Longing for the sun

My "winter blues" treatment plan

I haven't seen the sun in days.  Weeks, maybe.  It's not that the sun doesn't rise; I'm not that far north. We've just had 100% cloud cover for almost the entire month of November.  Sure, there was one sunny day 2 weeks ago.  I admired the blue behind the clouds as I rode the bus to church, and then, peeking out the window during the service I saw as the sky gradually cleared.  By the time I left church around 1:30, the sky was completely blue.  As I walked to meet a friend for coffee, I stopped in the park to turn my face to the sun and marvel at how warm it felt, even on a cold wintery day.  We sat near the window to enjoy the blue sky, but by the time we left, 2 hours later, it was already dusk, the sun setting for the day.  


But since then, I've only caught a glimpse of the sun 3 or 4 times, peeking out from behind the clouds.  I may or may not have squealed, "my shadow!" out loud a week or so ago, when the sun peeked out long enough for me to cast one.  It might help if there were snow, and we have had a couple of days of white loveliness everywhere, but then it warms up to just above freezing, and there's nothing but mud and dead brown and grey everywhere.  Every day.  Except when it's dark (which is about 18 hours a day) Every morning, when the sun finally "comes up" around 9, I open my curtains, hoping for a glimpse of blue.  It's usually the same view:

(In case you're fooled by that glowing, lighter area in the clouds, that's not the sun.
That's the reflection of my lamp through the window)

It's hard to deal with that kind of weather, day after day, week after week and wonder if it will stay this way til March.  I've been feeling extremely tired, lethargic, drained of energy, of hope, of ambition.  I was starting to feel like maybe there was something wrong with me, til I got together with friends the other night.  Turns out we all feel the same way.  Going out at night (which right now means anytime after about 4 pm) takes a sort of battle of the will.  Getting out of bed in the morning requires another (if it's the weekend and I have to turn on the light in my bedroom to read, it's not really light enough to get up, right?  Oh, wait, that means I have to stay in bed all day) I'm fantasizing of moving to somewhere warm and sunny.  I've heard the weather is great year round in Guatemala. . . But since I have a pesky matter of a thesis to finish I guess I'll just have to deal with it.  And take my vitamin D supplement and eat chocolate, and drink a glass of wine now and then.

And hostess of the year award goes to. . .

The banana bread had about 5 minutes left to bake when my phone rang.  My first guest had arrived a bit early and the front door of the apartment building was locked.  I ran down to let him in and it wasn't until we got back upstairs that I realized I'd shut the door behind me.  I was standing on the landing in stocking feet, no one was home, more guests were going to show up any moment, and we were locked out.  Oh, and the banana bread was close to burning in the oven.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and looked at it hopelessly.  Somehow I keep neglecting to ask my roommates for their numbers, so I couldn't even call and see if one of them was nearby.  As I was laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, and contemplating entertaining my guests on the landing, the automatic timer on the hall light went out, leaving us in the dark.

Li flicked it back on as I kept trying to come up with some solution, any solution that was better than the stairs in the dark.  And then, I thought of something... when my flatmate left, she had the bag she takes with her when she's headed to sauna.  Maybe, just maybe, she was at the sauna.  And maybe, just maybe, if I knocked on the door she'd hear me and lend me her key.  So,  I left my guest, shoeless and coatless, stranded on the landing, as I ran off through the dark in his much-too-big-for-me shoes and jacket to knock on another friend's door. With her keys in hand (so I could get into the locked building where the sauna is) I headed to the other side of the complex.

I pounded on the door, calling my flatmate's name.  If it really was her in there, I  hoped she'd hear me. And if it wasn't her in there, I really hoped no one would answer.  No response.  But my banana bread was burning and more guests were on their way, so I tried again, and then, wonder of wonders, the door opened.  And it wasn't an angry stranger, but a confused flatmate.  A quick explanation later she handed me her keys, and I dashed off again to let my guest into my apartment.

"Make yourself at home" I said, and then immediately ignored him as I flew to the oven to take out the banana bread.  "Sorry to be rude" I said, and then headed back into the night (this time with 3 sets of keys), leaving him sitting alone in my apartment (hey, at least this time the lights didn't keep turning out on him).  Keys returned to both lenders, I made it back before any other guests arrived, and guess what?  The banana bread didn't even burn.

The Turku Public Library

One thing that brought me to Finland was its stellar education system.  According to their PISA ranking, Finland was educating a nation of readers, and since since developing literacy is one of my first academic goals with my students, I wondered what they were doing to be so successful.

Well, no education success story is complete if you only look at the classroom.  Finland is a nation that values reading.  In a 2002 survey by the European Commission, Finland was the country in Europe where library visits are most common.  It was also the top country for reading magazines and daily newspapers, and 2nd for leisure reading.  

So perhaps it shouldn't come as a surprise that their library system is superb.  Just a few blocks from me is my local branch library.  I've actually never been in since the main city library is really close to campus and completely gorgeous.  The original library was built in the early 1900s, and a modern addition was added in 2007.

The historic exterior of the Turku City Library

I like to walk in through the historic side.  The ornate wooden doors that look as old as the building never fail to make me happy as they swing open automatically as I walk up to them.  Just inside the front doors, a curving double staircase goes up to the music collection.  Unfortunately, I didn't take a picture, so you'll have to imagine a room full of CDs and music magazines on one side of the circulation desk, and on the other side, another room full of scores and songbooks.

This is where adult fiction in Finnish is kept.  I love the dome.

Instead of walking upstairs, we'll do what I usually do- walk straight through to the prettiest part of the library, in my opinion.  Here under the dome all the Finnish language fiction is stored.  I always veer off to the left though if I'm looking for fiction for myself.  

Adult fiction in foreign languages.

After walking through a section of Swedish language fiction (Swedish is the other national language in Finland and spoken as a mother-tongue by around 5.5% of Finns), I get to a section that delighted me when I discovered it- the adult fiction section in foreign languages.  A full three aisles, both sides, are dedicated to English fiction, more than enough to keep me occupied the whole time I'm here.  There's even a section of Spanish fiction, and though not as extensive still more than I'll manage to work my way through.

Kirjasto= library in Finnish.  This is a section of the modern addition to the Turku city library

I'm not always headed to the library for pleasure reading though.  I come at least as often to look for children's books to practice my Finnish.  They're in the modern side of the library.  After walking through the reading room (again, no pictures- I felt bad taking photos with people in them, and this area is always busy.  The center of the room has racks with newspapers, and all along the floor to ceiling windows there are tables where people sit and study.  The other side of the room has comfortable chairs looking out onto the library courtyard) I make it to the children's section. 

Looking out over a section (I think this is Swedish picture books) of the children's area of the library

 It took awhile for me to navigate my way around here.  There are separate sections for Finnish and Swedish, fiction and non-fiction, easy readers, picture books, and young adult books.  And of course, the children's section wouldn't be complete without their own foreign language books section.  All of the most commonly spoken languages in Turku are represented here.

This is the foreign language children's books section

It's an amazing library with wonderful resources and a beautiful, welcoming atmosphere.  I wish I had felt comfortable taking photos of the study and reading areas, because in both the children's and adults' sections they're really nice.  There's also a 2nd floor on the modern side where the adult non-fiction is kept.  I don't wander up there nearly as often, unless I want to study up there, but they usually have some sort of rotating cultural or photography exhibit there as well.  

There's a connection here.  A society that values literacy is a society that values libraries.  Not only is this  library beautiful, a library card is free (not the case in Colombia) and people take advantage of the space to study and read. On Friday around 5 pm when I was there all the study tables were occupied and I'm not sure there was a single computer free at the computer station. So the libraries themselves in turn encourage literacy, creating, in a way, a self-perpetuating cycle.  

Finnish Interlude

It's been awhile since I posted about my language learning, and since I've had some moments that made me excited, I figured I'd share.

Finland is spoken by a grand total of about 5.4 million people and almost all of them live in Finland, so, in some ways, it seems a bit silly to spend time learning Finnish.  After all, once I graduate when on earth will I ever have a chance to use Finnish again?

Cue scene number 1...

I was at the top of the mountain at Plitvice Lakes National Park in Croatia.  I was a bit lost, since after paying a lot of money to get in, I refused to buy a park map for more money on the principle of the thing.  But finally, here at the top, was a map of the park.  I angled over to get a better view, but the map was blocked by a large group of tourists.  As I waited for their tour guide to finish her spiel and move on her way, something started to sound familiar.  I was recognizing words here and there... was she speaking Finnish?  It didn't sound quite right, but she had definitely said some words I recognized.  So, finally, I braved it and turned to the woman next to me and asked, in Finnish, "Are you Finnish?"

Ok, it might not be directly related to the post, but everyone loves photos, right?  These are falls at Plitvice Lakes National Park

Turns out she was Estonian.  They're fairly closely related languages and have a lot of similar vocabulary, much like Spanish and Italian, which is why I'd understood some familiar words, but still didn't feel like the language sounded right.  But anyways, once we'd established that she was Estonian, we continued chatting for a bit- where I was from, why I was alone at the park, why I spoke Finnish.  I'm still not sure if she switched to Finnish, or if those words are similar enough in Estonian that I could just follow what was going on.  All I know for sure is I was speaking something resembling Finnish.  Just when I thought I'd never use Finnish outside of Finland. . .

Cue scene number 2....
It was a beautiful morning on the Camino de Santiago.  We were passing a bed and breakfast when two women came out. This time, there was no mistaking their language.  Finns for sure.  I bravely stopped them to say hello too and introduce myself in Finnish.  My companions on the trail that day were impressed with my multilingual language skills.  I might have even been impressed myself.

And now that I'm back, I'm branching out and trying Finnish in new situations.  I had a first the other day.  I was at the sauna with an international group, but mostly Finns.  At one point, all the Finns had left the sauna to cool down, and when I joined them in the other room, they were all speaking Finnish.  I sat and listened, they forgot I was there, and then when they were getting up to go back in to the sauna, they suddenly remembered me and apologized for continuing to speak Finnish.  "Oh, that's ok", I told them, "you were talking about his apartment, and how much his rent is, and how far it is to bike there. .. "  They looked at me, surprised.  I was surprised too.  I've caught words before in conversations, but this was the first time I ever actually followed what was going on.  Progress my friends, progress.

Sometimes

Sometimes, when it's 50 degrees and rainy, and the wind is blowing in my face as I bike back home, and my hands are freezing where they grip the handlebars because I didn't think it was cold enough to need gloves, sometimes, I allow myself to think about what life would be like if I'd never left the States.

I imagine myself- this would be my 10th year teaching.  Would I still be at Lincoln?  Would I have an established set of friends that I'd known for years?  Maybe I'd even have met someone and gotten married.  Possibly I'd have had a kid.  Surely by now I would have bought a house and I'd be making mortgage payments.  I would have a car; rain and cold and late dark nights would only be minor inconveniences.  I'd have a paycheck automatically deposited in the bank every 2 weeks.  I wouldn't have to worry about exchange rates and international money transfers.  I'd have a living room.  And probably, in my kitchen, I would have things like cupcake tins and casserole dishes.

As I'm biking, cold and wet and miserable, I envy that imaginary self, the one who never left. The imagined security and coziness, the imagined roots.  But then I stop myself.  My life might not be rich in things right now, but I don't want to measure my life by things.

Glancing at my shelf, the latest children's books I borrowed to practice Finnish catch my eye. Along with Moomins, the Finnish children's cartoon I watch while I eat my breakfast, they're my fun way to learn Finnish.  I am rich in opportunities to learn.

Fanny's living room was cozy, and the 6 of us sat around, our conversation zig-zagging from the past to the future and back again, until we decided it was time to cut the cake and sing happy birthday to Jhania.  I am rich in friends.

On Sunday at church, I sang How Great Thou Art in 3 different languages.  There was something about the beauty of a familiar song in an unfamiliar language surrounded by my brothers and sisters in another country that almost brought tears to my eyes. I am rich in fellowship.

I was a little nervous leaving Switzerland as the passport control officer looked suspiciously at my passport. "How long have you been here?" he asked.  "In the Schengen zone?  Since January, I think. . ." I said, quickly fishing for my German residence permit so he'd know I hadn't illegally stayed past the 3 month tourist limit.  He waved me on, and I headed off to Croatia, officially my 24th foreign country to visit.  I am rich in travel adventures.

Later this week I will take a walk to a nearby pine forest to look for pinecones.  The leaves are changing colors and the river glimmers with reflected lights when I'm downtown after dark.  I am rich in beauty.

Most of all, I am rich in grace.  This journey that I've been on across continents has shaken me to my core.  I'm not the same person I used to be.  I am sometimes bitter, sometimes cynical, and often discouraged.  But, I am always being filled and refilled with grace.  And because of that, because all these unmeasurable riches have made me who I am today and because, most days, I like who I'm becoming, I'm glad I took the risk.  I might not have a fully stocked kitchen.  But I am rich.

What are you rich in?

Scroll down!

I've been adding posts about my summer adventures, and pre-dating them to the date they took place.  So scroll down to see newer posts that happened at an earlier date, or click on the links below  :)

July 12th- Little Things and Misadventures

July 15th- The Turkish Baths

July 20th- "The Most Unique Sound of Music Tour"

July 22nd- Lost in the Labyrinth

July 25th- A Working Holiday

July 28th- Let Prague Find You

August 1st- Home(less) (This post isn't new. It was actually posted on Aug. 1st)

August 8th- Getting Good at this Wedding Crashing Business

August 19th- Going Solo

Going Solo

Split, Croatia

August 19th

I have a secret, one that most people don’t realize when they look at my life and the things I’ve done.  I’m afraid to travel alone.  Seeing as I’ve gone off alone to all the corners of the earth, that might come as a surprise, but the thing is, even though I always got on the plane alone, I knew there was someone waiting for me at the other end.  I never had to navigate my way to a new apartment or to a hotel completely alone. And I knew I wouldn’t feel alone for long- I could count on new classmates or new coworkers becoming friends. 

So this summer, I stepped outside my comfort zone to take my first solo travel adventures.  After a full day exploring the Plitvice Lake National Park, I arrived in Split after dark.  I was looking for bus 10 to take to my hostel, but the warm night air and the beach town atmosphere seduced me.  Instead of searching near the bus station, I followed the crowds toward the center.  Families strolled along the waters’ edge and vendors sold swimsuits, towels, sunglasses and hats in stalls lining the street.  I hadn’t gone far when I saw a sign for Diocletian’s basement.    I turned down the alley and walked into history.  The walls around me were built 1700 years ago to support Diocletian’s retirement palace.  Despite the upscale souvenir stalls lining the corridor, I still stared around me in wonder at the arches and columns.  At the end of the corridor, I stopped in surprise.  A row of sandaled feet was at my eye level at the top of the stairs.  As my eyes scanned up, bare calves were followed by red skirts then plate armor, topped of by a helmet. Shields rested on the ground in front.  Curious as to what Centurion soldiers would be doing at the top of the staircase, and since there didn’t seem to be any indication that I couldn’t proceed, I went up to peep between their soldiers.  Some even more adventurous souls slipped behind the soldiers, so I followed them.  There seemed to be some sort of performance going on, and somehow, I’d ended up behind it.  I followed the people in front of me, feeling rather lost as someone gave us some sort of direction in Croatian.  I walked quickly through some more passageways that seem to have been converted into a back stage area, until I was back out into the twisting network of streets.  I decided to snake around until I made it out to the audience side of the performance.  

They seemed to be doing some sort of reenactment, as the emperor read a proclamation (or something to that effect) and I shifted a bit on the ground where I’d found a place to watch.  Maybe I should leave, seeing as nothing really seemed to be happening and the only words I knew in Croatian were “hvala” (thanks), pivo (beer) and kremšnita (custard), none of which figured significantly in the emperor’s speech, surprisingly.  But then, the gladiators came out; the slave ones, who fought with nothing but sticks and nets.  As the one with the stick vanquished the one with the net, the emperor asked the crowd if he should be shown mercy or not.  There’s still hope for the world, I thought to myself as I headed back out towards the street to find my hostel.  All of the children in the crowd, unprompted, were granting the man mercy. 

The next day, I headed off to the beach, where between the warm Adriatic Sea and my book, I kept myself entertained for hours.  Finally driven back into town desperate for some food, for the first time I felt a bit at a loss in my own company.  The conversation I had with my waiter ordering food was the first time I’d talked to anyone all day, and I found myself resisting the impulse to suggest he should stay and talk with me while I ate.  I decided to people watch instead, probably a more socially acceptable past time than keeping waiters from doing their job anyway.  Somehow, I made it through that meal alone, and then, another day of exploring solo.  By the time I got back to Nada’s the next night, I was anxious to have a conversation, but I was thrilled with the experience.  I had done it and found that traveling alone was nothing to be afraid of.  Sure, there were moments when I would have liked some company, but I also enjoyed my private adventures, the solitude and room for thought, the ability to do everything at my own pace.  Now a whole new world is open to me since I’ve realized that I have nothing to be afraid of as a solo traveler.   

Getting good at this wedding crashing business

Zürich

August 8^th, 2014

You may remember last January, when I crashed a wedding (sort of) in Venezuela.  Well, apparently wedding crashing is a bit addictive, because when my friend Johanna told me that the dates I suggested to visit her worked out with the exception that she had to play for a few hours in a wedding reception one afternoon, I decided that was perfect.  (Well, really, when you are coordinating visits/travels with friends in multiple countries, you can’t be too picky.)

Almost the first thing I noticed walking into Johanna’s were the Alphorns taking up half the living room.  I stared at them in fascination.  I’d seen some at a festival in Bavaria earlier that year, but I’d never heard them played before.  So, when Johanna said I was welcome to come along to the reception if I wanted, I didn’t hesitate.

Of course, when I got there, I realized one tiny detail.  I didn’t know anyone, other than Johanna and her mom and they were busy setting up their horns and getting ready to play.  I also don’t speak Swiss German.  Mingling with the other guests was pretty much impossible. “Oh, hi, I don’t know you, or anyone here, or the bride or groom for that matter, just wanted to hear the alphorns, so what’s your name” doesn’t seem like the best conversation starter.  Especially when you’re saying that to someone in a language that is foreign to them.  So, I just waited on the fringes of the crowd, awkwardly.

But, as they started to play, and I relaxed, enjoying, the music, the blue sky, the atmosphere, I had one of those blissful moments I sometimes have when traveling and visiting locals.  This is an experience that can’t be bought.  I may be the outsider standing on the edges, but still, I am really here, in a Swiss Village, at a wedding reception, admiring the beautiful bride and listening to my friend and her mom play alphorns.  I think those moments, the ones that are real, the ones that go off the beaten path and tourist staples, are the ones that draw me back, time and again to travel, to learn, to make new friends, to tentatively try to communicate in languages I’m just beginning to know, because those are the moments that change me somehow.  

Home(less)

It's been an interesting 48 hours.  After 3 weeks of traveling in Europe with a friend I hadn't seen in 5 years (more posts to come about our travels, hopefully!), I finally returned home to Regensburg.  And it felt like coming home- pulling back into my familiar train station, taking the bus I always take, running into friends before I even walked in my door.

But I was going "home" to Regensburg for the last time.  In a 20 hour whirlwind, I packed, cleaned, washed and ironed the sheets I'd borrowed from student housing (they're the ones with a penchant for ironed sheets, not me) and got ready to leave again.  Moving internationally should become some sort of competitive sporting event.  I think I'd be pretty good at it.  I somehow manage to compress an entire room into a suitcase, a hiking backpack, and a regular backpack, which is talent enough, but my real skill shows through when I then manage to transport that.  After a trial run, I realized that if I place my suitcase against a column, then hoist my large backpack onto that, I can get my backpack on without falling over.  Then, smaller backpack stuck on front of me, all that's left is to drag my suitcase behind me, transporting roughly my weight in luggage.  And then, since this is an extreme sporting event, that means you have to use at least 4 unique forms of transportation. The first leg of my journey was easy for me- a friend offered to go with me to the train station, so I didn't have to walk the 10 minutes to the bus stop looking like a human turtle or load my luggage onto the train by myself.

The Human Turtle with her weight in luggage

But then, I was on my own.  All was going smoothly until I tried to get off of the train.  One of the straps on my backpack got caught on something going through the door.  I tried to turn and look behind me, but I couldn't turn far enough to see whatever was keeping me from moving.  I turned futilely back and forth a few times, flailing around a bit (possibly looking a bit like a turtle that's landed on its back) til someone behind me took pity on me and unhooked me and handed down my suitcase.  I then trundled it all off to the next bus that took me right to the airport.  I breathed a sigh of relief as my backpack and suitcase were whisked away and I was assured that they would go through to my final destination.  But of course, there's no such thing as final in a trip like this.  Final just meant last flight.  I flew into Helsinki, which is still 2 and a half hours outside of Turku.  So, once again, all my luggage loaded onto me, I looked around for the right bus, where at least the driver did me the favor of sticking it into the luggage compartment for me.  And then, finally, finally back in Turku, it was too late to take a local bus back, so I had to catch a taxi, because even I won't walk 3 kilometers with my weight in luggage at 1:30 am.


And then, there I was, "home" again in Turku.  Except, even though many of my friends, most of my earthly possessions, and my studies are all here, I don't actually have a house.  My lease doesn't start until September.  So here I am, at "home", but homeless.  It's an interesting feeling, really.  I've spent quite a bit of time the past few years pondering what home means, and well, being here reminds me that home, for the moment, is here.  Home is where the heart is, they say.  And that's part of it, but I've left bits and pieces of my heart all over, so then home could equally be the US, or Colombia, or Germany.  And in a way, going to any of those places right now would feel like going "home", but not quite the same as coming home here does.  I'd say home is where your stuff is, but that sounds way too materialistic, and besides, then my home would be Paulina's storage locker, and that certainly doesn't seem right.  But home is where you come back to after traveling, where you pick up the pieces of your life where you left off, slip back into the same routines, are comforted by the familiar.  And that's why, for me right now, Turku, Finland is home.  In Colombia, and the US, and Germany there's no picking up where I left off right now- no job waiting for me, groups of friends have changed in my absence, there are no routines looking to be slipped into, just routines looking to be remade.  So it's good to be back, and after a wonderful semester abroad, feel that I am indeed, home.

At least, for the moment.  But then, on to my next adventures!  I'm homeless by choice so I can travel and visit friends all around Europe until I have an apartment at home in Finland next month.

Let Prague Find You

Prague, Czech Republic
July 28, 2014

I stopped in my tracks and pointed out the metro sign to Alex as I giggled, “Look what was right in front of us.”  Two nights before, dead tired after a train-ride to Prague, we’d been sitting at an Italian restaurant, celebrating my birthday, barely talking to each other in the haze of post-travel weariness.  We left the restaurant with every intention of going straight back to our hostel, but we couldn’t for the life of us find a metro entrance.  As we tried to retrace our steps, we found ourselves accidentally hitting every tourist site in Prague- Charles Bridge with its view of Prague Castle, and then later the square and the astronomical clock.  It was only after wandering blindly through the city for half an hour, pulling out a map and then putting it away in frustration because we couldn’t figure out where we were, that we finally hit upon a metro entrance and found our way back.  Now, once again wandering haphazardly, we were back at the same restaurant where we'd had diner two nights before. The biggest irony of all- there was a metro entrance visible from where we’d been sitting that first evening.

We learned to not even try to use a map in Prague.  “Let Prague find you” became our catchphrase.  For some reason, maps defeated us.  But when we just wandered, when we let Prague find us, we found some delightful surprises.  One day we stumbled upon the Prague Parliament building.  Away from the oceans of tourists that congregate around Charles Bridge and in the square, it was a quiet oasis, where the peacocks roaming the grounds were an added bonus.  Another day our wanderings led us to a park on the hills surrounding the city with spectacular views.

We waited, fruitlessly, for a random stranger to ask us for directions.  It didn’t matter where to, we had our answer ready.  I contemplated buying hippy pants and getting dreads, just to make myself more believable.  But, once they asked, we would look them in the eyes, and then, with our most solemn voice say, “Let Prague find you.”

A Working Holiday

Slovakia

July 25th, 2014

Paws, Amber’s Portuguese waterdog, scampered ahead of us into the field.  I climbed the rise and stopped to admire the view: rolling farmland, a couple of farmhouses nestled near forest edges, and windmills cutting into the sky.

After 3 cities full of beautiful churches, lovely rivers, interesting museums, amazing architecture, and miles upon miles of sidewalk in 90 degree weather, Alex and I were ready for a change of pace, which is just what we got at the Good Book Oasis.  Amber runs a guesthouse there for missionaries, and we had come to spend a few days helping out.

It felt good to break with the tourist routines.  We took a visit to Ikea and the local version of Home Depot for some supplies.  After spending considerable time in Ikea in 4 countries now, I think it’s safe to say it looks pretty much the same wherever you go.  Housing supplies stores have a bit more variety.  What intrigued me most about this one was their pet section, including live fish for sale.  Home Depot doesn’t sell fish, does it?

Maybe we needed some good, honest work after the dissipation of being tourists.  We weeded the front flowerbeds and transplanted some bushes in record time.  In the afternoon, covered in sweat and dust, I nodded in satisfaction as a nail disappeared into the board I was nailing to the wall of a storage shed to make a helmet rack. 

After tearing through the to-do lists during the day, we truly enjoyed movie and game nights with Amber in the evenings.  One of Amber’s Slovak friends came over one evening and taught us how to make halušky.  She showed us how to mix flour, water, and egg until it was just the right consistency, and then run the dough back and forth over a tool that looked like a mix between a strainer and a cutting board.  The dough fell in small pieces through the holes into the boiling water, where we let it cook.  The finished product (a kind of homemade noodle, basically) we mixed with sheep’s cheese and bacon.  Think of it as the Slovakian version of macaroni and cheese, comfort food at its finest. 

Lost in the Labyrinth

Vienna, Austria- Schönbrunn Palace
July 21st, 2014

We could see our goal in the middle of the labyrinth, but every twist and turn seemed to take us farther away from it. We were almost convinced we’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and were tempted to follow some of the people ahead of us, who had taken a shortcut through a break in the bushes. However, since this wasn’t actually a maze, but a carefully designed labyrinth path with only one route, we stuck to it, sure that eventually we’d arrive at our destination. Another turn brought us out into a central area, where there were musical tiles placed in the ground, by jumping on them you could play a tune. We played for awhile, gratified by the surprise in our path, before continuing on, where it seemed we were even more lost, the paths gradually spiraling farther and farther from the center. Just when we were almost sure that we’d done the impossible and gotten lost in a maze with only one route, we suddenly veered back towards the center, until we finally reached the kaleidoscope mirrors we’d been trying to get to the whole time.

Sometimes, lately, I’ve felt a bit lost in a labyrinth in life. I see what I think is my goal, but the twist and turns I take don’t always seem to lead me closer. In fact, sometimes they seem to take me farther away. I think about taking “shortcuts”, or maybe changing my goals to something easier to meet. And yet, wandering that labyrinth reminded me of something. I trusted the labyrinth maker that however far we felt we were straying from our goal, whatever the detours we seemed to take; we were always getting closer to the destination. I might not have been able to see how it all worked out. I might not have known what was around the next turn, or how long we would be wandering, feeling lost. But still, I trusted.

Can’t I do the same in life? Trust that even though I can’t always see how I’m progressing towards my goals, that doesn’t mean I’m not progressing? Trust that there is one who sees me in my “labyrinth” and knows the route I’ll take to reach the goal? Trust that sometimes what feel like detours lead to surprises just around the corner?

“All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” Psalm 139:16b

"The Most Unique Sound of Music tour"

Salzburg, Austria

20^th July, 2014

In my mind, it goes like this.  As we board the bus we’re handed lyric sheets and, pulling out to the first destination, we’re already belting out “My Favorite Things”.  One of our first stops is at the fountain, where, those of us who want, are given old fashioned suitcases and empty guitar cases so we can prance around singing “I have confidence”.  In St. Peter’s Graveyard, the inspiration for the scene at the end of the movie where the Von Trapp family hides from the Nazis, only the fact that it’s a graveyard keeps us from playing hide and seek.  In the Mirabell gardens we draw straws for the parts of the children, and then reenact the Do-re-mi scene on the stairs.  And then, finally, the crowning moment: we pull up to the gazebo.  There, a costumed actor, dressed as Rolfe, is waiting for me.  We dance around the gazebo, singing the duet “I am 16 going on 17”.  That’s not too much to ask for, is it? 

Unfortunately, perhaps, it seems my expectations were a bit too high.  No costumes, no suitcases, not even a lyric sheet.  The biggest disappointment of all though, is not only is there no Rolfe to dance with, I can’t even dance around the pavilion alone.  The interior is off limits to the public.

I made the most of our “Most Unique Sound of Music Tour” despite the disappointments.  Outside of Salzburg, the scenery in the Austrian mountains was breathtaking.  An ice cream cone in the town of Mondsee (where Maria and the Baron get married in the movie) was a perfect end to the trip.  And even if I didn’t get to dance around the pavilion, here are Alex and I in front of it. 

The Turkish Baths

Budapest, Hungary
July 15th, 2014

The light was dim, there was a quiet splash of water, and from somewhere, hard to identify because of the way the dome overhead filtered sound, there was a low murmur of voices.  But overall, it was so silent and still, that the atmosphere reminded me of a church.  We settled in up to our necks in warm water in the octagonal pool and looked around.  The building we were in had been built in the 14^th century by the Turks, who occupied Hungary at that time.  Light filtered through the cupola of the dome and a window set high in the wall looking out towards the street.  Smaller rectangular pools were set around the walls outside of the circular pool.  We ventured into the hot one next, relaxing after 3 full days of sightseeing and walking for miles.  As it got too hot to stand, we decided to try the “cold” pool.  At almost 80 degrees (27 c), we didn’t think it would feel cold, but compared to the pool we’d been soaking in, it gave us a shock.  I sat along the edge, dipping my feet in, until I finally worked up the nerve to dip underwater.  It didn’t take long until I started shivering, and we decided to check out the mysterious door that several people had opened next to the cold pool.  When we opened it, a wall of steam almost blinded us, and a scent of eucalyptus filled the air.  I was simultaneously delighted and overwhelmed. From the wooden benches along the wall, I could barely glimpse the door through the steam and soon the heat drove me out.  After cooling down in the cool bath again, I was ready to try the normal saunas.  My Finnish sauna experience stood me in good stead here, and bypassing the 100-120 degree F (40-50 c) sauna where most people were choosing to sit, I headed to the hotter sauna in the back, still a cool 120-140 degrees F (50-60 c).  We spent several hours, rotating through the different pools and saunas, immersed in history, until all the tension had left our bodies. I left completely relaxed, and determined to take better advantage of opportunities to use the sauna in Finland. 

Little things and Misadventures

Turku, Finland to Budapest Hungary
July 12, 2014

Once upon a time, I was a control freak and I stressed about everything.  When I backpacked in Europe 8 years ago, I remember we packed peanut butter crackers and decided to eat them on the Chunnel- the train connection through the channel tunnel that connects England and France.  I started worrying out loud to my sister that maybe someone on the train would have a peanut allergy and go into anaphylactic shock and it would be our fault.  Fortunately for me, she was a lot more laid-back then I was, and convinced me that I didn’t need to go borrowing trouble.

Three years living as a missionary in a less than predictable place taught me that I am not in control, that stressing doesn’t change things, and that usually it all works out in the end.

So, this time leaving for a 3 week backpacking trip, I was much more laid-back, and had a lot less planned in advance.  I knew where I was meeting my friend and where we were staying in Budapest, after that, well, everything was fairly open to change. 

Even so, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t a bit nervous.  Three weeks, 4 countries (3 of them where I didn’t know a single word, or only one), 1 friend. There was a lot that could possibly go wrong.  So, backpack on, I headed towards the bus station, trying to remind myself that usually it all works out in the end. 

And then, hanging on a railing, something caught my eye.  I’d been out with friends the night before, having one less farewell get together.  We’d had chilly weather lately, so when I left the house I had a sweater and a scarf with me for when the sun went down.  When I got home though, I realized I’d dropped the scarf somewhere along the way. I was sad- it was a birthday present, and I really liked it-but I was leaving the next morning, there wasn’t much I could do about it.  And there, that next morning, was my scarf, hanging over the railing, waiting for me.  It seemed like a smile from God.  “See, I care, even about the little things.” he reminded me. “You don’t need to worry about all the things that could go wrong”.

Several hours later, I found myself at a train station on the outskirts of Budapest. I had to change to a local train to get the station where my friend was meeting me.  My ticket didn’t list the platform number, and I had only 7 minutes to make my connection, so I lost no time in making my way to the board where departures are listed.  Only one train was leaving at the time I was looking for, so I headed to the platform, still slightly hesitant because I had a feeling the local trains might leave from a different area of the station.  But, the train pulled up, the sign on the door said the name of the station I was supposed to go to somewhere, so I got on and hoped for the best-I should be there in less than 10 minutes.  I didn’t have long to get comfortable.  When the conductor came and asked for my ticket he looked at it and just shook his head.  My stomach sank.  I was on a train in Hungary headed the wrong direction and I didn’t even have a valid ticket.  He could tell from my distraught face that I had made an honest mistake, and very kindly told me how to get to where I wanted to go, and didn’t charge me for the train I was on.  He even wrote a note for me in Hungarian “one ticket to Budapest Deli with the student discount please” in case the person at the ticket counter didn’t speak English.  As he left I settled in to wait for another 45 minutes- of course I had to pick the wrong train that didn’t stop ANYWHERE for a full 45 minutes. Two hours later, after my train ride through sunflower fields, a bit of phone tag with a friend of my friend in Budapest to pass the message on to her when I would be arriving, and waiting around in the Budapest-Deli train station lobby I finally met up with my friend. And see, I was right, things usually all work out in the end. 

Five Years. . .

Every year on July 3rd, I like to reflect on the past year.  It might seem like a rather arbitrary date, but it's not.  It's the day I left home 5 years ago and started this whole international living thing.

Five years sounds like such a substantial amount of time.  And it has been.  Five countries (Costa Rica, Colombia, the US, Finland, and Germany) where I've had a mailing address, 8 places I've called home, 4 languages I've used on a daily basis at some point during those years and so much change in me.  I almost wish that almost 30 year old me could chat with almost 25 year old me.  I'm not sure what we'd make of each other.

On July 3rd last year, I gave my 2 weeks notice at the job I had in the States, preparing to leave for Finland.

In the past year I've lived in 3 countries, learned 2 new languages well enough to have basic conversations, taken somewhere over 30 credit hours (I think. . .  I've lost track), met hundreds of new people, written the first 16 pages of my thesis, traveled to 4 countries for the first time (Finland, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania), come precariously close to falling in love, and made my theater debut on a German stage.

No wonder I've been feeling mentally and emotionally exhausted lately.

66% of me wants to settle down and stop wandering.  The other 34% looks at every international internship opportunity that comes my way and goes, "hmmmmmmmm. . . ." while googling new places.

In the next year, if all goes according to plan, I should graduate and leave Europe.  But at this point, I have no idea where July will find me.  Back in the States?  Back in Latin America?  I'm hoping to have found a job I am happy about by then and to be settling in somewhere for a more extended stay.

Football fever!

It's here... the World Cup, el Mundial, die Weltmeisterschaft and I am excited.

Excited as in, planning my social life around the world cup games, checking the scores every morning, visiting the FIFA website to read up on the players, and reverting to talking about the World Cup in almost any conversational setting.

When did this happen? Last World Cup I only watched the games because it was either that or sit home alone.  This World Cup I'm messaging my friends to plan seeing the game together. I suppose it started happening when I was still in Colombia, and bought my jersey in faith that Colombia would make it into the World Cup since they were doing so well in the qualifying matches.

With Colombian friends after the Colombian victory over Greece  

And I'm even more excited now, since my team (Colombia.... in case you weren't sure) made it to the round of 16!  (And that other team I'm supposed to cheer for, you know, the US, they're not doing so bad either.  I'm hoping I can beg off of rehearsal for this play I'm an extra in so I can see the public viewing of the Germany-US game here on campus.  After all, it isn't every day you get a chance to cheer for your country while living in the country of the opposing team.  That could be an adventure.)

Just to even things out, I did cheer for Germany last Saturday.  I was in Berlin and we joined thousands of others at a triple screen outside public viewing area set up behind the Brandenburg gate.  I even had the German flag painted on my face, compliments of the random German guy behind me and his flag face paint crayon thing.  Despite the fact that Germany surprised us all, and didn't easily beat Ghana, it was still fun to be surrounded by thousands of fans in the heart of Germany, cheering on the German team.

Beyond expectations

I set off today with low expectations.  The ruins didn't look like much on google satellite view, and most of our "hike" would be on roads instead of hiking paths.  But still, how many chances will I have in life to hike to Roman ruins, and have it not cost me a penny?  And so, we set off for the town of Neustadt.

The day was beautiful- A sunny day in the 70s, blue sky, white puffy clouds, a slight breeze.  We took a few wrong turns (maps?  Who needs them?  I wrote down what streets to turn on, and besides, I'd looked at the map online before I left), but finally made our way down to the river.

The beautiful blue Danube

We followed the river, and then headed across fields, to where hops and corn were growing.  The rolling hills covered in corn reminded me of home, but we had to walk right up to the hops to figure out what we were seeing (and then google it at home to confirm our guess)

Hops growing to be used to make beer.

The ruins, when we finally arrived, were way more impressive than I had imagined.  Seen from above on the satellite image, they just look like lines in the grass.  But standing there, you look out across a giant field of wall after wall, waist high and higher, trying to imagine what it was like almost 2000 years ago, when the Roman fort was first built there.

The Roman baths originally in the settlement outside the fort

We sat on the outer edge of the fort walls, eating our lunch and enjoying the view.  The breeze picked up and the sun hid behind the clouds, that had gotten thicker.  We decided it might be better to take a bus back, instead of risking getting caught in the rain.  We still had almost an hour until the next bus came, so we explored the ruins some more.

The view from the fort walls

I was intrigued by what looked like aqueducts running under the floor in some of the ruins.  A sign explained the whole Roman under-floor heating system that was used to heat both rooms, and water for the Roman baths.  I pulled myself reluctantly away from my explorations when I realized the bus was supposed to arrive soon.

Flowers growing on the walls of the ruins

 Unfortunately for us, the bus came about 3 minutes late, and pulled up to the train station at the same time as our train was pulling up.  We jumped out of the bus, and hurried towards the tracks, then realized we needed to take the underground passage to get to the right track. Just as I was headed up the stairs, back out to the track, we heard our train pulling out.  The next one came in about an hour, which we decided was the perfect amount of time to head into town in search of an ice cream cone.  Generally speaking, it's a safe bet that there will be an ice cream shop within a stone's throw of the largest church in the center of town around here, but just to be on the safe side, I tried out my German with a family on the street.  "Excuse me", I asked them, "do you know where we can" . . . (and then, already committed to asking my question, I realized that I had temporarily forgotten the word for to buy) "pay for ice cream" I concluded.  My work around, while certainly a bit awkward sounding, did the trick, and they assured us that if we just kept going straight, we'd get to a shop on the right.  And, just as I'd predicted, the ice cream shop was across the street and half a block down from the church.  A snickers ice cream cone and a nap on the train rounded out a perfect trip.

Looking for ice cream in Neustadt?  Look no farther, it's right by the church

Water wars

His eyes glittered with mischief as he got closer.  He glanced between Nina and I as he decided who his next target would be.  Decision made, he ran up to me and poured water on my shorts, then took off shrieking as I ran after him.  I looked around for another watering can, and spurted a stream of water at him.  He giggled and squirted me back, then dashed off to escape my revenge.

The other boy was  a few years older and looked at me hesitantly, seriously calculating if he could throw water at this grown-up and get away with it.  I smile, encouraging his audacity, but didn't have the words in German to tell him to go ahead, so I just made the first move.  His face broke into smiles as the water splashed him and he splashed me back.

Watering can empty, he went to refill, and I waited to fill my can too.  Apparently any concern he had about getting grown-ups wet was gone, since he poured the entire contents of his watering can on me while I was filling mine up, shouting "warte!  wait!" at him.  (As my friends laughed at my ineffective attempt to use words to stop a child engaged in a water battle.) His watering can now empty, and me in control of the water source, he turned on his charm, and looked at me with those big pleading eyes that little kids have mastered, holding out his watering can for me to refill.  "Bitte, bitte" he pleaded, fluttering his eyelashes.  I laughed at his presumption, but again, was at a loss for words.  How do you say "why on earth would I help you after you just poured a bucket of water on me?  You better run, cause you've got it coming" in German?  So, I just took his bucket and started filling it.  With innocent intentions, I promise.  But then, Nina started shouting "Lauf!  Run!" and his eyes got big as he considered the possibility that he'd just handed his weapon to his opponent.  He took off running, and I was left laughing, holding 2 watering cans full of water.

I hadn't really expected to get in a water fight.  After all, I was a guest at my friend's mother's house for her annual Pentecost brunch.  I was expecting food, and staid, placid conversation.  Which is how the day had started.  But when your German conversational level is about equivalent to that of a 2 year olds (and that's being generous) conversation doesn't get you very far in a setting where 90% of the people present are speaking German (actually, a lot of them were probably speaking Bavarian).

And so, what started accidentally when the 3 year old somehow got control of the hose and squirted water our way, escalated quickly. Soon all the guests under 14 at the brunch were running around screaming and tossing water at each other, and Nina and I weren't far behind in joining the melee.  Half an hour later, wet and still laughing, looking for a safe spot in the sun to start drying off, we started wondering how to tame the monsters we'd created.  "I'm not playing now" I told the 3 year old, in German.  He looked at me dubiously, and tossed water on me anyway, then dashed off, just in case.  It took awhile, but eventually confiscated watering cans plus a limited supply of water left in the bucket they were refilling from slowed things down. We discovered Mikko, who had disappeared when all the water throwing craziness had started, in  the drum circle tent.  It seemed a good place to escape the winding down water battle, plus, it's another activity that requires minimal linguistic competence, so there we stayed, pounding out rhythms on the drums until peace and order were restored.

Letting go of perfection

I had an epiphany the other day.  I was walking down the sidewalk, headed to campus, thinking about my attitude towards language learning.  "I'm not striving for perfection" I thought.  For a recovering perfectionist like myself, that's a pretty big deal.  When I studied Spanish half a lifetime ago, language learning was about studying rules and applying them correctly.  Now, it's all about communication and comprehension.

And the wonderful thing about Germany is, I get lots of practice.  In the seven months I was in Finland, guess how many strangers asked me for directions, or the time, or for any other sort of information?  Ready for it. . .  Zero.

Now Germany, on the other hand, random strangers stop me on the street.  "Does bus 11 go to the train station?"  "Do you know where the children's clinic is?" "Is the train station this direction?" Fortunately, a simple yes or no, with a "left" "right" or "straight" accompanied by (possibly more intelligible) hand signals usually suffices to answer those questions.

Here most of the international students also already speak some German, leaving me at the bottom of the language learning totem pole.  So the other night on a bus with a Colombian, a Romanian, and a girl from Uzbekistan, our common language was German.  My brain can keep up with what they're saying, since they still have a limited vocabulary and use basic grammatical structures, but as I'm slowly dredging up the vocabulary to make some sort of contribution to the conversation, they've already moved on.  Still, at least I'm understanding.  

The other thing Germany has going for it is that people speak slowly here.  You know when you are learning a language, and they give you those fake listening comprehension dialogs to listen to?  The ones where the people speak slowly and enunciate clearly as they say things like "the bread costs 2 euros" or "my sister lives in a house in the center".  I feel like I'm overhearing people being recorded for those dialogs all the time.  Snippets of conversation slip into my consciousness and I'm like, "I understood that!  Are they speaking that slowly and clearly just for the convenience of eavesdropping, beginner level language learners?"  Since that's highly unlikely, I've come to the conclusion that German is just spoken more slowly and clearly than many other languages (and definitely Spanish).

So, here I am, muddling along, making mistakes as I go, but not really caring.  After all, when I was shoe shopping, the shop attendant went to find shoes in my size in the color I wanted when I asked if they had any.  The lady behind the counter handed me a napkin when I asked for it. I garnered some information about Kepler's life while reading signs at the museum.  I can make sure I buy juice with no sugar added.  My German is coming along swimmingly.  Except when it isn't.  Like the time I went shopping for a strapless bra and the saleslady asked if she could help me.  Somehow my vocabulary didn't seem to cover that. . .

The Measure of a Day

I like checklists.  They make me feel productive, and, a product of my American Protestant work ethic, I strive for productivity.

If my list looks like this at the end of the day, I feel satisfied

study German
study Finnish
class
read article for thesis
laundry
grocery shopping
dishes
clean the bathroom
homework

But, on a day like today, when my list looks more like this:

study German
study Finnish
class
read article for thesis
laundry
grocery shopping
dishes
clean the bathroom
homework


I feel like a failure.

But are success and failure measured only by what we do?  Isn't who we are just as important? I think I need to remake my lists, change my priorities.  So, learning to be instead of to do, here's a new list.