerous edges of the Cliffs of Moher. I compromised my safety for this beautiful shot, and it was worth it.

It took me a long time to find a place to fly my kite in London. Though beautiful, Green Park had a lot of trees, and everywhere else was crowded. After much searching, I found the perfect spot. I like to imagine that the Queen of England saw my kite flying that day and is a committed follower of my blog.

Ahh, one of the best shots of me flying my kite is the one I took in Paris. With travelers from Asia and a few six year olds from Paris cheering me on, I got the right shot.

La Rochelle, France was the next place I took my kite. I struggled a lot to control my anxiety in La Rochelle, the first place I was really alone, but it was beautiful nonetheless, and the people I met there (Davi, Julie, Penny and Roger).

I’ve never drank such amazing wine as what I drank in Aix-en-Provence. Also, I wanted so badly to see the lavender fields, and finally owning a picture I took of the fields is a wonderful thing.

Nîmes was a blessing, mostly because of Carol-Ann and Anthony. I can’t thank God enough for putting them in my life.

Avignon was a mess, but its weirdness was really fun to be around (well, for a few hours, anyway). I loved flying my kite there, even though my mom still yelled at me when I got home about where I flew it.

The twelfth flight (which, I just found reminds me of The Twelfth Night, which is a Shakespeare play, which reminds me of the two Shakespeare plays I saw in London that changed my life, which I forgot to mention when I wrote about London above, which has now caused me to write a very long run-on sentence riddled with which’s) was in Milan, Italy. How exciting it was to finally be in Italy! The people I met there, Sufred from India, the sisters from Vietnam, the unfortunate photographer from California…all gave me great memories.

Next, I flew my kite in my favorite place of the entire trip, Cinque Terre. This place was perfect for me, but not for my kite. It was so difficult to find a windy place! The windiest location was not the prettiest, unfortunately, but it had to do.

And finally, my celebration flight. Back in the Fifty Nifty, me and my friend Tami went to Riverside Park in good ol’ La Crosse, Wisconsin, and flew my kite for the last time. I originally wanted the picture to be by the La Crosse flight to be in front of the La Crosse Bridge, and we got one, but then I saw a giant American flag in the park. The picture was too darn hilarious and corny not to take.

What started as a fun idea about a fun, cheap souvenir became a metaphor for me and my journey. I went out (or up) into the unknown. Not knowing what would happen, unaware of the challenges that would come to me, and not expecting the incredible heights that I would reach, I went wherever the wind blew. Sometimes it led me to places I didn't want to be, and sometimes the were places that made me not want to be anywhere else. And without the powerful string of love and prayers (or hugs) I felt from the people who love me, and without God holding on to me at the end of it, I would have completely lost my way. I became a kite. And now I'm back home, which I love, but I'm ready to go up again.

So there it is. The last of my entries on this blog (probably, but don’t hold me too tightly to that statement). I filled my kite with places it flew in Europe. It is now officially retired, since it has been stuck in power lines before and I would be devastated if it happened now. It has a special place in my heart, and on my wall, for a long time.

My only problem is: now I’m kiteless. Here begins another journey—finding the right kite for me! :)

Peace, all of you; I can’t tell you how wonderful it has been to share this journey with you. Your support and comments and prayers have meant so much to me.

I love you all.

Brian

(P.S. Send me your email address or something if you want to get information on my new blog when I put it up. Or you can just keep watching for updates on my website, BrianSchroederMusic.com.)

Recreating Some of My Trip

2009-08-07T08:00:00.000-07:00

As was the main topic of most of my posts from Europe, the main topic of conversations I had about Europe once I was home was of course...food.

Can you blame me, really? The food that I had over there was terrific.

After saying, “Oh, I wish you could have eaten this,” to my parents about four hundred times, I came to a realization.

You know, I could probably cook some of this stuff.

So I decided that I would try.

The first step was something that I just couldn’t get enough of when I was in France, even though they seemed really difficult when I saw them being made.

Crepes.

Ooh, what a beautiful gift from above.

I went online to look for some good crepe recipes, and I found a nice website that showed how to make them (complete with pictures and everything!). As it turns out, they’re not that difficult to make. You don’t really need a fancy crepe pan or that weird stick that they use when they make them. And the recipe is only butter, eggs, flour, and milk. Super easy.

And delicious!

Another thing I just had to try was trofie—the hand-rolled pasta I had in the Cinque Terre. This one proved to be quite easy as well, but very time consuming. I found the recipe on another website. All you need is some unbleached flour and water. The time consuming part is the rolling. My parents and I tried it and ended up spending almost an hour preparing the noodles.

When we were done, though, it tasted wonderful. Just like the trofie I had in the Cinque Terre! We decided that trofie is a great thing to make at a party or something. The more hands you have helping, the better. My parents and I had some great conversation while we were trying to roll those little noodles.

It was wonderful to be able to show my family and actually let them try the kind of food I had while I was in Europe. I think they really enjoyed it, too.

Stay tuned for the story of my kite!

My day went VVVVRROOOOOOOMMMM

2009-08-02T10:35:00.000-07:00

I woke up in my hostel at nine in the morning on the 15^th.

Holy crap; I’m going home today.

What a strange feeling. It had been almost two months. Two months of challenges and fears, but also joy and wonder. Two months of intense anxiety, but also indescribable breakthroughs.

Two months.

I packed up my things (ooh…I’m almost done lugging these dang things around!), checked out of the hostel, grabbed an éclair from a bakery I had passed the day before…

…and hopped on the good ol’ metro to the airport.

I remember wanting to do everything again. I wanted to go back into the centre of Paris in the remaining hours I had and find all the Arago medallions, ride the Ferris wheel that I kept telling myself I had to ride, stare at the Eiffel Tower again for about a day, eat more crepes, run through the Louvre again, and spend the whole day at the Orsay. I could do that in a few hours barely make my flight, right?

(Sigh), no, I had to go.

But I could go back to Giverny! Maybe even La Rochelle and take a trip over to Austria and get that green jacket I’m still thinking about! I’m not done here!

I realized then that I could never be done here. In this wonderful world of ours, there’s always something amazing for me to fall in love with. Unfortunately, Europe would have to wait.

So I boarded the metro and took the 45-minute ride to Charles De Gaulle airport. I arrived, checked my bag, and ate at my last French McDonald’s (which I was kind of bummed to do because I wanted something more French, but McDonald’s was the only thing available). I had a few hours until my flight.

There was nothing else for me to do but wait.

I read more Narnia; I was actually very close to being finished, which was exciting. Another thing I did was something amazing that I had found in the many airports I had visited in the previous two months: massage chairs. Two Euro, ten minutes, and the world becomes a better place. Mmm.

The plane finally arrived. It would be a three-hour flight to Iceland, and then a five-hour flight to Minneapolis. Taking off, I felt the same feeling I had when I left the U.S….Try to realize that you’re not going to see this land for a long time. Savor this. Reflect. It didn’t really work, though. But still, I felt a small hint of sadness as we left the ground.

Bye, Europe.

On the first flight, I was proud to finish The Chronicles of Narnia. The entire Chronicles. I had come to Europe with three of the seven books read, and I finished them before I came home (and read The Shack during the choir trip). So yeah, I felt pretty cool.

After that, I did what I found to be even a better way to spend time on a plane instead of sleep: watch movies. IcelandAir rocks. A small touchscreen television was on the back of the headrest of each seat on the plane, with many movies and television shows available. I watched Duplicity on the first flight. Good movie.

Iceland was nice for an hour. That’s all I really had there. I got some lunch and sat quietly, already knowing the movies I was going to watch on the flight.

Sideways and The Savages. Both great.

And then I heard over the intercom, “We will be arriving in Minneapolis in twenty minutes.”

Whoa.

Soon enough, we landed. I went through customs, and everything went smoothly until they found out I had wine in my checked baggage. Oh yeah…I’m not legal over here.

My parents and Christie were waiting for me outside customs, and didn’t expect to have to deal with a cop escorting me to make sure I wasn’t going to keep the wine.

“Can you claim the wine this gentleman has brought over?” the cop said to my parents.

“Uh…yeah,” my parents said as they nearly pushed him out of the way to hug me. And Christie hugged me too, of course. And from there we zipped over to Buffalo Wild Wings, my all-time favorite place to eat, where some of my friends from college were waiting for us.

The simplicity of placing my order caught me off guard. Habitually, I prepared myself for ordering, taking a deep breath and thinking, “Okay, how can I say this in a way so the server understands me?” I realized then, where I was. America, baby.

We had a wonderful time talking and eating my favorite meal, hot wings.

From there, I said goodbye to my friends and to Christie, and got in the car with my parents to head to La Crosse. As soon as we were on the road, I grabbed my pillow and fell asleep. It was only about seven o’clock, but it was two in the morning to my body.

Then I was shaken by my mom.

“Brian,” she said, softly.

“What! What’s going on? Where are we?” I said, confused, pretty sure we were near a gas station or something in Rochester.

“We’re home. It’s ten o’clock.”

Holy crap.

So I got up again, unpacked some of my things, and went to bed in Holmen.

The next morning, I lay in bed with my eyes closed.

I have to pee, I thought, Does my room in this hostel have its own bathroom? Let me think. No, I have to go in the hall. I hope no one’s in there.

And then I opened my eyes.

Ohhhhh.

I got a call a bit later from my dad. “How’s it feel to be back in the United States?

“I dunno. Only a few hours ago I was in Paris.”

It was strangely true. The whole day had been a blur.

Paris.

Zip to Minneapolis.

My parents are here.

So is Christie.

That’s great!

Zip to Buffalo Wild Wings.

My friends are here too!

Yum. Hot wings.

Bye, friends.

Aw, Christie has to go too?

Fall asleep in the car.

Zip. We’re in Holmen.

Sleep again.

Wake up in my room.

Vvvrrrrooooooommm.

That’s how my day went.

And thus, I started my slow but sure “I-have-to-get-used-to-America-again” transformation. Swallowing two months worth of incredible adventures is not an easy task. Also, becoming acclimated to our culture, not having to listen in public for English because everyone already speaks it, suppressing the need to look for ATMs, pay phones, wondering if I’ll ever find wireless internet, and having to do the scary “okay…how much is that in American dollars?” calculation was something that took some time.

Over time, though, I began to thank God for my experience and realize how lucky I was to have it. Then I realized how thankful I am for the area that I actually live in. This place makes me wonderfully happy, and it is beautiful. The challenge is to continue to find things that excite me about this place, this town, this state, and this country. So that’s my new goal.

To find things that are exciting to me everywhere I go.

To challenge myself to go beyond what I think my limits are, because when I do, I find myself becoming more in touch with who I am and to God as well.

To do something that causes me to want to take a picture at least once a week.

To set goals for myself and improve my life.

To find God in ways I did not know I could find Him before I went to Europe.

To seek enjoyment and happiness in all areas of my life, knowing that God is there.

To help others find that happiness as well. This means also to stand up for social justice and equality.

To meet new people.

To step out of that box that I so frequently put myself in and allow myself to be changed.

(I smell a new blog forming.)

So I’m back from Europe. I have been changed by what I’ve experienced and by the Spirit who has led me.

Praise God.

I have a few more things to say about returning to the States—the fun European things I brought with me, the retirement of my kite, more reflections…lots of stuff!

Love,

Brian

My Last Day in Paris

2009-07-30T16:56:00.000-07:00

After my nap in the hostel, I decided to walk around the city for a bit. I hadn’t gotten to take a look at Notre Dame yet, so I took the metro over to that area. Apparently Bastille Day is pretty popular among tourists, so the lines to get in the cathedral were terribly long. I walked around Notre Dame, though, and took some pretty fun pictures.

For some reason I was quite comfortable walking around Paris, enough so that I was willing to get lost around the area (which makes me really cool, by the way). (I hope you laughed at that last statement.) It was a pretty nice day. Kind of cloudy, but people walked around happily—especially tourists. I was a little annoyed by that. Still, it was obvious that kids were off of school and adults had the day off, so seeing people happy and relaxed on this holiday was great. I snapped some pictures of a happy Weimaraner and a kid that was enjoying a small door on a little building.

The famous Berthillon ice cream parlor was closed on that day, but there was another gourmet gelato place that was open and making a killing on hungry tourists. I also bit. The gelato was delicious, but expensive. Still, I needed my gelato. As I ate, I reflected…

I took my gelato to a nice little park near Notre Dame and ate, and then read. It was nice.

Even though most of Paris had the day off, it was still a working day for street performers. Well, actually, only the bad ones. Not really worth the pictures. This guy, however moved a puppet’s hand and mouth up and down to the American song, “She F***ing Hates Me,” which the tourists just ate up.

See?

Finally, it was about time for me to go find a seat for the fireworks. On the way there, I was excited to find two more Arago medallions, across the river from where I found the others.

After telling myself that to resist the temptation to look for more medallions, I walked toward the Eiffel Tower. The more I walked, the more crowded Paris became. I didn’t necessarily know where I was going—just kept heading towards the Tower, and following the huge crowds.

My stomach was filled with excitement when I saw that there was street food along the streets. Mmm. Candy, crepes, sandwiches, fried things. Oh, if I didn’t have so little money and, more restricting, such a small stomach! I decided that I would buy a snack and some sort of meal-like thing. A candy stand that had a plethora of gummy things, licorice-looking ropes, roasted cinnamon nuts, and much more was calling my name. Why would I buy something I know I’m going to like? I thought to myself as I pointed to a large, strawberry-shaped something. Perfect.

It was like a giant, strawberry-flavored marshmallow Peep that had been sitting on a shelf for about 40 years. Still, I’m glad I tried it.

Now looking for my dinner, I came to a stand that consisted of nothing more than a table with a large skillet on top, and a man and a woman sitting in folding chairs behind it. What was coming from the skillet smelled delicious, and there was a long non-English-speaking line, so I decided I would eat whatever they gave me.

When I was done eating, I walked closer and closer to the Eiffel Tower, the crowds getting denser and denser. Somehow I found a patch of grass near the park, in the middle of a large crowd, and sat down to wait for the show.

Then the fireworks started. I had never seen anything like it. Not only were fireworks shooting up around the Eiffel Tower, not only were they shooting from the Tower itself, but somehow images and shapes where being projected on to each side of it, metaphorically telling the story of France throughout history. It was incredible.

Pay no attention to the fact that I look absolutely wasted in the frozen shot of this video before you push "play." I'm not. I just have no control of what frame blogger decides to freeze my video on.

What a wonderful way to spend my last night in Europe. I walked back home to the following beautiful sight - its beauty was a little diminished because I wasn't necessarily sure if I was going to get mugged or not.

I will talk about my return to the Fifty Nifty and reflect on it all in the next couple of posts. I'm sad that this is coming to an end soon! At least I have more to share...

Milan and Paris, Again...

2009-07-28T14:08:00.000-07:00

I was sad to leave Cinque Terre.

But I had to, because at the end of my stay there, I only had two days left. I took a train from Cinque Terre to Milan, where I would fly to Paris.

My flight out of Milan was at six in the morning, with a check-in at four. Given that Milan is famous for its hostels that are completely out of the way, I decided that it would be safer for me to sleep in the airport. From Cinque Terre, I arrived in Milan at about ten at night, and I spent the rest of my night reading in McDonalds (McFlurries are universally delicious...Oh, what the heck, I’ll keep talking about it…my favorite kind was their Smarties version. Smarties in Europe are not the same as our chalky, sour Smarties; they’re like M&Ms that, instead of having the chocolate be the focus, the candy coating is. Yum.), and blogging in a 24-hour internet café. (The woman behind the counter may have been a man, but I’m not sure.)

At around midnight, I took a bus to Malpensa Airport. It was a really long bus ride (thank God, again, that I didn’t take a taxi), so I got to take a nap for about an hour. I arrived at Malpensa at about one in the morning. And thus began my night’s stay in an airport.

Luckily I found some cool people to talk to who were, apparently, doing the same thing that I was. I met a Mexican woman about my age who was studying abroad in Madrid. I got to use a little bit of Spanish with her—which made me feel cool—until I found out that she could speak English fluently. We had a really nice talk and took turns watching each others’ bags while the other went to go get a snack from the vending machines or warm up outside. (It was very pleasant outside and freezing in the airport.) She also told me about Madrid, which refueled my desire to see Spain. Jeez, I’m ending my trip to Europe and already planning a new one.

I also met some American travelers who were truly backpacking through Europe. They had been camping all throughout Europe and flying cheaply from place to place. And they had slept in a lot more airports than I had. So I couldn’t really complain, could I?

The plane was on time, and I got on and slept for the one-hour flight to Paris.

It was great to see Paris again. I found that strange. To find something comfortingly familiar and then realize that it’s Paris, for crying out loud, is a really interesting thing. I took the long trip from Charles De Gaulle airport to my hostel in the middle of Paris, and realized that it was the same hostel at which I had stayed my first night after I spent my time with Laurent. I checked in again and put my luggage in the luggage room (which was inconveniently down a twisty old staircase that leads to a humid, musty basement with shrewd wooden shelves made to hold suitcases – I didn’t think I would ever have to use that darn thing again, but I was wrong). Check in was at two in the afternoon, and it was about eight in the morning, so I had some time to kill.

I sat down quietly in a McDonald’s (not because I was taking the cheap way out and avoiding cheap food, but because it was the closest place with WiFi access) and took out my computer. I did some Skyping with my girlfriend and my family over some soda and a French McDonald’s breakfast, which happens to be three different kinds of mini croissants – one plain, one filled with chocolate, and one filled with some sort of jam, which doesn’t even compare to a sausage-egg McMuffin. I also spent some time writing for the blog and posting one of my entries. I spent my time pretty wisely, I think. I also ventured out a bit around the city, found a nice place to sit and read (I was getting dangerously close to finishing the entire Chronicles of Narnia), and relaxed for a few hours.

When 2pm finally came, I went back to my hostel and took a much-needed nap. It was so good. A quiet night’s sleep at two in the afternoon. Waking up for the rest of the day, I knew, would be difficult, but I also knew it would be very cool.

After all, it was July 14^th. Bastille Day.

You’ll enjoy the next post.

Cinque Terre, Italy

2009-07-22T15:48:00.000-07:00

I am calm in Cinque Terre.

I don’t know what kind of magic or fancy anti-anxiety power this place has, but from the moment I stepped off the train in this wonderful area, I’ve been wonderfully relaxed.

Currently, I’m sitting on the front step of a random house in sleepy Manarola, the fourth and most unvisited of the five (cinque) lands (terre). From north to south, the Cinque Terre consist of Monterosso, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore. On my right, two women sitting next to some parked fishing boats talking about Godknowswhat in Italian. In front of me, a light green house with sheets and clothes hanging out on the clothesline. To the left, an old woman at what looks like a painted plates store reads a paper (it doesn’t look like people like her plates). And above me, two men sit on their terrace chatting very loudly, once again, about Godknowswhat in Italian. I love just listening to the locals talk. It’s loud and passionate, but so very fun.

This place is spectacular. Each town is very, very similar, but each has its own unique qualities. It’s tourist season here, so this place is somewhat crowded. Luckily not a lot of people know about it, so it’s not overwhelming. Cinque Terre is clean and wonderfully Italian.

What keeps Cinque Terre so clean and authentic is that they have made it a National Park. That way, new buildings can’t be made and old ones can’t be torn down. There are garbage and recycling cans everywhere, and people actually use them. The trains are electric and the buses are fuel-efficient. There are no cars allowed inside five villages. Cinque Terre is kept simple and clean, which is why I’ve been so happy to be here.

I’ve been staying in Riomaggiore, the last of the five villages. It’s very quiet, and unhurried, which I like. There are three pizza places along the town centre, each one a little different, but they all have one thing in common: they’re super cheap. Five euro for a full, delicious pizza is something of God, I swear. Cheap American pizza is crap; cheap Italian pizza is amazing. There’s something in the crust or the sauce or the meat that makes it so much better than any pizza I’ve ever tasted. Wonderful.

Since we’re on the subject of food, my favorite subject, allow me to reflect on the magic that’s entered my mouth in the last couple of days. I promised myself I would not leave without having some local cuisine. Cinque Terre is apparently of the birthplace of pesto, and I freaking love pesto, so I had to eat that.

Pesto with gnocchi. Gnocchi, for those of you who don’t know, are potato dumplings. The pesto on this dish was a little salty, but still very enjoyable.

Cinque Terre is also known for its anchovies. Luckily for me, the anchovies here are not like the crap that you find on American pizzas; they’re caught fresh and cured and served as actually a quite spendy dish. I got some for an appetizer, and well, I didn’t like them very much. At first I did, but then they were so incredibly salty I had to stop eating them. I could appreciate, however, the work that went into putting them on my plate.

Troffie is a kind of handmade pasta that I could eat meals and meals of. Something that I’ve enjoyed a lot is the pasta here because it is so uniquely different than the pasta we have at home. Troffie is chewy and obviously natural, and I just loved it. (On this, my last day, I’m pretty sure I’m going to have it for lunch.)

Sometimes I forget the chronological order of the events during my stays. I had this dish, along with the anchovies, for dinner one of the nights with to very nice women from Austin, Texas. They were both tired of working and decided to take a vacation together. We had wonderful conversations over our delicious meals.

I was told when I was in La Rochelle that eating any kind of mussels besides those caught in the Atlantic would be a waste of time. This dish of Mediterranean mussels with spaghetti was definitely not a waste of time. The shells are bigger and the meat is smaller, but man alive…it was delicious.

Sciacchetra is the Cinque Terre’s local dessert wine. It took me quite a long time to find a chance to drink it, for some reason. Probably because it was really expensive in most places (about €35 a bottle and €6 a glass, but I found one that was like €4, which wasn’t necessarily that bad). It came with these little cookie things with almonds that they told me I should dip in it. I did. The cookies were delicious. The sciacchetra was really strong, really sweet, really syrupy, and almost unpleasant. I went back and forth on whether I liked it or not. At the end, I decided I didn’t really like it, but I was really glad that I tried it.

And then there was the gelato.

Back my actual experience in Cinque Terre. On the first day, I just walked around little Riomaggiore, where I was staying. I was shown to my “hostel,” which was really just an apartment with extra beds in it. Usually that would bother me—I would think, “Gosh, these people are just trying to make money by charging for the bed,” but it was different here. The reason for this was that having just an apartment in the middle of everything meant that I got to remain in the middle of everything. I wasn’t in an ugly building outside of town. I was in town, in one of the many apartments, just like the other travelers, but more importantly, just like the rest of the locals. And check out the view from my balcony.

After I checked in and got situated in my room—and ate a homemade meal of bruchetta and a small mug of wine made by a group of American friends my age who were also staying in my eight-person room—I walked around Riomaggiore and got to know the area. I wandered down to the shore of the Mediterranean, sat down on some rocks, and watched the amazing sunset that didn’t skip a single performance the whole time I was there.

I went to bed and woke up in the morning to the sound of the Mediterranean waves hitting the shore. And though I was in a cramped, €30-a-night hostel with seven other people, I felt like I was one of the luckiest people on the planet.

That morning I got some cheap breakfast and picked up what would be my daily snack: three figs and ten apricots. They were only like €1.75, so I bought some every morning and ate them throughout the whole day. Delicious, cheap, what can be better?

Me and my apricots.

A nine-kilometer hiking trail runs along the coast and connects each town of the Cinque Terre. I was told that Riomaggiore was the best place to start, and that it would be a good idea to set aside at least five hours to walk to the last town, Monterosso. “This will be a piece of cake,” I thought.

Yeah, I was wrong.

Some of the stairs I had to walk up.

It started off just leisurely and nice, but after I passed through Manarola and began to climb the hill to Corniglia, nothing but hills and hills of steps and steep in- and de-clines awaited me. Luckily I had lots of water and it was pretty cloudy that day. I loved every second of it. Even when the trail became difficult, I was always a few feet away from a breathtaking view.

More stairs!

I spent time in each town. I sat and ate some of my apricots in Manarola, had gnocchi in Corniglia, gelato in Vernazza, and some iced tea in Monterosso. (Wow. I would do something food-related in each city.) I also took some wonderful pictures and had some very interesting people watching.

It's good to be a cat in Cinque Terre.

The more I look at this picture, the more I wonder what the heck that nun is looking at.

Getting pictures of the locals here was very difficult. I don’t know why—maybe because the roads were so narrow. But I slipped a few in. Notice how I had to hide my camera behind my bottle of iced tea.

Even the train stations are beautiful here.

After my long trek through the Cinque Terre, I hopped the train back to Riomaggiore. I stopped at a cute wine bar that overlooked the sea. (I actually visited this little bar a few times during my trip. The view was spectacular and they had Cinque Terre wine on tap, which was interesting.)

I went to this bar the first day I was there, and that’s where these two pictures are from. The day of my trek I just got water. I say this because I don’t want you to think that I’m just this big alcoholic when I tell you that…

I came back down, got some really delicious pizza and some cheap Italian beer (which was delicious, even though I usually don’t like beer), and watched the sunset again. So wonderful.

By this time, I was pretty tired, so I thought I’d head back to the hostel. I had been moved to another room (which means another apartment) another place in the city. This one was just as nice, except instead of a nice view, it had a lovely little cramped walkway that lead up to it. Once again, I felt like a local.

The door up top is an extra bathroom and shower; the door on the right was the door to the apartment.

I had originally planned to just got to bed early, but was surprised to find that some really fun people from Australia were also in that room. I talked to them for awhile, trying to keep the conversation short so I could get into bed, but then found that they were way too fun to miss an opportunity to hang out with them. So we kept hanging out. They told me they really felt like some cocktails, and I told them I had never had one before, so they insisted we go out. Lo and behold, we went to that same wine bar and got cocktails. They told me I should get a Long Island Iced Tea (which would have been a horrible idea if I would have planned on drinking anything after it, because gosh was it potent). We all had a very nice talk.

The other guy in the picture besides me (I forget his name now) had just flown to Cinque Terre from the running of the bulls festival in Pamplona, where I had originally planned to be. He told me that he arrived in Pamplona at noon, and there were already people plastered and passed out in the city, and that it was really just a major drunken party. Maybe it was best that I didn’t go there this year. With my all my struggles, it may have just been too much. It was cool to hear his stories, though, and I would still like to see it someday. Not by myself, though.

After my Long Island Iced Tea, I was tired, but not drunk. I drank it really slowly to make sure that exact thing wouldn’t happen. I went back to the hostel and had a really nice night sleep. It had been a long, wonderful day.

I awoke the next morning, had another yummy breakfast, walked past a bakery that had some delicious looking pastries in the window and bought one, got my fruit, and decided that it would be a good day to go swimming in the Mediterranean.

The pastry in the window. It was magical.

This is what I walked out to every morning, by the way. It's a school yard. Usually there are kids playing.

I took the train to Monterosso and went swimming there. It was a beautiful day and the water wasn’t too cold. I had never actually swum in a large body of water before, so that was an interesting experience. Nevertheless, it was fun and wonderfully refreshing. I still can’t swim very well, though, which makes me happy that there were lifeguards on duty at the beach I went to.

I may have spent the rest of that day walking around the different towns. (Once again, I lose track of the actual order of events.) I remember wandering around sleepy little Manarola and Riomaggiore and eating some more gelato. I was just so very happy in Cinque Terre.

There was a wedding on this day. Apparently it's a custom that the bride and groom walk around the whole town after the wedding. Everyone was cheering for them and throwing rice. So cool.

This is probably a good time to mention that it is a law in Cinque Terre that every house must have green shutters. Take a look at the previous pictures. Only green.

And, at one point, I found a little trail.

Sunday came around and I went to church in the morning with one of the women that had been with me on cocktail night. We went to breakfast and then to church. We had some really nice conversations because she was also a Christian, and I hadn’t necessarily “talked God” for awhile. Even though we disagreed on some things, we had a really nice time. Church was cool, too. It was a Catholic service, and even though it was all in Italian, I totally knew what was happening the entire time because the Catholic routine is the same all around the world. (Hehe, I don’t mean “routine” to be insulting…maybe a little “too true,” but not insulting.)

That Sunday there was a train strike. I don’t necessarily know what the reason for it was, but it still happened. That meant, unfortunately, that the main way to travel between towns was cut off. I wanted to get to Vernazza because it was the only town that had wireless internet and I had set up another wine date with my parents and friends. Luckily, the Cinque Terre has a ferry system. So I took the ferry from Riomaggiore to Vernazza.

This was great because it allowed me to get some wonderful pictures of four of the five towns.

I arrived in Vernazza and walked around a bit. My original plan was to get the ferry back after the Skype party, but I found out that it stopped running quite early, so I decided to take the train back when the strike ended at 9pm. Here’s the picture from the Skype party.

We had a really nice time. The wireless spot was actually outside, which allowed me to turn my camera and show my friends the lovely Vernazza and it allowed many interested locals to peek over my shoulder to see what I was doing. At one point a stout old woman in a floral dress and tennis shoes stood next to me and watched. I moved my camera so everyone could see everyone. She waved, they waved, then she left.

After the Skype party, I still had some time to kill so I figured I’d go get some dinner. It was my last night in Cinque Terre, so I decided to get the spaghetti with mussels. I’ve already described it, but let me say again: it was fantastic.

The view from my table.

At nine o’clock, I headed up to the train station to get the 9:15 train. I looked up at the arrivals screen, and saw that that train had been cancelled. The next train would be coming at 10:30. So I had to wait. I had a conversation with a nice family from Missouri. Pam, Joe, and Joe Jr. were their names. We actually ended up talking for a long time because the train was delayed—first thirty minutes, then an hour, then another thirty—until it would have been after midnight when it would arrive. As we watched the clock, Joe Jr., a former soldier, said, “You know, I could run back on the trail to Riomaggiore and pick up our car and drive it back.” After some thinking, they decided it was a good idea and he ran back through Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola to Riomaggiore on that trail that I had taken on my second day. His parents and I talked in the meantime, and were surprised when he arrived only about an hour and a half later. It was great.

“You’re staying in Riomaggiore too, right?” they asked me. I told them that I was, and they said, “We don’t want you to be waiting for a train that may not come. We’ll drive you back.” And so, they drove me back to my hostel. They were so very kind to me. I just don’t understand how I’ve been blessed by so many wonderful people on this trip. I’m positive that I don’t deserve it.

I went to bed, and woke up the next morning for may last couple of hours in the Cinque Terre. I finally found a place to fly my kite (I had been looking the entire time I was there), and I had breakfast as usual. Trofle was my lunch, like I said. And I just relaxed for the rest of my time there. It was absolutely wonderful.

Reflecting on my experience in Cinque Terre, I try to think about why I was so much more relaxed. Was it because I knew that I was going home soon? Was it because I had done a lot of research and was more comfortable with Cinque Terre? Was it because there was less pick pocketing to worry about? Those all may be true, but for some reason I feel deep inside that God may have just looked at me, looked at Cinque Terre, and said, “You take this one, Brian,” and gave me the peace that I had been looking for my whole time in Europe. And for that I am deeply grateful.

After this, I had a few hours in Milan, and then on to Paris for two more days. That post will be coming.

Love you all,

Brian

(P.S. Stay tuned for the Bastille Days post from Paris!!)

Milan

2009-07-17T07:46:00.000-07:00

After Nîmes, I had some decisions to make about what I was going to do for the fifteen days I had left. I decided that, unfortunately, Spain would have to wait. There was one place I wanted to see above all the other destinations. The Cinque Terre. I’ll talk more about the Cinque Terre in a later post; for now, I’ll tell you about what happened in the meantime.

The best way for me to get to the Cinque Terre was to fly from Marseille, France, to Milan, Italy, and then take a train to the Cinque Terre. The best I could work out was have a full day in Milan, which I was alright with. Sort of, anyway; going to another city I didn’t know much about was something that made me a little anxious.

What made it a little worse is that all I heard from travelers about Milan is that it sucked.

On travel sites it said that “Milan is not known for it’s looks, but I guess you can find some things that are sort of interesting there.”

“Great,” I thought.

After doing some research, though, I found that Milan could actually be a pretty cool place. First of all, it’s Italy, for crying out loud, so there’s all the new culture things I get to learn. Secondly, there’s the Duomo, one of the biggest cathedrals in the world, Di Vinci’s Last Supper, and a lot of cool other things.

Even though I only had about two days in Milan, I quite enjoyed it. When I was waiting for my plane to Milan, one that would land me there at around 11:30 at night, I began talking to a small family who lived in Milan. They were really nice, the three of them—a wife, husband, and thirteen-year-old son. The son was studying English and reading an actual English book, which was more than I can do as a 20-year-old student with three years of Spanish. We got to talking, and I told them that I had to go to a hostel after our flight, for which I expected to catch a bus from the airport. “Oh, it’ll be too late to catch a bus, I’m afraid,” said the wife.

I felt that anxiety rush over me again. I’ve come to really hate that feeling. It’s not like my usual American anxiety when I want to throw up; what happens is that my chest becomes really hot and the heat spreads to my stomach and shoulders and neck and face and arms, until my forehead starts sweating. It’s quite unpleasant.

“We could drive you, though,” said that husband, “Our car is a parked right outside.”

You’d think it would be difficult to keep a healthy anxiety disorder when you have a God that’s so faithful.

So the family drove me home, which ended up taking about an hour. I was so thankful to them and to God for helping me. There was no way I would have made it there on my own. I got up to the hostel, went to my room, and fell asleep in minutes. (It was 1:30 am by that time.)

The next day I decided that I would go and see the city. I really liked it. It was big, and it wasn’t all pretty, but there were parts of it that were just wonderful. I really enjoyed myself. I went to go see the Duomo…

Of course I flew my kite there.

Had some gelato.

The square that the Duomo was in was just charming. Tons of pigeons, tons of people, and cool statues…it was really nice.

I walked around the city for a bit more with my Discover Milan map. Apparently there’s a really old castle in Milan, so I went to go visit that. The castle was okay, but what I really loved was the fountain. First of all, it was huge, but its size and beauty didn’t compare to the experience of watching the people hang out around it.

While in the castle, I met a man from San Diego who was also traveling alone. We walked around the castle together. It was fun. He kept wanting to take pictures for me with my camera, so I let him. He wasn’t very good at it, though.

I had my first experience with Italian pasta. And yes, it is different. They just make the pasta differently here. That’s all I can really say: it’s just different. You’re going to have to take my word for it.

As I was eating, a man from India named Sufred, whom I had met at my hostel, came up to me and started talking. He had lived in the United States for six years, so his English was right on. We had a nice talk and decided that neither of us wanted to take the subway to get home, so we thought that we’d try to use the map and walk.

Not as easy as it sounds.

We walked for an hour or so and got nowhere near the hostel. We had a wonderful time, though, getting lost and joking about differences between cultures. Sufred is probably someone I could become friends with very easily. He’s a good guy.

The next day I tried to book a time to see Di Vinci’s Last Supper for the day I’d be back in Milan (the 13^th), but they were booked until the 15^th, unfortunately. I was pretty bummed, but then I thought about the wonderful system that they have with showing the mural, which is on the wall of a tiny church somewhere in the middle of Milan. They only let in groups of about twenty at a time, every fifteen minutes, to see the mural. That way one can look at it in peace without being rushed or elbowed to get out of the way (like my experience with the Mona Lisa). But, unfortunately, it requires you to reserve a viewing a few months in advance. So yes, I was sad that I didn’t get to see the Last Supper, but I could respect their system.

And then I took a train to the Cinque Terre. The last big stage of my journey, and the one for which I was the most excited.

EXTRAS:

This guy was making flowers and fish out of vegetables!! SO COOL!!

This was my first experience with cheap, delicious Italian pizza. I'll tell you more about it in the next post.

"Home, James, and Don't Spare the Horses"

2009-07-16T07:51:00.000-07:00

That's a quote my dad always says...I don't really know why I used it.

Anyway, I'm home now! I made it home safely at about 6 pm last night. I still have some entries to post, so keep reading!! You're going to love my post from Cinque Terre!!

Peace, all.

Brian

Nîmes

2009-07-13T13:00:00.000-07:00

(Posted from Paris, France)

On my last day in Aix-en-Provence, I went to the train station to get some tickets to Barcelona. I decided that I was done with France and was ready to move on to Spain. I tried for at least a half-hour at the ticket counter trying to get a ticket, but nothing worked. There were no trains that would get to Spain on the day that I wanted. It seemed like I was out of luck.

Then I was reminded of something.

Remember the family from New Zealand I had met on the train to Aix? Well, in my conversation with them they said that they were on their way to Nîmes and that they would love it if I joined them. I took down their number thinking Yeah, like I want to spend more time in France. They seemed nice enough, though; I tend to always trust nice families.

“One ticket to Nîmes,” I decided.

I corresponded with Carol-Ann and told her that I’d take her up on her offer. She welcomed me, and before I knew it, I was on my way to Nîmes.

The morning of my departure to Nîmes, my credit card stopped working. I was completely out of money. My parents put $1000 in my account to hold me over for a week and a half, the amount of time we had to shorten my trip to. (Luckily a ticket change wasn’t very expensive.) I could have bought a ticket to Barcelona and spent a lot of money in an unfamiliar place trying to get home, but instead I was on my way to stay with a nice family for free in the south of France.

God works in the strangest, most wonderful ways.

I arrived in Nîmes, took a taxi to the Torries’ (that’s their last name) house because it was kind of late at night and the buses stopped going there, and arrived to Anthony saying, “Hello! Would you like a beer or something?” I told him water was fine, and Carol-Ann came by, hugged me American-style and kissed both my cheeks European-style and said, “Let’s go for a swim.” So we spent the evening in the pool behind a very nice house in Nîmes, telling life stories and talking about anything we could think of.

“This is the life,” I sighed.

We went back in and Carol-Ann made us spaghetti and meatballs. I ate until I was completely stuffed. There’s something about spaghetti and meatballs that’s so wonderfully comforting.

We spent the rest of the night sitting around and I went on the internet to talk to my family before I went to bed. Skype has become my best friend. At first I thought it was a wimpy thing to Skype my family all the time, but I realized with my anxiety disorder that I need certain people to be rocks for me. And when I get to Skype them I am filled with confidence to travel more. Christie prays for me, my parents do breathing exercises with me, and my friend Tami cheers me up and motivates me. Without these people, I would not be able to have the strength to do what I’m doing. This time, however, I didn’t need to cry, I didn’t need to be sad or anything. I was in a safe, cheerful place and all I wanted to do was tell them about it. They all met Carol-Ann on the webcam and were very excited to see the fun I was having.

I got to sleep in a really nice bed, and woke up in the morning to roosters cock-a-doodle-dooing outside my window. It was a good/bad kind of thing because, even though they were chickens at this house, it was still seven in the morning. And when you watch a movie that takes place in the morning and a rooster cock-a-doodle-doos it is usually just once, and the morning seems to hit “snooze.” Not so in real life. Roosters tend to crow for an hour or so. So it was wonderful, but annoying.

I woke up, had breakfast with the Torries (toasted French bread, diced bacon and melted cheese with fruit juice and apricots), and planned the day with them.

We went to a market in a small town somewhere in the Provence region. The entire town was taken over by this market; every street was full of vendors selling clothes, shoes, jewelry, spices, honey, fish, meat, sausage, veggies, fruits, flowers, soaps, oils, scarves, rugs, hats, paintings, sunglasses, books, CDs…anything that you can possibly think of, all there on the roads of this tiny village. I thought it would be a hectic place, but it was actually quite relaxed. People strolled about, picking up groceries (can you imagine getting your groceries in a place like that?!), getting snacks, meeting friends, or just sitting and eating an apple. I wanted to taste everything, smell everything, and buy everything I possibly could. (As you’ve read, the last thing was not possible…I smelled and tasted a lot of things, though.)

This guy was a really cool artist who traveled around and drew interesting people that he met. I bought the drawing of his of a clown he met while in Paris.

I think this is really funny. :)

We spent a few good hours there, and then went to lunch. It was a hot day, so a tall glass of Coke and a handmade personal pizza was a good idea. Also this restaurant sprayed mist every minute or so, which was just so very pleasant.

Carol-Ann and Anthony.

We then went to Pont du Gard, which is an ancient Roman aqueduct. It was amazing, of course, but so very touristy. Still, it was worth it to fly my kite there, given that there was a very nice wind and it was the Pont du Gard, for crying out loud.

Some graffiti from the 1800s.

Afterward we got some ice cream from a little non-charming stand outside the tourist center. I got pistachio ice cream, of course, and I was surprised that it was actually quite good. Good for you, mainstream, generic ice cream stand!

Also, there were these place mats in the gift shop. I thought they were the dumbest things I had ever seen. A sleeping kitten superimposed on a picture of Pont du Gard. So tacky. What was even scarier is that there are probably people in the world who see it and say, “Oh my gawsh!! This is thee most ADORABLE thing I have ever seen!! I’ll take four and put them on my kitchen table!!”

I spent a lot of time thinking about how stupid they were. It was enjoyable.

We then took a walk around the city of Nîmes. Gosh, what a nice city. Not too old, not too young, not too commercial. There is a Roman amphitheatre there and some other ancient things. Pretty cool. Jason Mraz was going to be playing at the amphitheatre in a week or so, which was pretty cool.

The real clouds look fake and the fake clouds look real. Isn't that cool? (This is a painted building in Nîmes.)

We went home again, took a swim, and went to bed. Relaaaaaaxing.

What was cool is that, each day, I learned more and more about these two individuals and began to love them more and more. With each place we went, we shared stories about our lives and got to see a bigger picture of who we are.

The next day we had a late morning breakfast and hung around a bit at the house. The Torries wanted to go and do something, but I thought it might be a good idea to have a lazy day. So they went out to go see a castle, and I took some time for myself. This was the first time that I enjoyed being alone and actually doing nothing. I watched a movie online, I talked to some friends online, I checked email, I updated my post, I planned as much as I could for the rest of my time in Europe, went for a swim, sang to myself and God, took a shower, drank iced tea, read, and just relaxed. It was great. No stress; I was on my own in a safe, charming place. It was all good.

Carol-Ann and Anthony came back quite late, and they realized it was the 4^th of July. Without telling me, they made a makeshift hotdog (actually a spicy sausage in a baguette) with ketchup for me so I could celebrate the 4^th American-style. I could have cried. These people are absolutely wonderful.

We again went to sleep, woke up to the roosters, had a croissant with jam breakfast, and started to plan the day.

We decided we would drive around the area and see what we could see. They were going to go kayaking, and since I was trying to save money, I decided I would just not go. When the manager of the kayak rental store heard about this, he allowed me to barter the price down to thirteen euros. I figured it was worth it, so I went. And what a nice time it was! We had a picnic on a sandbar. The water was really nice—a good mix between calm and rapids (to which my dad said, “That’s kind of like your trip! You’ve had some good and some bad, but it’s all good in the end!” True, Dad). It was good in the end; we rode the river all the way down to the Pont du Gard, and then under it. So very fun.

There's buff, 17-year-old Anthony, and then little 20-year old Brian. I need to start working out.

Afterwards we went to a little bar in town. I had another Coke and we just sat and talked for a bit. Oh, look at the following picture.

Guess what this is and guess who used it.

The night was still relatively young, so we hit up Avignon. I had heard that Avignon is a wonderful, beautiful place from some random people, but let me tell you: it was an absolute circus. Historically, it was cool because that is where some popes were during the Great Schism. (That was a time when there was a dispute between whether the pope should be in Rome or Avignon, and since they couldn’t decide, there were popes in Rome and in Avignon, all angry and excommunicating each other. Hilarious.) Other than that, though, it was crazy. They seem to have no regulations about where one can advertise, so everywhere I went there were posters. Along walls, strung across streets, on fences, on streetlights, on doors, on windows, on bikes, on people—all on top of each other, and advertising shows or things I did not want to see. Nonetheless, I flew my kite there.

Mom, don't look where I'm standing.

We went to a ruined castle village somewhere somewhat near Avignon afterwards. I don’t remember the name or the exact location because I’m not sure we talked about it, and Carol-Ann was driving. (Which, allow me to say, was a funny thing to watch, her being used to driving on the right side of the car and the left side of the road, and having to continuously check herself while driving on the opposite…with a stick shift…among stereotypically-horrible French drivers. I couldn’t help but laugh when she turned on the windshield wipers instead of turn signal multiple times. She’s a courageous woman.) The castle was beautiful, and the village—once a ghost town, now a site of restaurants and shops—was absolutely charming.

I wanted to take them out for dinner to thank them for allowing me to stay with them, so we found a nice little eatery in the little village. Turns out it was a place specializing in food and wine of the Provence region—where rosemary and thyme grow along the streets, and rosé is made the correct way. We shared some wine, and I ordered the lamb with ratatouille. It may have been the best meal I’ve had yet. I cleared the plate (one of the only times in my life I’ve joined The Clean Plate Club at a restaurant), and was so happy afterwards. It was an outdoor café, and there was rosemary growing right next to my seat. I would roll the rosemary between my fingers, smell it, and then taste the delicious rosé. I was so happy.

Carol-Ann, Anthony and I sat and talked casually for a good hour after we ate. We were wonderfully comfortable with each other by this time—like family—so we just talked and enjoyed each other’s company. I was sure that I was stuffed full by the first half hour of our talk, but then I turned around and took a look at their dessert menu. I had to get something. I ordered the crème brulle au lavende, knowing that I loved French crème brulle. What came out surprised me. Of course, it just looked like delicious crème brulle, but when I bit into it, I not only tasted the sweet, cool crème, but a very noticeable hint of lavender. I asked how they did it, and apparently they added lavender oil to the crème and served it that way. I was ecstatic. I savored every bite, and every word from my new friends.

We went home (by this time it was really late), said goodnight, and went to bed. The next day I boarded a train to Marseille, and then to Marseille airport, and a plane to Milan, Italy, full of wonderful memories from my stay in Nîmes.

Aix-en-Provence

2009-07-08T11:41:00.000-07:00

(Posted from Milan, Italy)

(Also, friends, I want to make sure that you read what I posted after the "Well...I'm Out of Money" entry. It showed up before that post, so if you missed it, check it out!)

I was told by many of my friends that I should go to Provence while I’m in France. All I heard was, “You have to go to Provence. You have to go to Provence.” So, during one of the days in La Rochelle, I went to the ticket station—

(Let me add here that all European train tickets purchased with a Eurail Pass require face-to-face bookings. So every time I want to go somewhere, I have to actually stand in line at the train station, struggle with the non-English-speaking staff, and sometimes end up not even being successful with where I want to go. Frustrating. Anyway…)

—and said “One ticket to Provence, please,” and the woman looked at me like I was from a different planet. So I said slowly, “One ticket to Provence, please.” After a few minutes of struggling, the person in line behind me said, in English, “Provence isn’t a city; it’s an area.”

Duh.

So I had the dilemma of okay, where do I go now? And luckily the same man who told me the truth about Provence said, “Aix-en-Provence is really nice. You should go there.” He seemed to know his stuff, so I complied, and booked a ticket for the next day.

The next morning, as I boarded the train, I realized, Holy crap, I’m going to a city that I know nothing about. I had a very stressful and anxious couple hours on the train. I remember trying to sleep, but I was too stressed. It was a really bad experience for most of the trip. At one point, I decided that I should walk through the train to see if I can overhear any English and start a conversation. Sure enough, I heard some people talking with Australian-like accents, so I started a conversation. They were a mother and son family from New Zealand, named Carol-Ann and Anthony. They were headed to Nîmes.

After talking to them, I was still quite stressed and went back to my seat. Nothing more to be said about that trip because it was so darn stressful. I arrived in Aix-en-Provence, met some people who spoke English who showed me where a good hostel was, I went there, and checked in for a few days.

All I wanted to do at that moment was talk to some people from home, so I spent a while on Skype, which was nice. I also met, however, a few very nice people. One, my roommate in my hostel room, was named Stefane. He was really nice and we had some good conversations. I also met MJ and Florence, to friends from Montreal who were kind of doing the same thing I was in Europe. I also met Lauren, a woman from Virginia. We all hung out and talked about home and traveling, you know, getting to know each other but not too well. We were all kind of in the same boat as far as traveling went, so we had some common ground that we could stand on.

There was a Picasso and Cezanne exhibit at one of the museums in Aix. It showcased Cezanne’s influence on Picasso through comparing the two artists’ work. I liked it a lot.

The next day I went around Aix-en-Provence with MJ and Florence. It’s a pretty cool city, with delicious candy shops. I’ll let the captions under the pictures do the talking.

I've only seen lions' heads on doors in the movies, but this one was in real life!

These were incredible. Hoo boy.

AND I flew my kite.

The day after that was probably the best day I had in Aix. I had quite an anxious time there, not knowing anything or anyone, you know, same old, same old. I decided it’s probably a good idea to do something that an annoying tourist would do. Sure, it’s not necessarily cool, but it would bring me comfort to be led somewhere and to go do things in a group. My mom had told me at one point, “When you go to France, you must do some sort of wine-tasting,” so I went to the tourist office to see if there was anything wine-related to do. Luckily there was one—a tour of a French vineyard, lavender fields, and an olive oil mill.

Sounds like the place for me.

I got my ticket and waited for the bus to take me on the tour (or excursion, as they called it). A little van pulled up and a small woman stepped out. I gave her my ticket, and watched as two other women also gave her their tickets. I had a small fear that this entire tour was going to be in French, so I asked the two women, “Do you speak English?”

“Oh yes,” they said, “We’re from Washington state.” Their names were Mary and Amber and they were colleagues working at a college in Washington. We realized soon that we were the only people on this tour, which sounded quite good to know that we wouldn’t be herded around like a big group of cattle through the Provence region.

The two women and I quickly got along and we had a lot of fun on the tour. I learned how to taste wine like a pro and hold the glass like a snob. I walked through one of the best vineyards in Provence. I ate a fresh fig right off a tree next to the vineyard’s mansion. I had never had a fig before—I expected it to taste like a prune except worse—but it was so delicious that I had to have another. Hey, my parents are thinking about planting a new tree in their yard…I think I have an idea for them. J

Getting my fig on.

Left to right: Mary, Amber, our tour guide, and ME.

My mom has a picture of herself exactly like this.

The garden at the vineyard. Beautiful.

I could have sat there for hours. All I needed was a person to share some wine and a good conversation with. (Another hint that next time I travel, I'm going to take someone with me.)

We then went to the lavender fields, which I desperately wanted to see in Provence. I dunno—there’s something in the idea of seeing a field full of purple that seems very magical to me.

And it was magical. Even the butterflies in the field were purple…I figured they couldn’t help but be. If you were a butterfly that lived in a lavender field, wouldn’t you do the same? The farmer who owned the field pulled up some lavender for us all, enough that my hands smelled like it for the rest of the day. I loved it.

The farmer.

The olive oil part of the tour was interesting, but nothing necessarily beautiful. We just learned how the olive oil-making machine works, pretty much. It was still fun, though. The floor of the factory was all oily and slippery. Pretty fun.

I came back from the tour feeling just amazing. Maybe I was high on lavender…or drunk…either way, I just felt great. I went back to the hostel to meet my mom and one of my best friends Tami on Skype.

You see, when Mom told me that I should go to a wine tasting, I told her that I had one better: I would get some French wine to match her French wine at home and we would drink it together on Skype. I told her to invite friends, too, so she invited Tami. We had a great time just chatting up a storm. It was such a comforting, wonderful experience.

Tami told me that she had become inspired by a sermon she heard at church that week. It was based on a bible verse that I have actually preached on before. 2 Corinthians 12:7-10.

‘To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.’

I was so surprised how close to home this verse hit. I had never thought of it in the context of me, my trip, and my anxiety disorder. My gosh, my anxiety disorder is the thorn in my flesh that continuously keeps me humbled and in my place. I have witnessed some wonderful things that, of course, could make me quite smug about my experience here in Europe. (How many people do you know who are just annoying about their travels, always bragging about it and pretending to know everything? I know a lot of them.) Well this is one thing that is keeping me from that.

And it’s not that God gave this horrible disability to me, knowing that it would hurt me and cause me so much trouble, but God knows that He can work in all situations and take care of me no matter what predicament I’m in. When I am weak and can’t handle things on my own, that’s when God steps in to help me through. His power is made perfect in my weakness.

Christie said to me at one point, “None of these wonderful things would have happened to you if your anxiety wasn’t an issue.” And it’s true. So I rejoice that I had those hard times because God’s power was shown the most clearly. It’s a little more difficult to rejoice when I’m in the middle of a hard time, but I try, because I know that God is truly at work in those situations, guiding me, helping me through, and protecting me. Even though I am weak, I am strong because God is with me. His power is made perfect.

God is good.

Well...

2009-07-05T05:11:00.000-07:00

I’m out of money.

Hehe. J

I planned the best I could for what I thought would be enough for me to be here for the whole summer, but I planned incorrectly. So I am coming home on the 15^th of July.

It’s quite early, isn’t it?

I keep thinking I should be really angry about this.

But I looked at my kite just a little bit ago and saw all the wonderful places I have gone—all over Germany, through the city of Salzburg, Prague, the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, Buckingham Palace in London, all around France—and what can I say? I’ve had an experience that many only ever dream of.

I have ZERO reason to be angry.

And I still have a ten days left. I thought to myself, “What the heck can I do in ten days?!” but then realized that sometimes that’s an entire European trip for some. So I still have a lot to do. My plan is to skip Spain (which is sad, because I can sort of speak the language and I desperately wanted to see the Running of the Bulls), and see what I can do in Italy. As of now, I’m flying to Milan on Tuesday the 7^th, and then go to Cinque Terre (which is my #1 destination), spend a few days there, head back to Milan for a early-morning flight to Paris, stay in a hostel (AND CELEBRATE BASTILLE DAYS, WHICH IS THE 14^th!!), and come home on the 15^th.

Doesn’t that sound great?

So my trip has been cut about a month and a half short, but I have still accomplished so much (which I will be talking about more in later posts), including traveling in Europe by myself with Anxiety and Depression, and I still have a very cool 10-day journey to come!

So keep reading. :)

And keep praying, because these next ten days are going to be packed with stuff, and I ask that you ask God to be tangibly with me and allow me to walk in His Spirit. Also, pray that my anxiety may be under control and that I am calm and confident while finding God in these next ten days. I currently (as of 2:15pm in Nîmes, France) feeling still quite anxious about this whole thing. Pray for my comfort. Pray for my confidence. Pray that I arrive safely in Minneapolis on July 15th.

And keep reading, because I have more to say. :)

I love you all.

Brian

La Rochelle

2009-07-02T11:54:00.000-07:00

Boy, this last week has been quite an experience!

Since I had the initial shock of, “Holy crap, I’m by myself in Europe,” things have been up and down. I’ve gone from being ten minutes away from getting a plane back to the states, to wanting to jump up and down praising God for this wonderful place.

Despite the rollercoaster that was going on inside of me, La Rochelle is a beautiful city. The people are friendly, the views are fantastic, and the seafood is delicious.

I walked past this couple and they were sitting on a bench, just laughing an having a great time. Christie and I someday?

In La Rochelle, I think I probably saw more walkers and cyclists than drivers. Each road has a designated spot for bikes (they’re even included in roundabouts), and some of the roads are just for bikes. I rented one. It was fantastic.

This wonderful port town is surrounded by an ancient wall that touches the ocean. Walking on it every day gave me spectacular views of the ocean and sailboats. There are also three ancient towers that “guard” the city. I never took a visit to the inside of them, because I’ve found that castles are always so much more mysterious when viewed from afar, instead of going in. So I just took pictures and imagined them as fortress-like, royal, violent, and powerful towers. J

La Rochelle is known for their muscles (or moules, as they call them). Since they are sitting right on the Atlantic, all the restaurants get their moules fresh, which of course forced me to feast on them. And apparently moules are the best fresh from the Atlantic, not the Mediterranean (which is the only water I’ll see after La Rochelle). Another good reason to feast away.

I had two feasts of moules, one in the beginning of my trip, and the other at the end. They were delicious and tasted like the sea. Absolutely wonderful.

For this meal, I ordered my moules covered with curry. Wow.

I’ve found—with the help of my very wise aunt—that people energize me, and that being alone makes it easier for me to become anxious and stressed, so I tried to meet as many people as I can. Sometimes I had no choice, because they would come to me anyway…

One night I was sitting watching the sunset and playing my travel guitar (not with my case out for money or anything, just playing for fun) and a man my age came up to me and said, “May I take some pictures of you?” It would have been awkward, but I realized that a person sitting on an ancient wall playing guitar at sunset has got to look quite good (especially with a face like mine), so I let him. When he was done, we ended up talking for a few hours until it was dark and cold, so we went back to the hostel that we were coincidentally both staying at. His name is Davy (not “day-vee” like we would pronounce it, but “dah-vee”), and he’s also a student. We met up the next day too, by accident, and went to get “the best ice cream in La Rochelle.” It probably was the best ice cream in La Rochelle, too. I had pistachio, which is my favorite kind. Mmm.

Unfortunately, I did not get a picture of Davy, but he helped a lot as far as making me willing to talk to people. He’s a good guy.

I’ve found that I listen for English being spoken around me, and when I hear it, I say, “Oh, you speak English too? Where are you from?” and try to start to conversation. It’s kinda weird and desperate of me to do this, but it works. Hehe.

I heard some English in a super market in La Rochelle and decided to pursue it. It came from an enthusiastic retired couple from England named Roger and Penny. They were traveling with an RV (“Just a brilliant, wonderful vehicle!” Roger said.) around France, and they were spending some time in La Rochelle. I had a nice conversation with them twice during my stay. They were both so very nice and seemed to care about me right away, which I must admit took me aback, but they were sincere about it. Wonderful people.

After having a rather anxious day, I was playing my guitar again on the wall, and a woman who looked a little older than me walked by. I said, “bonjour, madame,” and smiled. I’ve found that just a smile from someone can energize me. She smiled back, and for some reason I asked her—without asking first if she spoke English, mind you, which is not very polite of me—“What’s your name?” She smiled and said her name was Julie. We talked for a little bit and she told me that she was about to go to a bar with some friends and that I was welcome to go along, so I did. We ended up going to an Irish pub, owned by an Irish man, in La Rochelle. I met her friends, Luik and the other Julie, and we sat drinking Guinness and kind of talking (they didn’t speak much English). The pub was actually more Irish than the experience I had in Ireland, complete with an Irish band. At one point one of the band members noticed I had my guitar with me and insisted that I play along for a song or two. It was so much fun.

From left to right: the Julie I met on the wall, Luik, The Other Julie, and your truly.

Even the bartender played along.

Now here’s a part of my journey, instead of part of my trip. On my last night I experienced—what should I call it? Should I say, “miracles?” or…Oh, I got it—many “burning bushes” that totally changed my world. Here’s the story.

The other day in La Rochelle, I was having a horrible day. Everything was going wrong. I was going to go on around in island off of La Rochelle for the day on a bike. It was supposed to be great; I was going to go to the beach, fly my kite, and have a great time. Well, I ended up being very stressed about the whole thing and getting lost (and not in a good way) on the island. And I only had time to fly my kite for a few minutes (which is disappointing). It was incredibly stressful, and I didn’t like it at all, even though the scenery was amazing. (Now there’s something frustrating: being surrounded by beauty and not being able to enjoy it.)

I stayed out as on my own as long as I could, and then decided to go back to my hostel and call someone from home with Skype. (“Just a brilliant, wonderful” machine.)

I talked to my good, good friend Tami first thing in the morning. This was actually before my horrible day, but it was so wonderful I’m putting it in as one of the miracles I encountered that day. I woke her up in the middle of her night, which was my late morning. She’s one of those friends who says, “Call any time…really.” So I can trust that she’ll be there for me. We talked for awhile, and at the end, she prayed for me. I don’t know if she knew it, but God spoke through her in her prayer. Through her words, God reiterated that He is my protector and my guide, and that He’s with me every step I take. And then she prayed that He’d guide me and said slowly, “One step at a time.” From that moment on I knew that God was with me. First burning bush.

But I lost that trust that He was with me when I went on that frustrating trip. I was too distracted and angry to allow him back in. So, back to my Skype time.

First, I talked to Christie. She had an hour or so before she had to work, so she could talk. I told her what a rotten day I had and began to cry. This is one of the reasons I love Christie so much and am so thankful to have her as a girlfriend: we are so open with our feelings and always feel safe to share them when we’re together. She’s so incredibly comforting. I had it in my head, though, that I needed to talk to my aunt Sara. Feeling quite tired of everything, I told her that I needed to call Sara because she’s always good at giving pep-talks. Christie got a really disappointed look on her face and started tearing up, saying, “I just wish I could be the one who makes you feel better. You’re in Europe and you need help, and I can’t give it to you.” Now of course, I can’t just leave my girlfriend crying, so I decided to stay and talk. And I felt that God would help me talking to Christie, too. Thank God I did, because we had a really good talk that actually helped me a lot. After a long conversation, she explained that I have bad days sometimes in the States; why would I expect every day to be fantastic in Europe? Especially for two months! So, I need to accept the bad days and move on. She told me that I can do this and I should expect some bad days, especially in the scary beginning, and celebrate the good days as well. She’s quite brilliant. Second burning bush.

I called my aunt Sara after I talked to Christie, to get a pep talk from her too. She’s one who always says, “You can do this. You know you can do this. I know you can do this. And it’s going to be so much fun!” so I knew that she could help too. Well, I talked to her and she told me that she thinks that I should try to get connected with a church and offer my services there. Like, maybe I could play at one of their worship services, or even work in a soup kitchen. She says it’ll help me learn more about culture, and it will make me feel good. That deeply motivated me to get connected. She’s a wonderful person, and always willing to help me get my rear in gear. Third burning bush.

Between there I checked my facebook, and apparently the word got out that I’m having a rough time, and I had over 20 wallposts, facebook messages, and emails from Bethel Choir members, telling me that they’re praying for me and that they love me. It was so wonderful. Fourth burning bush.

After that, I talked to my mom, who has been such and incredible rock for me during my trip. She stopped what she was doing at work and stepped outside to talk to me. We talked for a while, and all she said was positive things. God spoke through her again when she said, “You know what, Brian? You have so many wonderful strengths, and this anxiety disorder is just one weakness. You can get through it.” We cried together, and prayed together, and after our prayer I told her about how excited I am to receive all the wonderful hugs from people when I come back in August. I mean, I’m kind of going through a “hugging fast” right now, which is really difficult for a hugger like me. And man, I miss hugs so dearly. To that, mom said, “Brian, I’m hugging you right now. I love you. Can you feel my arms around you? I’m hugging you. I’m hugging you.” And she kept repeating that and telling me that she loves me, and soon I could feel it. I could feel my mom’s beautiful, familiar arms around me and holding me tight. She said that she will never stop hugging me. We cried together again, and thanked God for what He has done. Fifth burning bush.

I wrote everything that had inspired me on my hand so I could remember them. The list is:

-So many strengths; one weakness.

-Bad days happen. Keep living.

-Serve others.

-Feel Mom's hug.

-Strength will rise. (A Chris Tomlin song I sang to keep myself motivated.)

-I am loved!!

-God is with me.

-One step at a time.

Mom later talked to me about sending hugs, which is in effect the same thing (to me) as sending love, and love is so powerful. She said to me, “You know what, Brian? I’m hugging you right now, Dad’s hugging you, Tami is hugging you, all your family is hugging you, the people from the choir are hugging you; you have so many people hugging you and praying for you and loving you right now.” And she described all the hugs as a whirlwind of love with me in the middle and Holy Spirit flowing through me the whole time. Can you picture that image? It is so amazing, and it continues to be the image from which I pull my strength. So all of your prayers and love are all being turned into hugs for me. I love you all, and I return the hugs.

I went out to the city for that last night, and laughed to myself and to God about the lousy part of my day. If I hadn’t gone through that rough part, these things wouldn’t have been so wonderful. I praised Him and realized that I’m pressed, but not crushed. I’m perplexed, but not in despair. I’m struck down, but not destroyed. I’m persecuted, but I’m not abandoned. And God is working in me.

I kept laughing, thinking, “What is with You, God? You work in the weirdest ways. But praise You for that.”

And at one point in my conversation with Him, I said, “You’ve got my back, right, God?”

And I felt the response, “And your front, and your sides…”

Praise God.

Giverny

2009-07-01T12:50:00.000-07:00

Giverny was amazing. I have very little to say about it because of the fact that so much of the experience had so much to do with what I saw and smelled and touched. It was amazing.

Let me try to explain it, though. I took a train from Paris to Vernon one morning. Vernon is a bigger (but still very small) town outside of the tiny village Giverny and it’s the only way to get there. From Vernon, I rented a bike to take to Giverny—about a 20-minute bike ride.

Totally worth it.

And yes, I had to do one thing…

Kind of embarrassing. And that stretch of road wasn’t the prettiest of the trip, but still, you could see my mood. J

The air all the way to Giverny smelled like flowers, for they were everywhere. No houses had yards, only gardens. It was absolutely beautiful. Domesticated flowers filled up the gardens, but on the street sides, wild flowers (mostly poppies) grew happily.

I got into the little village of Giverny (by the way, it’s pronounced “zhee-vair-nee,” not “giver-knee” like I had pronounced it for so long) and was so happy to be there. It was really barely bigger than a few roads. I went to the Monet gallery, where they had a special exhibition of more Monet’s than ever. I saw the water lilies paintings and everything. It took my breath away.

After that, I went to the garden. Man, I wish you all could have seen this. So much better than even the paintings of Monet, with air so fresh and cool and plants so green a beautiful I could have stayed forever. Take a look.

Monet's house.

The footbridge.

This tree was original from when Monet lived there.

Here's a walkway through his garden. (These may have been some of the flower seeds I got you, Mom.)

And his wonderful water lilies area...

So that was my experience in Giverny. Wonderful all the way through.

Love,

Brian.

The Eiffel Tower Light Show...

2009-07-01T11:18:00.000-07:00

I told you I would post this video. You may not want to have your volume all the way up when you watch this, because it's just filled with screaming students. I say some things on the video that not even I can understand anymore, but I still think you'll like it. :)

Paris II

2009-06-28T06:59:00.000-07:00

It’s 10:30pm, and I’m in Parc Du Champ De Mars, waiting for the Eiffel Tower light show to start. It’s the last day of classes for the students here in Paris, and they’re all lounging in the park drinking wine and smoking cigarettes (and perhaps drinking and smoking some other things as well). The park is crowded with people. I originally thought that maybe they were all tourists, but after walking through the park and listening for English, I only found one couple—who happened to be from the Midwest—who were here to see the light show. In about thirty minutes now, the already lit-up tower will mimic thousands of people sitting on every inch of the tower taking pictures with flash. I saw it last night and it is a wonderful (though brief—ten minutes) event.

I think I’ll take this time, while I’m finally relaxing and breathing the summer night’s air, to tell you a bit about my experience in Paris so far.

As you already know, this has been quite challenging for me. With a body that works against me everywhere I turn, it is very difficult to keep strong. But I’m doing it, and Paris is a wonderful place.

One of the first things I wanted to go to in Paris was the Louvre. (Laurent got frustrated with me for pronouncing it “loov” because, he says, “the r and the e are there for a reason!” So, “LouvRE.”) Of course I wanted to see the Mona Lisa and the other Da Vincis. And I wanted to see the statue of the woman with no arms (I still can’t remember its name), and the Michelangelo works…

(I had to just get up and move somewhere different because some guy near me just started playing a drum, which made everyone gather around and start dancing…And here’s little old Brian sitting cross-legged on the ground with his laptop in the middle of them all. I’m in a clearer place now. If they don’t think I’m American, they must think I’m a nerdy French student.)

…Well, I went to the Louvre (actually, the line wasn’t that long for those who didn’t pay in advance, like me) and got my map. Now, have you know that I set aside two days to visit the Louvre. I was so excited. I started walking around, lingering at paintings, but every time I did, large crowds of people would crowd by and I’d be distracted. I went to go see The Virgin of the Rocks, a Di Vinci painting, but I had to wait five minutes to get up close to it. I went to the Mona Lisa, and had to wait like ten minutes, trying to elbow my way through a bunch of tourists. How frustrating. The same was with the no-armed sculpture.

I dealt with the crowds for about an hour more, and then decided to go see the works I wanted to see, and leave. Good thing I didn’t book two days’ tickets in advance. The artwork was beautiful, though. Too bad it was so crowded. I like my museum experiences to be relaxing, and this was not that.

I hear Jerusalem bells ringing, Roman Calvary choirs singing...

I walked around Paris for awhile, around the parks and pretty streets. It was beautiful. Check out the pics, yo.

Lunch of champions.

As many are, I was mesmerized by the Eiffel Tower. I didn’t realized how large it actually is. It’s just massive. My house could fit under it at least four times, maybe five. I think the wonder of it for so many people is how peaceful it looks. And it can’t help to be. It’s so big that when you look at it from a ways away, you can’t even tell that there are lines and crowds of tourists yelling and taking pictures for facebook and buying key chains underneath it. It was so cool, I had to find a place to fly my kite near it. I was successful, thanks to a friend from choir giving me his camera tripod. Anyway, the Eiffel Tower is just a wonder. Especially at night…

Oh, here comes the light show.

Okay, the light show was great. I hung around the park for an hour and now I’m sitting in a little café, drinking wine in view of the Eiffel Tower. This is a way to end the night.

After the disappointing Louvre, I walked around the park near the Louvre for a while. Now that was worth it. Very…French. I realized after a while that I wasn’t walking but strolling, which made me realize what a privilege it is to be here. Absolutely wonderful. I ate lunch, and desert, and—I think—walked back to Laurent’s when it was dark and I was tired.

The next day I decided to go to the Musee d’Orsay, which Laurent and a friend of mine from the States suggested. This one is less-known and more relaxing, they promised me. So I got up early (well, planned to, anyway. I ended up leaving an hour after I had originally planned) and went, thinking that it would have less of a line than the Louvre.

Wrong.

It was a billion times longer.

Okay, maybe not that much, but still. It was long. But the wait was definitely worth it. There were a bunch of Monet’s, and Van Gogh’s…two of my favorites. I spent as long as I wanted, which ended up with me making sure I saw every room in the museum at least once. Some twice. To be able to see the actual brush strokes in such famous paintings was so incredibly moving.

Hey sexy.

After that, I went back to Laurent’s for a break. I talked to my lovely girlfriend on Skype, took a shower, and went back out.

I returned to the park near the Eiffel tower to read for an hour or two. Since I don’t really have a plan here and I have such an open schedule, reading in front of the Eiffel Tower was exactly the thing I wanted to do. Once it started getting colder and darker, I started to walk to the Metro station, but was distracted by a cute little café near the Tower. Figuring that a day completely and confidently by myself was worth celebrating, I went in for some banana flambé and some wine.

Best idea I’ve had yet.

The flambé was delicious, and so was the wine. There’s something about drinking wine in Paris that makes it taste so much better. I tried to take a picture of me toasting my mom (who, by the way, is traveling vicariously through me with wine…she buys wine from the country I’m in and drinks it while I’m there) but was not succeeding when a cute little Australian couple sitting next to me in the café asked if they could take it for me. I told them why I was taking the picture—and why I had so strangely taken a picture of my flambé, and we ended up talking for a good hour about homesickness and family and the wonder that is France. I had a fantastic time.

After that, I walked to go see the lit up tower for the first time, and the sight literally took my breath away. I did one of those quick, unintentional sobs and stopped myself. The sight was beautiful. And as I was standing there, the light show started (my first time seeing it), and it was absolutely incredible. I took a video that night and tried to say something intelligible, but nothing came out but stupidity. I’ve found that the videos I take and choose to say something in end up to be really stupid, so I probably won’t show the video from the first night. J

I’ve messed up the order of things somewhere in the previous paragraphs, I know, but it doesn’t really matter. On one of the nights I was in Paris I decided to go look for the Arago line. For those of you who’ve read The Di Vinci Code, they called it “the Rose Line” at the end of the book and Robert Langdon follows these little bronze medallions to the inverted pyramid at the Louvre, and there discovers that’s where Mary Magdalene is buried.

In reality, there is no medallion on top of the inverted pyramid, but there is the Arago line that runs north south along the Paris meridian. I did some research on it, thinking that I’d want to just find one and take a picture. But the history is that there was a very successful and important astronomer in Paris named Arago, and when he died, someone he knew wanted to commemorate him with an “invisible monument”—135 bronze medallions placed along the meridian line all over Paris. There are three near the pyramids at the Louvre, and I took their pictures, but thought to myself, there’s gotta be some more around here, so I followed the N for north and looked for another. And another. And another. I ended up finding about fifteen or so Arago medallions, which caused me to get quite lost somewhere in Paris.

At one point I saw a little underground bar along one of the streets with a dog outside (always a good sign) and went in, figuring it was a nice night for a glass of wine. When I went in, the bartender said, “Hello,” and—wait, “hello?” no “bonjour” or anything? He said that this particular bar was an American bar. In fact, it’s the only American-owned American bar in Paris. As I looked around, I found that everyone there was speaking English. Two people from the UK, and three from the States. It was nice to hear some English, so I decided to stay. The bartender (his name is Jeb, a New Yorker who came to Paris for three months and decided to set up a bar ten years ago) poured me a glass of wine and we, his British girlfriend Margo, and a random British man sat and talked for a good two hours or so. In the middle of it I got done drinking my glass and thought I would go look for some more Arago medallions, but Jeb poured me another one and said, “Stay awhile. I’ll buy this one as a ‘safe travels’ gift.” So I stayed and talked. About family, about traveling, about social issues, about Christianity, about Paris, and about Blue—the big, shy Dalmatian in the bar who peed to much. It was a great time.

Afterwards, I said goodbye and went on my way to find more medallions, but the wine had made me really sleepy so I went back to Laurent’s for one more night.

Anyway, I’m here at the café, and I think I’m done telling this story. Tomorrow is Giverny, where Monet lived. An all-day adventure.

Miss you all,

Brian

EXTRAS:

A cool street act!

Yes, I saw the massive Arc.

And I had a delicious crepe along the way!

Paris

2009-06-28T06:24:00.000-07:00

(Posted from La Rochelle)

As I begin this entry, I am sitting on the Metro in Paris, listening to an old man play the violin for money. This happens all the time in Paris, apparently. People will actually come on the Metro, whip out an instrument and then ask for money—sometimes full bands will do it, even. I quite enjoy it, given my obsession with street acts, but it’s obvious that most Parisians do not.

Paris has been a roller coaster of a journey. So challenging and difficult, yet wonderfully rewarding. I can’t really remember a complete itinerary of this time, as I did not plan one. I simply decided to plop myself in Paris, and go from there.

I set up a host for my stay via CouchSurfing.org. (If you haven’t heard of it, check it out; it may increase you’re chances to travel, if not that, at least your drive.) His name is Laurent Bruneau, and he explained to me in the beginning that, as much as I tried, I would not be able to pronounce his name correctly. He was right. I will try many times and think that I have it, only to see him shake his head at me or give me a look with a smile that says, “Sure, that’s it. …Not. “ He’s a very nice host, though, and he showed me around the city and was very kind.

I arrived late on Saturday, the 20^th. He gave me some seemingly-vague directions on how to get to his house from the Metro station. When I got to the station at which I needed to be, I exited to a random street in Paris somewhere (to be honest, I’m still not necessarily sure where it is—I know what station it’s near, though). I looked to my left: some French store, a small market, some boring apartments. I looked to my right: some scaffolding, a Kodak store, and, oh, the top of the Eiffel tower.

I guess I had some idea of where I was.

Paris, baby.

I arrived at Laurent’s house (the directions were actually spot-on), and me Laurent and his nice flat. It was quite late by this time, and all we really had time for was a quick chat and then we had to get ready for bed. I was tired, anyway, from all the stress that came from finding the right train, to the right line, to the right station, and the right apartment complex, for crying out loud.

The next day, Laurent showed me around the city a bit. I briefly saw the Eiffel Tower and took some pictures, but I knew I’d come back to it later.

After that, I had the rest of the day (until 8pm) to myself. I walked around the city a bit more, saw some sights, but then realized something: I’m not enjoying myself. I was incredibly anxious and could not concentrate or enjoy anything.

I decided to go back to Laurent’s house and calm down. I sat around for a bit, uploaded the Galway entry to GCIA (God’s Call is Abroad. Can I call it that?), and then tried to leave.

But I couldn’t.

I realized then that I had been away from home for a month. A whole month. This trip has been a month’s worth of amazing experiences, but it’s also been a month’s worth of challenges and stress. And I found that I was simply terrified to go back out there.

There was something huge and scary building inside of me. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I needed to call somebody, just to hear their voice. After getting a few answering machines, I called the person who I knew would make it better: my mom. I called her—who, at the time, was eating lunch with my grandparents—and said, “Mom, it’s me. I’m feeling fine, I’m completely safe, and there’s nothing for you to worry about, but I’m really scared to go outside right now.” And at that point I couldn’t go any further. I broke down completely, crying uncontrollably. I tried to say some things to her, but not a lot came out. I just cried and cried.

And cried and cried.

And cried.

Cried to the point where I was done being scared, but then kept crying. Cried to the point where I could have a conversation, but kept crying. I even laughed a few times, but kept crying.

Something in me told me that this was good. I had a month’s worth of emotions built up inside of me, emotions I had held on to from way back when I was packing for Europe. And all of them had to go. I realized God was doing something very interesting inside of me through that.

He was cleansing me.

He and I knew that I still had two months ahead of me, and I’m quite scared about it, so I needed to get rid of all the junk that had welled up for a month.

And Mom just kept telling me that she loved me and told me updates on the family and what she had been doing so far this summer when I couldn’t speak. It was absolutely wonderful.

And, after more than an hour, I had one more sob, and then I found that I could take a deep breath. “I think I can go now,” I said to my mom. I was ready again to go out into the world and see what I could see.

After we got done talking, I went back out in time to meet Laurent for a music festival. I still have no idea what it’s called, and even if I did, I would not be able to pronounce it. Beforehand, Laurent introduced me to a friend of his and a friend of that friend. We had a really nice conversation. And, the woman in the picture lives in Venice and will be there when I’m there, so I may have a homestay. J

Laurent is to my right, and the woman I may be staying with in Venice is on the end. (She's the only woman, too, so that should make it easy.)

The music festival goes from 8pm to 8am. Musicians can sit wherever they want and just play the music, and no one can call the police on them.

These guys were good.

I mean ANYONE can play.

Anyone.

We only stayed until about midnight because Laurent had to work in the morning. (This was Sunday night, by the way.) And I was considerably, peacefully drained, so I went back to bed as well.

And that was my first full day in Paris.

You see, because of the fantastic genes that my parents gave me, which inevitably made me live with an anxiety disorder and depression, my body is almost engineered to not want to do things like travel the world alone. It’s too stressful and I can’t handle it, my body tells me. But I want to do these things. It is difficult, and it’s stressful and can sometimes leave me sitting in my room at Laurent’s and being terrified to leave. But one step at a time, God is cleansing me and helping me. Just today (as I write this, three days later…started writing this entry yesterday) I had a small freak-out session which stalled me for at least an hour, but I’m working through it. I talked to my parents again and had only a short cry (apparently there were a few things left in there) and now, once again, I am sitting in the Metro station waiting to go into the city, and exciting for what new things I’ll see today. I don’t doubt that I will have tough days again, but I’ll get through it.

Let me tell you now, for all those who are worrying when they read this blog: I will be fine. The difficulties that I'm facing are all part of this journey. I want to be completely transparent with all of you who are following, because like I said in the beginning, this is not just about my trip, but my journey. So don't worry. Pray for me, ask God to be present around me and give me strength through His everlasting Love. I write this paragraph from La Rochelle, and trust me, I've had much more anxious times since. But one step at a time, God is taking me through. I'm learning wonderful, life-changing lessons here, and even though it is very difficult, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

My second post about what I did in Paris for the rest of my time there is coming soon. With more pictures, too. J

Brian

I'm in London, Baby!

2009-06-27T06:33:00.000-07:00

(Posted from La Rochelle, France)

Our trip to London began, again, with us running through the airport, trying to catch our plane. We actually planned it out quite well to be on time, but the little flight line we were using said that my bag was too heavy. So I had to go back and forth between two stations—standing in line at each one, by the way, and one of them had five people working at the desk chatting and only one doing the work, just to let you know—so we ended up being quite hurried to get on our plane. Luckily, it was delayed, so we ended up being fine.

We arrived in London. How exciting! And I took The Underground for the first time. One of the people in my group had used The Underground before, so he was an old pro. But I had no idea what was going on. I remember thinking, I’m going to have to get a lesson in this. Soon enough, I did, and I also became a pro.

We checked in to our hotel, and decided to go around to see the city. We were quite hungry, and since Zach heard that the best place to get Indian food outside of India is London, we had some Indian food. I, surprisingly, did not get a chance to take a picture of it, but let me tell you, it was some of the best I’ve ever had. I loved it.

We went to Picadilly Circus, which is like London’s Times Square. On a whim, we decided (more accurately, I decided) to go see a play with a good student rush rate. The guys grudgingly came along. The show was called “The 39 Steps,” which is a spoof of a Hitchcock movie. It was hilarious. There are four actors in the cast, and between the four of them, they play 139 characters in the play. It was money well spent. The guys liked it too.

After the show, we got to look around Picadilly Circus for awhile, and that was very cool with their bright advertisement screens and their crowded streets. When we were done with that, we walked down to where Big Ben and Westminster Abbey were. It was quite late by this time, and the river Thames was beautiful. The London Eye (it’s that big Ferris wheel, for those who don’t know about it) and all the other buildings in London were all lit up and magnificent. I never dreamed that I would see Big Ben except in pictures. When I was younger I never thought of myself as a traveler, and I never expected to see London. There it was, however, just being Big Ben, and I was right there next to it. Amazing.

The next day us four went to different parts of the city, and my choice was to go to Westminster Abbey. It was something I always wanted to see, and it was well worth it. There were no pictures allowed inside, but I have some outside shots for you. The inside was incredible, though. I saw the tomb of Handel, the first Queen Elizabeth, a bunch of King Henries, Shakespeare’s memorial, the tomb of Jane Austin (for all you chick-flick-book-lovers), Isaac Newton, and Charles Darwin, among others. It was about a 3-hour experience. Amazing.

After that, we all got together and went to dinner, because we had tickets to AVENUE Q!! This was a musical that I desperately wanted to see in Minneapolis, but I didn’t get tickets. So I jumped at the chance to see it, especially with a discount, which we got. The show was hilarious and wonderful and raunchy and entertaining…exactly what I expected. The only thing that was a little distracting was that every once and a while the actors would slip out of their American accents. Other than that, it was fine.

The next day, my friends left for America. I was quite ready to be on my own. I knew the city, I knew The Underground, I was fine. So I decided to see some things I wanted to see.

Like Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre.

I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’ve been a huge Shakespeare fan since high school. I love it. So of course I needed to see some Shakespeare while I was in London! And what better place than the Globe? I got cheap standing tickets for As You Like It, which was all I could afford. I was a little put down by that, because I didn’t want to stand for the whole show, probably in the balcony.

But when I got there, I realized that the expensive tickets are in the seats away from the stage, and the cheap standing tickets are right in front of the stage! I grabbed a spot in front and spent the whole show resting my arms on the stage. I could smell the leather of the actors’ costumes as they walked by me. Many of them made eye contact with me. The woman next to me accidentally got spit on by one of them. It was a wonderful experience.

As You Like It went until about 5p.m. I was really excited because—something I forgot to tell you—I got up early that morning to stand in line for tickets to Hamlet, with Jude Law playing the lead. That was in a bigger theatre, of course, and the standing tickets were way in the back. I paid for a standing ticket, but at the last minute they found a seat in the front of the first balcony for the same price, so I took it.

Of course.

I went for some Chinese take-out before the show. London has its very own China Town, and the food was awesome and cheap, so ate there as much as I could.

Anyway, I went to Hamlet with Jude Law! Now I took a Shakespeare class in high school. One of the sections was based completely on Hamlet, and we ended up reading the original and a abridged version, and we watched the Mel Gibson and the Ethan Hawke Hamlet movies. Needless to say, I know the play pretty well (and I was pretty sick of it).

Jude Law probably gave the best performance as Hamlet that I have ever seen. He was intense and pissed off and just fantastic. See, I never really liked the Mel Gibson version because it was too boring and too non-relatable, given that the movie took place during the time Shakespeare planned it. And the Ethan Hawke version was too contemporary; they lost a lot of meaning and depth because they tried to make it too fashionable. The Jude Law version, however, was (in my eyes) a very perfect medium of the two. The costumes were modern, but simple. The set looked like it had been carved out of stone. And the simplicity of the set and costumes ensured that the story and characters would take over. And Jude Law pulled everyone in during his amazing soliloquies. I was on the edge of my seat that whole time. I took some pictures, even though it wasn’t allowed. J

My seat.

Jude Law during the famous "to be or not to be" soliloquy. Absolutely brilliant.

The next morning I got up, went to go see the Changing of the Guards in Buckingham Palace (totally cool) and hung around in London for a bit.

Oh, and I flew my kite in Green Park!! That’s the park near Buckingham Palace, by the way. I was excited.

I didn't think my trash was royal enough to go in here.

There's also fine print on the bottom that says, "Oh, and the poop needs to be gold."

Then I stopped at a cheap Indian restaurant, ate like hell, and ran to go catch my chunnel ride to Paris. The chunnel is a train that goes under the English channel, and into Paris in two hours. What it does is cooler than the experience, unfortunately. It’s just a train. I suggest that they should make the tunnel under the English channel out of glass so people can look out at the water—like Underwater Adventures at the Mall of America! Should have looked for a suggestion box.

Anyway, I loved London. The (unLondonlike) food, the accents, Big Ben, and the shows. It was a fantastic time.

On to France!

EXTRA PHOTOS:

This was what I thought the London Bridge was, but no.

THIS is the London Bridge. Not a lot to write home about...or a SONG about, for crying out loud.

One day, when Christie and I turn into birds, this is what we'll look like.

An English breakfast. I ate the whole thing.

Of course, the red phone booths. Had to take a picture.

Cute old people.

Street Acts!

Dublin

2009-06-26T07:56:00.000-07:00

(Posted from La Rochelle, France)

While we were in Ireland, we also went back to Dublin. Here are some city pictures.

Not necessarily a lot to see there, we thought, but we did go to the Guinness factory.

No only was there Guinness merchandise, but they also sold hot sauce and seasonings and stuff like that. Crazy.

Hey good lookin'.

My very own Guinness. And they put that mark on the top with the beer coming out of the tap. So cool. And I drank the whole thing, for your information. After seeing how it was made I could appreciate it more.

Happily leaving the Guinness factory with bags of goodies.

Bad day for this guy.

We went to a cute pub and got some dinner. I broke down and got buffalo wings (my favorite food). I couldn't help it. My original plan was to wait for when I get back in the States to have some, but these looked so good I couldn't resist.

Bullshit Corner. That's where I sat. :)

Just wanted to tell you about Dublin. The London post is coming soon, and it'll be much more interestin. :)

peace,

brian

Galway, Ireland

2009-06-21T07:15:00.000-07:00

(Posted from Paris)

Our journey to Galway started with the four of us sprinting to our terminal in Munich. The tram to the airport took longer than expected, and we ended up running through the airport and boarding our plane about three minutes after it was supposed to be done boarding. What matters is that we made it on, even though we were taking off our jackets and reapplying deodorant as the plane took off.

It was a two and a half hour flight to Belfast, which is in Northern Ireland. Northern Ireland is actually an entire different territory than Ireland, and the people there really want you to know it. They’re part of the U.K., so that means we used British pounds to pay for things while we were there.

In Belfast, we had about an hour until the next bus left, so we decided to eat out and have some good ol’ fish and chips. We went to a place that looked, from the outside, like a hole in the wall, but on the inside looked like Panera Bread. The fish and chips was delicious, though.

We then took the bus from Belfast to Dublin, and had about a 45-minute stay in Dublin. Didn’t really see anything spectacular there…but we went back after Galway. That’ll be another post. I will tell you, though, that we found a great internet café in the train station. J

Then we went from Dublin to Galway, our final stop.

(Oh, I should explain why we took the way we did to get to Galway. The cheapest trip to Ireland from Munich was to Belfast. There are no trains from Belfast to anywhere else besides the capital, Dublin, because Northern Ireland and Ireland are two different territories. So what we had to do was go to Dublin from Belfast, and then from Dublin to Galway. About seven hours in all. Ugh.)

Galway is a nice college town. Downtown was pretty crowded when we arrived in the afternoon, and after we put our stuff in our hotel, we decided to go out and see what we could see. Well, Saturday night in any college town is usually pretty crazy, but it was especially crazy in Galway. The bars were packed full with people, as well as the outdoor seating areas outside of them and the streets all the way across to the other sides. Each bar was like this, filled with people from ages younger to far older than me, all pleasantly shloshed and ready to party. And boy, was it loud!

What I really liked, though, was the fact that there was a different street performer on each block.

I tried my first Guinness. I still couldn't finish it. Look at the unsure expression on my face.

The next day we took the bus to the coast to see the cliffs of Moher. The ride was wonderful. I love the stone fences.

These are quite famous cliffs that you’ve probably seen before. The sight was just wonderful. It was here that I had the greatest longing to be a kite, or something else with wings. To just fly among these gorgeous cliffs, and the fields and the extremely happy cows. I wish that these pictures showed more of the glory of this area. Beautiful.

Could. Not. Help it. (sorry mom)

A cute old person AND a street musician. Two birds, one stone.

These are the flowers I picked for you, Christie.

Two cute old men.

What better place than here to fly my kite?

When we got back, we walked back to the hotel to freshen up. Somehow I took a wrong turn (actually, I know how it happened; I saw an intriguing alley with stands set up and decided that it would be beneficial to me to go take a look) and found a nice little marketplace set up. There were people selling original paintings, jewelry, and wooden things like candlesticks and chessboards—all along this one little alley way. What caught my eye, of course, was a donut stand. It was run by a man and his dog: I think his name was Spanky. (The dog, not the man.) The man fried up the dough and then dipped it into sugar, and gave one to me for 70c. I took a bite.

Spanky.

Now, before I say this next statement, let me tell you that I am a very loyal Krispy Kreme fan. I’ve eaten more than my bodyweight in those scrumptious donuts, given two speeches and one book report on their history (ask me about it sometime), and used to own a collection of merchandise. I love Krispy Kremes.

But this donut may have been better.

I cringe just saying that.

It was warm, crispy on the outside, soft and fluffy and creamy on the inside (ooh! It was an actual Crispy Cream!), and perfectly sweet. It changed my life.

Well, not really, but it was indescribably good.

Notice the happiness and the terror in my eyes.

(How have I said more about this donut than I have about the cliffs of Moher?)

That night we went out again. It was Sunday night, and there were still people out drinking. It was considerably quieter, though. And this time, most of the bars had traditional Irish music playing, which was fun.

I have no idea what automatic bollards are.

Monday morning, I woke up before the rest of the guys. They stayed up a bit later than I did the night before, so I thought I’d let them sleep. I took a shower, got dressed, and decided to walk around the town. In the morning it is so peaceful in that city. I passed people walking to work or just going on a stroll—some drinking coffee or eating scones—all of them quietly enjoying the morning. Very few people talked; it was like they were allowing the morning to make the sounds for them. All that was really heard were chirping birds, owners setting up their shops and cafés for the day, and the occasional car.

I turned a random corner to find a small yogurt café that had just opened. It looked cute enough and I thought, I could eat some yogurt. But then I saw the most wonderful words printed on a sign outside of the shop: “Free Yogurt with Any €5 Sandwich.” Of course I went in. They had a wonderful selection of footlong sandwiches, and one called the Breakfast in Bread, that consisted of sausage, egg, bacon and this wonderful sauce they call “relish” that I had been seeing more and more in Galway. The relish has a sort of barbeque/maple taste and there are raisins in it. That on top of a breakfast sandwich was heavenly. And then came the free frozen yogurt. I asked them to top it with strawberry and kiwi, which they did. Mmm! A delicious, filling meal for €5. That’s a big deal.

I wonder if you’ve realized that one of the most enjoyable things for me in Europe is the food. I have written about it in, like, every post. I really do find quite a large amount of joy in eating the food here. Not that the food is necessarily better, it’s just a little different and I love tasting it. And taking a picture of what I eat and writing about it is kind of a souvenir in itself. I’d rather eat a nice meal or ice cream cone than buy a snow globe that says “PRAGUE” on it. So I will continue to eat. J

Back to my morning alone.

At one point I had a fresh eclair. Mmm.

The street acts started right away in the morning, and went throughout the whole day. Check out some of my favorites.

I found out that there were bike rentals in the town centre, and by this time the guys had woken up, so I talked them into renting some bikes with me. The deal was that we got the first three hours free, so we took that and went on a bike ride. We went along the coast of Galway. Check it out.

Joy.

Here’s a few other things that happened randomly in those couple of days. I’m really happy that I got to know this city. I mean, visiting somewhere amazing once for a few hours is great, but to stay somewhere and know the streets and buildings and little stores and people is so much better. I very much enjoyed Galway.

Peace and Love,

Brian

Konnexion Balkon

2009-06-21T06:59:00.000-07:00

Here's a video of their performance in Munich. Their stage (or should I say "street") presence was wonderful.

Munich

2009-06-17T16:58:00.000-07:00

(Posted from Paris)

The guys and I took a train from Pfortzeim to Munich. We booked an 11:50pm train ride thinking, Hey, we’re college kids. We’ll get to Munich at like 2am or so. No big deal.

What we didn’t take in for consideration was that there was a three-hour layover in Stuttgardt, about a fourth of the way to Munich.

Big deal.

We arrived at Stuttgardt train station at around 12:45am or so, and prepared for a three-hour break. We were all quite tired by now because, remember, we had just gotten done with a big hike and a high ropes course a few hours earlier. Napping was the best idea, so we curled up on some benches at our train’s stop and tried to sleep in the open air, uncomfortable, cold train station. I didn’t get much sleep at all. Finally, our train came, and we made our way to our seats and couldn’t get to sleep fast enough. I ended up draped over my suitcase, uncomfortably, but it didn’t matter because all I needed to do was be unconscious.

We arrived in Munich at 7:30am without a place to stay. We found a nice hostel and luckily they had some beds open. We made our reservations and were all ready to jump in bed and sleep, but check-in wasn’t until 2pm. So we had many, many hours to kill. First we went to go get some food. This was the first time I had McDonalds in Europe. I was told by a fellow traveler never to be afraid of eating at McDonalds in Europe because it’s cheap and it’s pretty good food. I had a nice salad.

After lunch, we figured out the train system and took a nice, long train ride to Dachau because 1) we wanted to go there, and 2) we could take naps on the train. Dachau is a WWII concentration camp, by the way.

Here are some pictures from that trip. It was a sobering experience that, despite our fatigue, was very powerful. You can read and read and read about the Holocaust, but there's something even more disturbing about actually seeing one.

We slept back to Munich, and by this time we could check in.

The beds were irresistible. We hopped in and said, “We’ll wake up at 4,” and konked right out. Our plan was to go to Olympic Stadium in Munich and the BMW Museum when we work up. It seems almost too characteristic of me to set the alarm incorrectly on purpose in order to get more sleep, but I didn’t do that. I did it accidentally. We ended up waking up at six, totally refreshed, and realizing that Olympic Stadium and the BMW Museum were closed. I was fine with that because I didn’t really want to go to those places.

It was around dinnertime, so we decided to go to a nice beer garden that Tim knew about called Hofbreuhaus. This place was wonderful. It was huge and crowded and just great.

There was a great German band playing traditional tunes (nothing like the crap in Pfortzeim), and pleasantly-shloshed people singing along and yelling.

Something I found interesting is that there is a large wall of “stein lockers” (that’s the best name I can think of to call them)—people who are regulars at this place buy their own special steins, and since they come so often, they lock them up in the lockers and get them out when they come. Just imagine going through the keys on your key ring and saying, “Okay…here’s my car key…my house key…my safe deposit box…and my stein locker.”

I ate their signature veal sausages with a pretzel, which was absolutely delicious and comforting, however disturbing the sight of it was. I don’t know; there’s something unappetizing about sausages at the bottom of a white, porcelain basin. I’ll let you decide by looking at the picture.

I ordered my first liter of dark beer, which was quite interesting. I also ordered a coke, just in case I didn’t like it. The beer actually wasn’t that bad—a lot better than the crap I’ve tasted before. I stopped drinking it for two reasons: First, I was completely full. Second, after drinking a third of it (that’s probably about a can of beer and a half), I was already feeling a little more than buzzed. Apparently I’m quite a lightweight.

On our walk back to the hostel, the guys were getting pretty tired, even though I was feeling fine. As we turned a corner, I heard some music coming from the other way. Given my obsession with street acts, I said, “Come on, guys!” And they were like, “No, no, we want to go to bed,” but I didn’t listen and ran to the music. Turns out there was this wonderful band called Konnexion Balkon (in English, Connection Balcony), that played wonderful music. They take classical music and rearrange it into jazz. I ended up getting their CD, Konnexion Balkon Goes Classic. There music is something different than most of the things I’ve heard before. I’ll put a video up so you can see and hear some of what they do. We ended up staying until the end of their street concert, and all the guys agreed that they were pretty darn awesome.

We got back and slept. As we were getting ready for bed, we were surprised to find that our room (which had two extra beds) was actually a coed room. Two women from Asia who are about our age and speak very little English walked in. That was awkward.

The next day we hopped another train (the rates for tickets in Munich are great) and went to Füsser.

This is a little—and quite touristy—town in Germany that had only one important thing in my eyes: the castle from which Walt Disney got his inspiration to design Cinderella’s castle. Words can’t describe how wonderful it was. Take a look at the pictures.

Unfortunately, one side was under construction, as many old buildings all over Europe are all the time. But it was still breathtaking.

We wanted to see more, and given that there were more hills above us on the bridge, we took a hike up a semi-beaten trail to one of the cliffs. It was amazing.

After that we went back and checked in to another hotel, because our hostel was booked for that night. The guys decided to go to the BMW Museum and Olympic Stadium, and I decided to stay at the hotel for some much-needed—and I mean much needed—alone time. You can thank that alone time for giving you the Austria post. J

They got back far past dinnertime and we took another trip to the Hofbreuhaus. When we got there, though, it took forever for our server to even come to us, and he handed us a late-night menu that was printed in only German, unlike their regular menus. Since we couldn’t understand anything and were too hungry to wait, we decided to go across the street to the Hard Rock Café.

Very German of us.

But, at the same time, it was wonderfully delicious and home-like. I had a giant buffalo burger with fries. Can’t really beat it.

Then we went back to the hotel and the guys went to bed while I stayed up to talk to my Dad for his birthday (which, by the way, was Friday the 12^th of June…so now you know when this actually happened. And when my dad’s birthday is).

And then I finally went to bed and prepared myself for a flight to Ireland in the morning. That’s an interesting story too.

Peace and Love,

Brian

Yes, just like I had to get a picture of me touching the Disney castle, I had to get one of me touching this one.

This picture was hard to get without her noticing. She was so cute.

Pfortzeim

2009-06-14T12:12:00.000-07:00

(Posted from: Galway, Ireland)

Pfortzeim, Germany

And now it’s just the four of us: Zach, Josh, Tim, and I.

Saying goodbye to the choir was tough. I was going through so many emotions—thankfulness for the friendships, fear of the future, and homesickness. All I wanted to do was buy a ticket and come home where I can see my family, my girlfriend, my dog, sleep in my own bed (or at least my own country), get free refills at restaurants, and not have to pay for the bathroom anymore. It was so hard to let them leave without me.

But I stayed, which I wasn’t so happy about in the beginning.

We were picked up by Elke, a family friend of Josh’s who was kind enough to open her home for us in Pfortzeim. Pfortzeim is a somewhat-new town right outside the black forest. It was completely demolished in WWII and rebuilt quilkly, so a lot of the buildings are not too impressive. Still, it’s a very nice town.

The five of us really didn’t know what to do that day, and we spent a long time trying to figure it out. And then at one point Elke said, “We could go to France. It ‘s only about an hour from here.” Of course we said yes. So we drove to a city in France called Strausburg. It was a cute little city.

We stopped to have some espresso with Elke.

There was a nice cathedral, and it was at this cathedral that I realized that I’m already quite sick of cathedrals.

One of the things that really did stick out in this elaborate building was that, at every candle-lighting place, every prayerful kneeling station, every saint statue, and every confessional there was a small box for donations. Once I realized this, I couldn’t help but feel dirty. There’s no way that this can be called a church of God. This made me incredibly sad, and I had to leave before I got the urge to flip over any tables.

New subject, something more positive.

Once at Elke’s house, we met her family. Titzian, her 10 year-old son who tried so hard to communicate with us, but knew only the simplest English. He pretty much knew as much English as I know Spanish…enough to sort of get by, and little enough to be proud to say, “A piece of bread,” at the dinner table.

Lea was their daughter. I think she was 14 or so. She was shy and knew a pretty good amount of English, which she refused to share with us. Still, she laughed at our jokes and soon opened up to us enough to let herself go and be silly with the rest of us.

And then there was Elke’s partner, Carmen. She knew very little English, maybe even less than Titzian, and she was noticeably stressed about it in the beginning. There was something in her wary smile that made me fall in love with her and try to make her comfortable with us. We all joked around, and when we started talking about music she brightened up. Apparently she loves all the bands I do, and she would run back and forth to their CD player to show me bands I didn’t know. She even started dancing to some of the songs.

I also became acquainted with one of their cats.

When they found out that I brought my travel guitar, they immediately made me get it out. I played some songs that I thought they might know, and we stayed up late into the night requesting and playing songs. By the end of it, Carmen said in her cautious, broken English, “Your voice looks like an angel.” That meant the world to me.

The next day we took a nice trip to the Black Forest, which I’m sure a lot of you have heard about. It’s really just a big forest, and the reason it’s called black is because, from a distance the trees look really dark. La de da, a big forest.

We found some fun things to do, though. We went on a nice hike to see Germany’s Longest Waterfall, which was beautiful and made totally worth it when the guys and I hiked off the beaten trail to get a closer look. I could have stayed there all day.

This picture is looking down, by the way.

After that, we went on yet another Alpine sled. I’m pretty sure that’s one of the coolest things one can do.

Oh wait. I have one cooler.

We also went on a high ropes course in the Black Forest! I love stuff like this: suspended over a hundred feet in the air, walking on wires between trees and being attached only by two karabiners. This was a monstrous ropes course with five levels of difficulty. We had about two hours there, so we decided to go on levels four and five—the most difficult. It was so exhilarating and terrifying and wonderful I could not contain my excitement.

Loved it.

We were quite hungry when we were finished with the course, so we went to a little café. The food was delicious, but the experience was made actually quite horrible by the music that was playing. It wasn’t necessarily polka; it was more happy traditional German songs recorded on a cheap keyboard. What made it worse was that there were only about four songs on repeat. It sucked. At least the food was good.

After this we went home to Elke’s house, where we had a nice cookout. I hung out with the kids a lot and they tried to teach me some German. They taught me the phrase “Ich heisse Brian,” which means, “My name is Brian.” During my attempt to say everything correctly, I said, “Ich scheisse Brian,” and scheisse is the German equivalent to shit. We laughed about that one for awhile.

Somewhere in our conversation, they started talking about Strauss, which is Emu—a common bird that they eat in Germany. And then I realized that in my first homestay in Bad Hamburg, I continued to call my hostdad whose name in Klauss, strauss. So I called him and Emu for most of my stay. How embarrassing.

I don’t know how I’ve become so blessed to meet such wonderful people. Each one of my hosts have changed me in a significant way and caused me to praise God all the more. God does good work with people; I am continuously impressed by that.

Hope all is well in the Fifty Nifty. J

Brian

BEAUTIFUL OLD PEOPLE!!

The trick is to pretend like you're taking a picture of something else.

For this picture I actually WAS taking a picture of something else--the pigeons on this one house. And then on the last picture I realized that an old woman in the house was watching me.

Nidderau

2009-06-14T11:22:00.000-07:00

(I've decided that it would be a good idea to tell you where I'm sending these posts from so you know what's coming. See, I write the entries as I go, but most of the time I have to wait to post depending on where I get internet access. So right now I'm posting this from Galway, Ireland.)

Nidderau:

I have no idea what I’ve done to become so blessed.

We had our last concert in Nidderau, a small city about a half-hour drive away from Frankfurt. We were told nothing special about Nidderau; it was a last-minute, second-choice concert that was really just filler. Nevertheless, it was our last concert, which marked the end of the accomplishment of the European choir tour and the end of the senior class’ college experience.

The church was cute. It wasn’t Erfurt or Prague, that’s for sure; it had a flat ceiling (our first flat ceiling, mind you), and the rest really wasn’t too spectacular.

I wasn’t looking forward to another homestay. As fun as they are, it still takes a lot of energy to meet new people in a new place and stay with them. I simply wanted to go back to La Crosse and sleep for two days straight.

Carl and Dortea were my hosts. At first, Dortea was talking to my roommate and I in German, which made me think, Man, if I have to deal with charades for two days, this is not going to be fun. And then, after a linguistic struggle, Carl said, in perfect English, “Oh, you don’t speak German, do you? That’s fine.”

Carl and Dortea were an old retired couple who lived in a beautiful 200-year-old house. (Mom, Dad…I’m putting pictures of the house so you can see it. I know this kind of house would be a dream for you.)

Dortea played the piano and sang quite beautifully. She let me and Josh play our musical for them too, which wasn’t the classical stuff they were used to, but Carl said, “It’s okay that it’s not Brahms; it’s you.” And then Carl showed us what was him…He plays the didgeridoo. He also plays the duducki, which is a more authentic, strict-technique instrument. He was great.

This couple was so kind to us. They had a Red Corrant bush, which is a berry that is very rare in the States. Josh and I ate more than we should have, but they were delicious.

Oh, and they showed me where I would be sleeping, which was the attic. There was a hole in the top for ventilation. Take a look.

After dinner, we went to the concert. In all the places that we sang, we may have sung the best in Nidderau. We were finally completely comfortable with our songs, and the audience was into it, and we had motivation to sing our best. And we did.

I’m sure that every person in the choir cried at least once during the concert. I definitely was not able to sing through three of the songs. This was a big time for me—it marked the end of my time with the choir for the year, and the beginning of my big, scary summer adventure. I was afraid of my future and thankful for the people around me at the same time. I couldn’t help but cry when we sang words like, “Stay with us, Lord Jesus, stay with us,” and, “Eternal Savior, come to me.” It was amazing.

We prayed together after the concert, cried together, laughed together, and shared hundreds of hugs. I’m always amazed how attached I become to the choir at the end of the tour. I love every single one of them.

And thus starts the next step of my journey.

Lord God, You have called Your servants

to ventures of which we cannot see the ending—

by paths as yet untrod, through perils unknown.

Give us strength to go out with courage,

not knowing where we go,

but only that Your hand is leading and supporting us.

Through Jesus Christ our Lord, amen.

A Clip of Joy

2009-06-14T10:17:00.000-07:00

Here's a clip of us on the tour singing "Doe, a Deer" along with the Sound of Music soundtrack. I also suggest watching it without the volume once and just focus on how ridiculous we look. :)