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.