England Term 2007

The last leg...

2007-11-26T07:33:00.000-08:00

These past few weeks have been set aside mainly for the purpose of studying, and therefore much procrastinating on the studying has been done. Upon returning from free travel, I got to meet up with a friend from Germany whom I hadn't seen in five years.. we spent a day flying around London and frolicking around the Queen's house. We spent a week in Shakespeare's birthplace, Stratford-upon-Avon, and were treated to incredible performances of Henry IV parts 1 and 2, and Henry V. Then we made our way around the southern part of England, burning up large quantities of gas. I left part of my heart on the sandy coasts of Plymouth.. meaning I'll have to go back someday to get it back. A memorable part of our trip included being mystified by King Arthur's grave... his castle... his birthplace... his... giftshops... Our group climbed to the top of some hill containing the buried Holy Grail. God was angry that we tried to dig it up, so he blew a bunch of freezing wind and sideways rain at us. We ran back down the hill before he got out the lightning bolts. Of course, it all died down as soon as we hopped back on the coach bus. We had Thanksgiving at Sir Francis Drake's 16th century manor house.. that was neat. Unfortunately, we overestimated our abilities to consume mashed potatoes, and consequently ended up with two extra vats of them. Someone must have forgotten that leftovers take at least a week to consume.. not half a day. Anyways, the whole of it was a great success--spending it in such an idyllic place wasn't a bad trade-off for having to spend it away from our families. Finally, we laid aside a few hours to be dazzled by Stonehenge.. my pictures make it look cooler than it actually is, but the free audio guide you get makes it all worthwhile. Well, I guess this is probably the last blog for England Term '07.. see you all in a couple weeks!

Southern England pictures: http://bethel.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2035196&page=1&id=63804086

The Armpit of France to the Love of my Life

2007-11-03T03:17:00.000-07:00

If I had trouble trying to fit multiple cities into one entry, I don't know how I'm going to do multiple countries. Even though I did write a little about Paris, that in itself seems like a separate country than the rest of France.. especially compared with Marseille, the first city on our free travel itinerary.
Marseille is a city to be reckoned with. It's harsh and rought around the edges, and it does not try to hide any of its' very different faces. It has been lovingly nicknamed "The Forgotten City" and the "Armpit of France." Upon arrival, I tried to remember what had drawn me to visit Marseille in the first place. I couldn't recall any particular reason, save that it was on the sea in the very south of the country and the name sounded nice and French. Dumas' "Count of Monte Cristo" didn't even register in my mind until after we had arrived at our hotel.
To it's credit though, Marseille hosts a beautiful little Mediterranean island called If.. home to the one and only Chateau d'If. Personally, I don't know what Edmond Dantes' problem was.. I would have gladly been locked up there for 14 years.
For all our beautiful (and strange) adventures in Marseille, it has earned a place in my heart. It is a true city, and doesn't go out of its way to cater to tourists. I like that. We found our own way around, and learned the ins and outs of the city with no one holding our hand. But after the stress of it all, Italy was a more welcome sight than I ever could have imagined.
Our hostel in Florence was the best I've ever stayed at, and was a perfect introduction to the city. The streets are small, the churches are big, but the charm and hearts of the Florentines (?) are even bigger. It's true that the men are not shy with their compliments--especially to blond American girls--but I think it just added to the whole eperience, along in raising my self-esteem level several notches. One highlight of the city were its astounding cathedrals--drab and unimpressive from the outside, but utter masterpieces of art and architecture on the inside. Truly, the only thing that distinguished these huge buildings from the rest of the city were their towering domes and spires. Otherwise, they were swallowed up within the sufficatingly small alleys and constricting buildings that have grown up around them over the centuries. But when you have Renaissance masters like Michelangelo and Brunelleschi working on them, you are more than willing to cough up a few euros to enter through their small, unassuming wooden doors.
From Florence, we headed to Milan, with a day trip to Como to end our free travel days. I expected to loathe the huge skyscrapers, and I was prepared to buy an oxygen tank to save me from the smog. But surprisingly, Milan's people were just as hospitable and genuine as the rest of Italy we had experienced. It seems a few big buildings have no real effect on Italian charm. Nonetheless, a trip to Lake Como, just a half hour train ride north of Milan, proved to be a welcome relief from the big city and a final breath of fresh air before heading back to London.. ech. Thanks for all the e-mails and letters.. keep 'em comin. I'll be home soon.
Northern Ireland and Paris photos: http://bethel.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2034349&id=63804086
Southern France and Italy photos: http://bethel.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2034350&id=63804086

Je ne parle pas francois...

2007-10-23T07:21:00.000-07:00

It is quite the experience trying to survive in a non english speaking country. I have learned the art of the "point and grunt" method to get my meals, but have come far enough to know "un croissant plus un café creme s'il vous plait" will get me what i want. man cannot survive on bread alone, but a little coffee and chocolate to go along with it usually does the trick. we have almost made the rounds of all paris has to offer--the Louvre (round 2 is tomorrow), notre dame, and the eiffel tower have all been conquered, and we're not done yet. its quite upsetting to be blinded by flash photographers while looking at van Gogh and de la Croix (and also while sitting in mass during communion...) but braving the throngs of art-illiterate tourists is usually worth the battle. And although I've been told to expect haughty glances and rude answers from Parisians when they hear my poor excuse of an accent, I've actually found everyone to be friendly, kind and very understanding of my foreign incapabilities. Sure, they're probably hiding their real sentiments beneath the surface, but if i just continue to keep up my oblivious naiveté, none's the worse for wear, right? Paris has adapted beautifully to the influx of tourists every year and will continue to do so, especially since George Bush's days are numbered.

Sometimes, birds crap on you.

2007-10-06T02:26:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up to gray skies and light showers misting on my Irish cottage window. I thought the chance for us to go to Skellig Michael had gone down to about 12%. Next think I knew, however, I found myself stepping onto a small fishing boat, heading west off the coast of southwestern Ireland. The bay wasn't so bad. Dan Taylor doesn't know what he's talking about, I thought, trying to scare us with huge swelling waves and constant sprays of salt water to the face. But as soon as the mists beyond the rocky channel cleared, my grip became quite a bit tighter on the metal railing (our only barrier between life and death by drowning). I thank my roommates for preparing me at Valleyfair last May for what we faced on our 8-mile, hour-long chug out to our destination.
Skellig Michael is a 700-foot-high island of rock, jutting out from the depths of the ocean. Just in front of it is Little Skellig, a slightly shorter but more elongated island. Unlike Michael, however, it is completely white--covered with various species of seafaring fowl. Revolting. While one may get a glimpse of the holy at Skellig Michael, as far as I am concerned Little Skellig is a rocky hell full of birds. Our captain was kind enough to take us right up to the edge of the island. I busied myself with concentrating very hard on the paint chippings on the floor of the boat. After we had driven away in pursuit of Skellig Michael, I congratulated myself on the success of not having a bird-induced stroke. I sighed with relief and looked out over the waves. I felt a raindrop on my head, and prayed quickly that it wouldn't downpour when we got there. Half a minute later, I realized the sun was shining. Raindrop...? "Jessie, do I have something on my head?" I asked with a shaky voice.
"Oh... oh my. Just stay calm. Let me do it," she answered. I knew. I knew it. Of course it was me that had to be crapped on. I let out a cry of anguish, dropped to my knees and buried my face in my hands, emitting short bursts of hysterical laughter, because I just didn't know what else to do. Jessie gave up part of her sandwich wrappings to dab the excrement out of my scalp. Of course.
Twenty minutes later, I regained my composure and we stepped ashore Skellig Michael. It's hard to describe exactly what this place is, so I'll be lazy and let my professor and his book do it: "...we are following a path taken so many centuries ago by a boatload of monks looking for a place to battle the flesh and the devil. They saw themselves as engaged in a war whose object was to be like Christ--that is, to be more like what they were created to be." They found Skellig Michael, and put aside their earthly pleasures to build their small monastic city, which was raided and plundered several times throughout the early centuries by the Vikings. Amazingly, the place is still very well preserved. I see the rounded tops of the cells the monks built with flat stones, and the ambiguity of the ocean and the hazy, distand land masses make the stone forms even more clearly defined. I think of a modern artist, Andy Goldsworthy, who makes money on his "natural sculptures" that look just like these cells. To him, this is his art. This is internal expression. This is aesthetically pleasing. To the monks who built these cells, this was the complete opposite. Not money, or fame, or accomplishment, but just a shelter from the wind and rain. Simple and unassuming.
I look out over the ocean, and I can define "terrible beauty." I see waters that don't have a shore, or even a horizon line. The water just melts into gray sky. I think of Lake Mille Lacs. I think, pond. It is literally frightening to see no boundaries... no "other side." This is not a safe haven... and yet it is. It is deafeningly loud, and yet the most peaceful, silent place of solitude. I think of those monks, and why they chose this place. I can think of reasons why, but the reasons why not seem to far outweigh them.
I also think of the deaths of the monks, when the Vikings raided them for their gold and holy treasures. My stomach is affected more by this imagined scene than the huge swells we endured to get here. I am sitting in an ancient murder scene. I think of dying for Christ. I think of dying in general. I think of pain and suffering and anguish. "If I cannot live for Christ, I will die for Him." This is why the monks stayed here, on this jut of a rock, through the raids and plunders. They endured it all. I am saddened and sorrowful, and weak at the knees with shame, because I am the farthest thing from a monk. Ever.
We make our journey back, each of us stiff with layers of sea salt. The waves are not as high, and the ride is uneventful. I try to reflect on what I've just seen. My eyes did not serve me well enough, for although I kept my head in a constant swivel motion, I could not capture all the grandeur and majesty that was present; my two eyes were simply overwhelmed, and couldn't keep up. And if my eyes only captured a small amound, the pictures you will see eventually did an even worse job. I know I have seen and experienced something holy, and I have realized once again just how human I really am.

Cambridge and Ireland photos: http://bethel.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2033074&id=63804086&saved

Black Snot and Spamalot

2007-09-24T07:53:00.000-07:00

I'm adding a little corny creativity to my London experience, because while London was definitely creative, it was also, in many senses, corny.
L- Loads of pigeons. Disease-ridden, beady-eyed throngs of pigeons everywhere. You know how random musicians play in the streets and have money tossed to them? A man was standing in Trafalgar Square with pigeons on every part of his body--just clinging to him. And he was expecting people to give him money for this amazing feat.. and people were doing it! I'm not sure of the sanity of anyone anymore.
O- Over-friendly subway riders. I have become a master at riding the Underground, and also apparently at attracting rather odd folk. One man spent the whole ride (which was a painful 5 minutes) commenting on other peoples' appearances--their body fat content--as well as sticking his head out the back of the car we were in and telling me some odd story about who knows what.
N- Noses emit black snot. Whenever I picked....er, blew... my nose, the contents would be black from all the smog and grime in London. Clearly a very, very healthy city to live in. Quite advanced as far as pollution goes.
D- Disgusting: Way of life in the Celtic Hotel. We had one shower between 4 different floors, and the WC had no sink in it; we had to rush back down to our rooms where the sinks were to wash. They did serve us a traditional English breakfast (aka Grease McGreasy) every morning, which was sweet of them.
O- Oh, Spamalot... Definitely one of the highlights of this first London trip. Showed a lot of insight to why Brits are like they are. Very cultural experience.
N- Napoleon was defeated. Result: Trafalgar Square. My very favorite! Includes the National Gallery (da Vinci, Raphael, Michelangelo... Turner, van Gogh, Monet... just to name a few), National Portrait Gallery... and many pigeons. Meh.

Pictures of both Oxford and London are at:
http://bethel.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2032456&id=63804086&saved

Braemar, Keswick, Hawarden...

2007-09-12T12:01:00.000-07:00

This will be a tough one to write about... we've covered lots of miles very quickly. To finish off Scotland, we went further north to Braemar to take in the Braemar Highland Games. It can best be described as 'ancient Scottish traditional competitions,' like a track meet... only far more interesting. There was traditional Scottish dancing, uphill races (which took more than an hour to finish, I believe... Scots are not at all faint of heart), tug-o-war (brutes of men with very technical, strategic movements), throwing of 28- and 56-lb. 'rocks,' and my favorite, log throwing. There's a couple of pictures on the Facebook website.. they're pretty incredible. The official name for this phenomenon is caber tossing. The Queen was there for about an hour in the afternoon, so there's a couple pictures of her as well. I got the chance to see just how nationalist the Scots are... many of them (including our wilderness guides who accompanied us to the Games) stayed seating as the Queen's auto drove around the outside arena, and didn't even acknowledge her. After Braemar we drove well over 6 hours down to Keswick ("Kessick") in the Lake District in Northern England. I kid you not, this place is breathtaking. I did no alteration or Photoshopping of any kind to the pictures--it's just that beautiful. Keswick was absolutely lovely; it was small but still had everything we needed, and it was quiet but still lively. Great town. While in Keswick we stopped at Beatrix Potter's cottage and Wordsworth's "Dove Cottage," along with many sites of his inspiration for his poems. From Keswick we stopped at Chatsworth Manor (where the Duke of Somewhere lives), where a part of "Pride and Prejudice" was filmed. Ugh. However, I did take a picture of the bust of Mr. Darcy for all you die-hards. We ended in Hawarden ("Harden") in Northern Wales, where we still are. We're currently at a library(!!!) with thousands upon thousands of books, doing some intensive study on C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and also the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins. We'll stay here until Friday, then it's off to Oxford! The Anglican priest who runs St. Deiniol's Library is a funny man who loves to be politely satirical about our American government. I've found it absolutely hilarious that the British are so polite about making their opinion known about George Bush or whatnot.. they'll make funny little side remarks under their breath right in the middle of conversation.. absolutely great. This priest also claims he's the "real Harry Potter," as he was neighbors with J.K. Rowling. "I have dark hair, I wear glasses, and I even have a wee little scar right above this left eyebrow, see?" he says. "I was the inspiration for it all." Right. Anyways, St. Deiniol's has definitely provided a much-needed rest from the bigger towns and cities.. very refreshing. We did get a few hours in Liverpool, home of the Beatles and also the Largest Cup of Coffee in All Humanity (see photos). Hopefully that brings everyone up to speed.. by the way, if anyone feels like sending an e-mail or even a letter to let me know how the U.S. is holding up without me, feel free. It'd be much appreciated to know I'm still connected to Americans, although I'm constantly reminded of it. Letters take about a week to get here, so if you want to send one, let me know by e-mail and I'll give you the address we'll be at a week or so ahead of time so it'll get to me. Cheerio.
Scotland, Lake District and Chatsworth photos: http://bethel.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2031885&id=63804086
Liverpool and Northern Wales photos: http://bethel.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2031888&id=63804086&saved

Highlands Part 2

2007-09-03T08:41:00.000-07:00

Chapter 2: Whitewater rafting. In a word, amazing. This was definitely one of the highlights thus far on our trip. Fortunately or unfortunately, there are no exciting stories to relay from our expedition... no crashes, injuries, drownings, and only 3 fell out of their rafts. All this extreme sports business over the last few days has left me contemplating 2 things: 1) Why have I not encountered these things earlier in life? and 2) I have discovered what it is to be a "true" tourist. Let me explain. It was nice in Edinburgh, where we were responsible for at least some things, like our daily schedule, what we were going to eat... things like that. But here, we are totally and utterly dependent on our "wilderness guides." I mean, really now, what could be more "touristy" than paying hundreds of dollars to stay at a lodge, trek around in a very large group around the Scottish wilderness, and be shipped down a river with a few rapids here and there? My goodness. I realize this is purely my opinion, but I do like having my freedom and responsibility for myself. These are not complaints... merely observations. I feel like I have no right to complain about anything at any time during this who semester. However, I am very thankful for those stretches of time I can split away from our 20-person group and at least try to feel not so...touristy. Try. Usually failing miserably, but I'd rather fail miserably by myself than with my whole gaggle of Americans. Or, perhaps I should just embrace my naivete and fulfill all stereotypes possible. Cheers!

Highland Adventures

2007-09-01T13:05:00.000-07:00

We're up in the Scottish Highlands now, and one of our outdoor activities was "gorge jumping." I can't rightly say why anyone would make a point to go "gorge jumping" in the Scottish Highlands.. but this is definitely not to say that I didn't have the most exhilarating time of my entire life. I've decided that anyone who does this on a regular basis (i.e., our guides) has to have some degree of insanity. And honestly, I can definitely pick it out in two of the three of them. What were the conditions, you ask? Well. Imagine wetsuits... helmets... and life preservers. Imagine all 26 of us wearing nothing but the wetsuits (steamers, as they call them...), shivering our little hind ends off in the 50 degree weather. Very flattering indeed. I specifically took no pictures of this outing because of that reason. Next, imagine frolicking into 37 degree water, and the only words you can utter are, "Oh, crap, holy crap..." as your body tries to get acclimated. Again, I'm not sure why anyone would choose this ludicrosity as a hobby. We climbed rocks, swam against currents, waded clumsily through rapids, slid down miniature waterfalls, and jumped off 25-foot-high cliffs. I kid you not. But it was the most surreal, exhilarating experience I have ever had. Ever. I know I would have regretted not doing any of it, so I threw (almost) all precaution to the Scottish wind and went for it. (All limbs and blood cells accounted for, Mom.) But, our fearless, slightly insane guide Chris (with the thickest, sweetest Scottish accent ever) said today was merely a precursor for tomorrow--whitewater rafting. Stay tuned for Chapter 2 tomorrow... if I make it.

Edinburgh

2007-08-24T03:08:00.000-07:00

It's hard to know where to start writing, even though it's only been 3 days... which has felt like 3 weeks, actually. We made the flight from Minneapolis to Amsterdam in about 8 hours with no trouble, and then from Amsterdam to Edinburgh in a plane much smaller than I would generally feel safe with flying over a large body of water... still uneventful though. We finally got settled in our University of Edinburgh apartments, which give us each a separate bedroom, and two bathrooms and a kitchen to split between 5 or 6 of us. We'll stay here for a few more days, then travel to the Highlands to attempt to feel like "real Scots" as we climb, hike, bike, raft, and generally embarrass ourselves because of our great physical shape. A few of us climbed up Arthur's Seat, which overlooks Edinburgh and is the highest point for miles around. This is presumably (one of many places around the UK) where King Arthur's Camelot originated... although we'll go to several other "original" sites later. Right. For those who know what I'm talking about, my North Shore rock climbing escapade was a mere stroll compared with what we encountered while climbing up Arthur's Seat. I thought I was an athlete, up until about a 1/4 the way up the peak. Absolutely unbelievable how many "steps" (rocks jutting out the side of the peak) there were up to the top... but I tell you what, the view was absolutely worth it. On one side, we saw the entirety of Edinburgh. On another side we had rolling, luscious Scottish hills, and still another view gave us the coast, sea and various islands. Of course, I had my iPod with me so I could play wonderful Scottish music. I was re-living Braveheart. I am not kidding when I say that for once, the movies do not lie. The thing that excites me most, though, is that I know this is only the mere beginning of sights and experiences like this. We're still in a city... the largest one in Scotland, actually. Think of what we'll see in the actual countryside! If that doesn't give you goosebumps, I don't know what will. We walked through St. Giles Cathedral, where there has been foundations for over 900 years. When Jessie West and I strolled in, there was also piano music and a cello playing together. I honestly don't know how I keep running into such awesomely beautiful experiences. They say that a Christian faith doesn't play a huge part in many Europeans' lives (as I also confirmed from Gareth, an English schoolteacher who was my airplane buddy... another great story that I don't have time for) and that church attendance on any given Sunday is at 4%. But I can't help but wonder what people must think when they walk into these awe-inspiring cathedrals, where the bricks and mortar were constructed with nothing but pure grit, sweat, pain, and faith. These are monuments to our God, and they overwhelm one with such reverence and awe that no words can accurately describe what is felt. There's many, many more stories, details, odds and ends to recount, but that would a) get rather long, b) fill up too much space, c) bore you to death, d) run out my minutes on this expensive internet cafe, and e) make Jessie West very impatient with me. Take a look at the pictures. Cheers.
P.S. You'll have to go to Facebook to take a look at my pictures.. I'm still pretty blog-illiterate. Sorry. http://bethel.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2030948&id=63804086&saved#

Final Thoughts

2007-08-21T09:10:00.001-07:00

Here I sit in my favorite coffee shop in my hometown, Middleofnowhere, MN before flying to the Land of Eng (thanks Anna..), contemplating the goodness of a final American-made vanilla latte and all that will be missed here. We're flying out tonight at 7:00 p.m. and will fly into Amsterdam, and then fly from there to Edinburgh, Scotland. If 7:00 rolls around tonight and you remember, a short little prayer for safety and easy travel would be appreciated! :)

3 weeks and counting...

2007-08-01T08:15:00.001-07:00

So.. bascially this is just a test to see if this actually works. I am rather naive to the blogging world. 3 weeks from now I'll be in Edinburgh, Scotland, to start off the semester. So much to do, so little time... hope everyone is enjoying the end of summer.