Part III: London with a Local

With Marisa and Eva, waiting to get on the underground to Heathrow

A kids play of "Cinderella"

I spent the final night of my trip in London before flying back to the states on July 22. And by night, I do really mean NIGHT. Of all the crazy experiences on my trip, this one was probably the most like that of other 20-something Americans in Europe, and less like any situation I would find myself in either here or over there.
Ever heard of couchsurfing.com? I read about it in Time magazine before I left, and tried to find hosts in a couple of places on the trip but none worked out. Basically its a system where you sign up to be a host wherever you live, and then can ask other hosts if they will take you on for a night or two - anywhere in the world. You can see before you ask if the person has good references, a verified address, or has been vouched for by other members. Anyway, all that to say there are reasons I didn't tell Mom about this idea before I left. But my last night in London I found a couchsurfer, Marisa, who was willing to take me on. She hosted me and another girl from Poland, Eva, that night.
Marisa is a pre-med college student who is originally from Afghanistan. She has lived in England for about 12 years and can speak fluent English, Farsi, and Hindi, and is learning French and something else. She is exuberant, crazy, friendly, and extremely generous. While spending one day with her, I did all of the following:
-went to a kids school play to watch her friend's sister (also Afghan) perform in a modern-day version of Cinderella where the prince turns out to be a player and the girls kick butt
-hid from some guys she knew so they wouldn't see she was buying alcohol and tell any of her mom's friends
-ate top ramen with peas and spent three hours listening to her stories, songs, and history of her homeland, coupled with pictures from her trip there to meet her dad's family (her father, grandfather, and several uncles were killed in the war against the Soviet Union, some brutally - and until last year hadn't seen them since she was a baby)
-went clubbing on Tottenham Court Rd. in London, and actually danced if you can believe that
-drank more than I ever have in my life and didn't pay for any of it (Tori would be proud) but DID NOT get drunk so don't worry
-saw a random guy slap, hit, and push a random girl on a busy street at 3:30am, and no one stopped him or went to help the girls attacked but Marisa, Eva and I
-ate french fries with a special sauce while riding a bus back to the apartment, at 4am
-almost missed the plane waiting for the girls to get ready the next day, but then they spent the next hour riding the underground just to see me off

Marisa is a treasure, a beautiful, welcoming gem who is completely confident, unceasingly searching for meaning, and open to every new adventure that comes her way. She has had a lot of tragedy in her life, but her heart is still open and she is anxious to do something with her time that will impact others. I admire her very much, but am scared for her all the same because as smart and loving as she is, she lacks the greatest thing - a heart fixed on God and full of the love and hope only He can give. Marisa is the byproduct of two very different worlds - the atheist secular world of Britain and the Muslim dominated world of her birth. Her love for both is evident, and seems to pull and stretch her until she almost has two separate halves.
Pray for her with me, will you? I find myself remembering that whirlwind day in London often lately, and I want to pray that someone will come into her life on a permanent basis and show her how Jesus radically changes lives.

Interim

I just want to throw out there a huge thank you to everyone who has prayed for, hugged, sent flowers or notes, called, dropped by, or otherwise loved on our family in the past week. I feel so blessed to be loved so deeply and so well by so many wonderful people. This week was all that it needed to be: a time to remember and honor Daddy. Wednesday was hard but special. We were together as a family, only without those brother-in-laws of mine. We spent time at the gravesite, time playing scum, time writing letters to Daddy, time listening to the sweet things said about Dad at the service last year. It is hard to believe a year has gone by - in so many ways the pain is still fresh. But it has, and we are healing - a healing that will take forever but comforts us still. I miss him with all that is in me and know that will not change, yet in the sorrow there is a contentment - a joy lacking in zeal but not in hope - for I know that all God has in store for Daddy, and someday us with him, is greater than the present heartache I feel. Someday, Lord! Someday will come soon. Till then I miss you and think of you always, Dad, and I love you forever.

Part 2: The Craziness of Nighttime Travel

So, I have two stories to tell and both of them bring to mind feeling a little helpless and a little scared. Well, one of them a lot scared and the other just out of place. Both of them taught me something and both of them made me tired the next day. :)
#1 - Paris
To summarize - no place to stay, all hostels full, late at night stuck at a train station. So I decided to get on a train - any train that I thought was going to be traveling at least a couple of hours so I could catch a train back to Paris in the early morning - most start running by 5:00 or 6:00. So I went to a town on the northern coast, and slept on the train for a couple of hours. When I got there I had a couple of hours till the train left back to Paris so I decided to sleep in the waiting area, which I did. However, I didn't realize that this station, unlike some of the others I had been at, close down between the last trains and the first trains, so I almost got kicked out. But the station manager, who spoke just enough English for us to communicate, kindly let me stay and locked the doors of the waiting room so I could sleep safely. When she opened the station not long after, she moved me to her office so I could stay away from a vagabond who had just walked it off the street and whom she recognized as "not a good man." So, all in all, not a scenario I would want to repeat and yes, I should have taken Laura up on her offer of staying with her friend - but that's another story. However, I did get kissed on the cheek by a very handsome black man who spoke no English but thought I was a friend of the station manager's and greeted me with the customary French "kiss."

#2 - Caen
After my awesome day in Normandy, I was taking an overnight ferry to Portsmouth, England. My ticket said it left from Caen, so I took the train there, found out where the port was (not far from where I was), and treated myself to dinner at a creperie. I left with a total of 5 pounds and 0 euros to my name, because the restaurant had not accepted my card and I had to use all of my cash to pay for the food. So, penniless and a couple hours out from departure, I headed towards the port. Then I started seeing these signs towards Ouistriem (Car Ferry). My thought was, o cool, it must leave from the far side of the port and I'll just follow these signs. But pretty soon I was climbing a big hill beside a castle, and leaving the inhabited area of Caen, and feeling pretty unsure - the port was not this far away. I rounded a corner and my worst dream came true - a sign that read Ouistriem - 15 km. Now, had I had a whole day or a few more hours in the sunlight, that would not have bothered me so much. But I had an hour and a half to make it these 15 km, and I was really supposed to check in in 45 minutes. 15 km is like 9 miles. It was NOT GOING TO HAPPEN!! My first thought was to find a bus going that way and bribe the driver to let me on without any money - but when I got to the next stop I found the buses were not running anymore this evening. At the end of my rope (I thought) I entertained the idea of hitchhiking, and even walked with my thumb out for a quarter mile - but no cars stopped, and I was getting really scared and upset and crying because I had no way of righting this situation. Eventually I found myself lost in a part of Caen that was not meant for lost souls with big backpacks in the middle of the night, and was just crying and praying that God would keep me safe - no longer with any expectation of getting to Ouistriem.
Then along came a white van. Now, I know the reputation, fed by horror films and news reels, of white vans in dark scary streets. But when this van stopped, three French women lowered their windows and asked if I needed help, which of course was obviously the case. Through the driver's broken English I was able to communicate where I was trying to get, and they told me to get in. I have never, never, felt so relieved and thankful as I did at that moment. Those women, those pot-smoking, hippie women with the cans of Coke in the backseat, where God-sent angels to me that night. They ended up driving me the whole way, giving me a Coke to take with me and would not take the 2 euro coin I offered (all I had left). They were so kind, and generous, and took care of me in a way I seldom take care of others.
That night, safe and sound on the ferry, I think I felt like I had been delivered from a lot of things - from insecurity, from fear, but most of all from a doubt that God can do all things. ALL things - including saving me from a hopeless situation, including protecting me when I was Much Afraid (see Hinds Feet on High Places for that reference). I told a friend later that I don't think I can ever doubt God's faithfulness in the same way after that night. And though I have found myself needing a reminder lately, my life was uprooted and flipped around that night. And I wouldn't want to go back!

Part 1: Normandy & Wales

Normandy was an amazing place to visit for a day. There is so much more to see there than I had the chance to, but the two places I went were both amazing. Most of you know of my love of history, and some of you know that I have a thing for World War II history especially. I wrote my senior project paper on the American airborne forces in WWII - and so studied the D-Day landings quite a bit. The 101st and 82nd Airborne divisions landed behind Utah Beach on D-Day, and their job was to secure the 4 causeway exits from the beach since the Germans had flooded the inland area. They were separated from each other by the drop, and most of them landed far from where they were supposed to, yet they still accomplished their goals through effective leadership, great skill, and sheer determination. Reading the accounts of different paratroopers from that day gives one the feeling that they were happy to have survived the crashes and filled with a great passion to avenge those who didn't make it. They had a death grip on what mattered most in the war effort and would not let it go. I wanted to see Utah, to see Carentan and St. Marie du Mont, some of first towns they liberated, and the hedgerows that made their tasks more difficult.

There are just not words to describe the hallowed feel of that ground - all of Normandy, for me, is a sacred battlefield. Yet, life goes on - it is uncrowded and beautiful, serene and yet full of life. I was amazed to see people playing on Utah beach - making sand castles and digging for clams, riding horseback through the white water and sunbathing beneath the same rise that still held bunkers and howitzers and now held several small memorials and a museum. It was a beach like any other beach, and yet so different. In my mind I could still see the shadows of ships anchored in the harbor, as far as the eye could see; I could see through the tears in my eyes men crawling up the long shore with guns outstretched - many of them never to make it; I could see the combat ensuing all around the hill I stood on. The echoes of D-Day are still powerfully there. At first I was saddened to see the beach had become a normal beach - to play on and laze about - but then something in me shifted and I realized that the men on D-Day knew exactly what they were fighting for: freedom from tyranny and oppression, freedom from fear. And nothing stands as a greater memorial to that effort than the very image of children laughing, grandfathers teaching their grandsons how to dig for clams, new lovers out for a romantic horseride across a great wide beach, and locals taking a Saturday break to stroll along the sand. These are living testaments to the sacrifices made that day, whether they realize it or not. I know that at Omaha, which I would love to visit someday, there are larger memorials and a cemetary along the sea - but maybe both memorials are needed - both the living and the steadfast stone.

Wales was an interesting trip. Out of money and finding out late that I couldn't get to where I was supposed to by train, I ended up taking the safe way out (after two less than safe nights I felt that was best) and staying in a town on the coast that I could easily get to by train. However, it was too far south of the place I was hoping to go, so the scenery was less than exciting (though, to be fair, still pretty.) So someday I want to go back and actually see the Pembrokeshire Coast. The good news is that I did get to see Bath from the train window, and have now been in every region of England. :)

Home sweet home

So I'm back in Newberg, starting to work out again and enjoying being with Mom and Ryan. The boat is out of commission at the moment so I haven't been out yet, but just being at the house or on the dock is pretty sweet. Sorry I haven't updated in so long, you can ask the silly dial up people why - but just so you know I have a four -part series coming for you:

Part 1: Normandy
Part 2: The craziness of night time travel
Part 3: London with a local
Part 4: Conclusion and final thank-yous

Coming soon to a computer near you!

Almost Home

I'm going home today!! I can't wait. It has been a wonderful, amazing trip filled with so many blessings: I have learned so much, been in so many situations I never thought I would find myself in, seen the most awe-inspiring sights, and met so many God-lovers and cool people. But I'm ready to be at home where I don't have to pack every day and don't have to carry a huge backpack around large cities and up steep hills. :)

I'm in London right now, getting ready to run some final errands before I take the underground to Heathrow and head out. Yesterday was crazy, because I woke up in Wales, went for a run, touched the water of the Irish Sea and then got on a train - five hours later I was in London. I will have to write more about yesterday later (plus I have a lot to say about Normandy), but I should let you know that I saw a kids play of Cinderella at an elementary school and hung out with a whole bunch of women from Afghanistan - learning a lot about their history and culture in the process.

I will see some of you in less than 24 hours!! The rest I hope to see soon, because I miss you all. Love you!

Hungary's not so bad after all

Hello from Szeged! I made it to Arden's apartment tonight - actually she picked me up at the train station and has been pampering me ever since. It was a long day but a good day - I had an hour to talk to "Tati Pedro" in the car on the way to Oradea, and he got me thinking about a lot of things I had already thought about but now have a reason to actually do; I spent five hours sitting on the floor of the railway station in Oradea, but wasn't afraid this time and got a lot of journaling and reading accomplished; all the trains connected as they were supposed to, and I didn't get in trouble for not having a reservation on one of them where I should have had one; Arden treated me to dinner and ice cream, we talked easily for hours about the grace of God in our lives, and she played me a song she wrote about loss that I wish I could share with all of you.
I am off to Paris by way of Frankfurt tomorrow night, and then to Normandy where I hope to be humbled by the echoes of the men I studied for so long in college, and will always be my heroes.