Tales of a Roamin' Catholic

Salzburg

2007-01-04T10:20:00.000Z

Rachel and I are loving every minute of our time in Salzburg. She has been very tolerant of my compulsive need to reminisce constantly (Oh, this is the beer we used to drink! Oh, this was my favorite chocolate bar! Oh, I remember this store with the really strange window displays - I can't believe I didn't remember that!) Of course some things have changed; it has been seven years after all. But, the mountains are even more stunning than I remember and the town hasn't lost any of its fairy-tale charm.

I only have a few minutes to post right now, but we have been spending our days in a relaxed pace of strolling around town, getting coffee or food, seeing sights like the cathedral and the fortress, and just enjoying ourselves. We go on a tour of the surrounding lakes district this afternoon. It is nice to be travling at a more leisurly pace and it is the perfect way to wrap our trip up. Tomorrow we fly to England, the next day we fly to Colorado (her) and New Haven (me), then on January 7th we both head home to Tacoma for a week.

Homecomings

2007-01-01T16:05:00.000Z

Tomorrow we travel to Salzburg, where I lived for eight months in 1999-2000. I have not been back since and I view this homecoming with both excitement and trepidation. That was a very special year in my life and it will be strange to be there without the friends who made the year what it was for me. Still, I am looking forward to visiting my old haunts, eating my favorite foods, like bosna and strudel, and showing Rachel the city which is so meaningful to me.

I have been thinking a lot about the idea of home lately. Perhaps living out of a backpack will do that to a person. I realized that in the next two weeks I will visit almost every single place I have ever called home. Salzburg first, then a stop over in Cambridge, which has been my most recent home. Then onto Tacoma for a week, my home of homes, where I grew up and where my family is. I will probably take a quick trip down to Portland while I am in the northwest, my home while I was in college. Finally, back to New Haven, my current home, where an apartment of my very own is calling my name. The only home I will not make it to during these two weeks is Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, which was home for two years after college. Each of those places represents a special and important time in my life, and it will be interesting, and I think very meaningful, to retrace the geography of my life, especially as I begin to look toward what is next for me as I graduate in May.

A Czech New Year

2007-01-01T15:52:00.000Z

We spent our last day in Prague with a fantastic four-hour walking tour. The weather has been tentatively holding out for us - cold but not unbearable. Walking tours are always fun if just for meeting the other travelers: a law student from Chicago, a guy from Connecticut doing peace corps in Albania, a nursing student, a film student, a guy who works for a charity in London - it is always interesting to chat with other backpackers. We stayed at the nicest and most unusual hostel I have seen, very sleek with key cards and uber-modern design. We hung out with some of our new friends in the hostel pub for the evening and got up early the next morning to catch our bus to Cesky Krumlov, a small town near the Austrian border.

Cesky Krumlov holds fond memories for me from when my girlfriends traveled here at the end of our year in Salzburg. The favorable exchange rate allowed us to live like queens and we ate in wonderful restaurants, went horseback riding, played cards in the palace gardens, and got our hair done. The hair part was the only bad part of our trip. Note to self: do not get your hair done when your are unable to verbally communicate with the hairdresser. That day was forever after known as the Czech Hair Disaster of 2000.

At any rate, it has proven to be a bit of a haven for Rachel and me as well. We have a private room for half the price of anywhere we have stayed yet. We joined in the town festivities for New Years by eating in a traditional Czech restaurant then heading to the town square. A DJ played an eclectic mix of Czech tunes with the occasional Aretha Franklin or Beach Boys thrown in. We drank mulled wine and danced with the locals until the countdown. At midnight, fireworks went off all over and the whole experience had a magical feel to it. We slept late today then spent our afternoon alternating between strolling through the town, window shopping, and taking cafe breaks for lunch, then coffee, then ice cream.

We are off to Salzburg tomorrow, which is the place I have been the most excited to visit.

Czech-ing it out

2006-12-29T20:15:00.000Z

We've settled ourselves into our hostel in Prague and left Italy far behind us. We arrived safely in Siena in early evening on Christmas and our hotel felt luxurious. The only problem arose when we set out to find dinner. The down was absolutely shut down - nothing was open. For a minute I wondered if there was an asteroid set to hit the town and everyone knew about it except us. My fears were assuaged when we did stumble upon the only open eating establishment in town, which was filled to the brim with festive Italians. It was a last resort, but yes, I ate Christmas dinner at McDonalds. While we enjoyed our Christmas, it kind of feels like we missed the holiday completely.

Luckily, we had a little time to explore Siena before our bust left the next morning and Rachel got to see the highlights. We opted out of viewing St. Catherine's head on display in a box because I'm still creeped out from seeing it seven years ago. Make note: when I die, please do not preserve and display any of my body parts. That's just not my thing.

That afternoon we took a bus to San Gimignano, a tiny Tuscan village whose stunning views of the countryside alone made it worth the trip. The landscape here has been battered a bit by winter. All the colors seem to have been scrubbed out until the hills almost look like a sepia photograph, yet it is still beautiful. Our fun lodging was a bonus. Based on a tip from our travel book, we knocked at the convent and an older nun ushered us in and let us stay in the bed and breakfast wing of the old building. In our broken conversation, she seemed astonished at both the fact that I study theology and that Rachel is a farmer. Her half of the conversation, much to Rachel's delight, included numerous exclamations of "Mama mia!" We enjoyed strolling through the town until the cold drove us indoor and under our blankets, the only warm place in the drafty room.

We took a very early bus and train the next morning to avoid paying a reservation surcharge for our journey to Venice. The only thing I remember from my last visit to Venice was that it rained the whole day so I spent most of my time inside at at Jazz bar. This time, the rain held out but the temperature was bone-chilling. We weren't to be deterred, though, and continued to shovel gelato through blue lips with our numb fingers. Our modest hotel overlooked the Grand Canal and we spend hours strolling through the twisting and turning streets, dodging touristy glass shops. We also went to St. Mark's basilica where the gospel-writer is said to be buried, which was well worth the 1.50 entrance fee.

We left Venice on a night train and shared a couchette car with three young, bubbly Mexican women, two of whom have been working in England. One of the beautiful things of traveling is when different cultures seem to leave an imprint on a person, like hearing a Mexican say "cheers" to an Italian ticket guy. It made me wonder what ways my time in England has changed me, too. We had a blast talking with them. We arrived in Prague at 2:00 this afternoon and spent the rest of the day walking around the Old City. The weather is still cold (snow was on the ground in the countryside), but we're going to make a go of seeing as much as we can tomorrow, including a ghost story tour. We'll head to the small Czech town of Cesky Krumlov on New Year's Eve and then to Salzburg, my old home, on January 2nd. This week will allow us to spend a little more time in the towns we're visiting, which is a welcome change of pace. I can't believe that we return to England a week from tomorrow. Time is zipping by

Merry Christmas!

2006-12-25T15:26:00.000Z

I didn't think we would have internet access on Christmas, but we found ourselves with a brief layover in Florence on our way to Assisi and the internet cafe was open. We had a plesant and very relaxing Christmas Eve in Assisi. Our hotel was lovely, if a little under-occupied. We strolled through the beautiful streets of Assisi's historic city and visited the tomb of St. Francis. St. Claire's church was, sadly, closed by the time we arrived. We enjoyed a delicious Christmas meal of ravioli in a charming restaurant before returning to our abode and, as we waited for the bus back down the hill, we saw all of Assisi laid out below us with a sliver of an orange moon dangling above. Our lazy celebration last night included hot showers, a bottle of Assisi wine with St. Francis' face on the bottle, lots of chocolate (in true Batie tradition), and CNN, which was the only English-language station our little TV received. We stayed up late laughing until tears ran down our faces as we shared memories of our childhood misadventures. While it didn't feel quite like Christmas, it was great to be together and it was a welcome night of pampering in the midst of our travels. It was nice to think of our family, cousins and all, together in Tacoma. We stopped by one of Assisi's large church this morning where Mass was standing room only. I enjoyed sharing the sign of peace with shy Italian children. We're off to Siena for tonight and will spend tomorrow night at a convent in a tiny town between Siena and Florence. After that: Venice.

I hope that, wherever you're reading this, you are enjoying Christmas and surrounded by those you love.

It is NOT begining to look a lot like Christmas...

2006-12-23T19:35:00.000Z

I had wonderful intentions of writing a lengthy post with lots of great deatils of train rides through sunset-drenched French countrysides, pushy Italian grandmothers who let out extra rooms in their apartments, pasta, spiritual reflections, and so much more... but, by the time we've booked our next hostel online, checked bank statements (a depressing experience), and taken care of business, there is almost no time left to blog. I don't expect to get online in the next few days because I imagine that small Italian towns during Christmas won't have much open.

OK, I just caved in and just coughed up an extra 1.50 Euros to write more, so here's what we've been up to since Barcelona. After our night in Barcelona (I honestly can't remember what day of the week that is. I told Rachel today was Saturday and she couldn't believe it. Figuring out the day of the week usually takes at least 10 seconds and several finger-counting exercises, often soliciting help from the printed date on the train ticket as well.), we took a morning train to Carcassone, a small French town. The lone afternoon we had to explore proved enough time to enjoy the midevil walled town on the hill and the Christmas market, complete with mulled wine and nutella crepes, a diet which I am certain could sustain me for several months at least. We stayed at a lovely guesthouse run by some ex-pat Brits. We stay in guesthouses like this when hostels aren't availabe, which is often the case in these smaller towns. Although it only costs 10 Euros (about 13 American bucks) more each, we feel a little like royalty in the spacious room we have to ourselves.

After a good night's rest and stocking up on lost of snacks at the supermarket, which is really more like a convenience mart than an American supermarket, we spent the entire next day on the train to get to Italy. We arrived in Genova around 9:30 p.m., spent the night, then set off the next day for Cinque Terre, which consists of five small towns along the Italian coast. I visited there seven years ago and thought Rachel would enjoy hiking between the towns. (That's one of the main differences between my sister and me; she likes to hike, whereas seven years ago I took the local train and ate gelato on the beach while I waited for my friends to do the hike.) Rachel says it has been her favorite place so far. We did some hiking, enjoying the view of the colorful houses clinging to the steep cliffs above the vibrant turquoise water. We also enjoyed our first delectable (and cheap!) Italian meal, where full plates of pasta and a bottle of wine were less than ten Euros each. While we were walking to the youth hostel listed in our book, an older Italian woman who spoke about as much English as I speak Italian (= about three words) somehow conveyed to us that it was closed while the owners were on vacation. No problem! She, conveniently, rents out a room in her flat. After much cajoling and communication via hand signals, we followed her to her abode and decided to stay in the lovely apartment she rents out. She cut us a bit of a deal since it is the off season and we were happy to enjoy the beautiful view of the water and hillside. Cinque Terre was as beautiful as I remember, but I couldn't help but feel like we had missed the party because this warm-weather tourist spot shuts down in the winter. Enticing "gelateria" signs tauntingly led to borded up doorways and tourists were few. While it was nice to have the trails to ourselves, I kind of wished that Rachel could have been there when it was more alive, not to mention warmer. Yet, in spite of the ghost-town feel, and as if I were not already convinced of the tiny-ness of the world, as we were walking through a deserted tunnel one of the people walking toward us said my name. I was stunned to see Karen, who was an RA at the University of Portland the same year I was, walking toward me in a UP Pilots hat. We caught up a bit (and of course ran into each other again in Florence today). She's teaching English in Sicily and traveling for the holiday as well.

After staying in our luxurious abode and enjoying the lovely/bizarre light-up nativity scene in the hillside, we woke up early to walk to the next town over as the sun woke up the towns. We ate our requisite chocolate croissant breakfast and caught a train to Florence. We spent the chilly afternoon seeing the sights of Florence and shopping in the leather market. Rachel showed remarkable retraint, whereas I made a number of practical invetments, as I justified them. Our best find was a used English lanuage paperback store where we replenished our dwindling supplies of escapist literature (several of which, for me, had hot pink covers). Nevermind the fact that my essay drafts remain unedited. I still have two more weeks and plenty of time. (Please don't panic, Dad.)

As for the rumor that tomorrow is Christmas Eve, I don't know if I believe it. If it weren't for the strands of lights around these towns and the actual chestnust roasting over open fires (or electric grills), not to mention the biting cold, you couldn't convince me that it is the holiday. Santa came early in the form of some financial assitance for this trip, so the only present I have to put under the non-existant tree is a card a friend sent from school and instructed I not open until the 25th. While it is strange, it is also really nice in a way. Christmas hasn't been consumer-driven for us at all this year and I've been able to focus on the real meaning of it much more. I am hoping that tomorrow in Assisi will provide some time for spiritual reflection.

I wish I could say that we, in our young and vibrant state of life, are partying it up and enjoying the nightlife in all these wonderful towns. In actuality, we are usually in our rooms by about 7 or 8 o'clock (sightseeing takes a lot out of a person!), where we read until a respectable 10:00 bedtime, and still feel a little lazy when we wake up at 8 in the morning. Seriously, this is the life. In other news: even though Rachel and I have been occupying the same five square feet of space almost constantly for the last two weeks, we have yet to kill each other, although we do relish the times we get twin beds instead of a double. Today marks the halfway point of our trip and things continue to go well.

Quick Update

2006-12-22T15:35:00.000Z

This must be brief because this intenet cafe is unbelievably expensive, but know that we are still alive and we are having a marvelous time! We hiked along the Italian coast today. Life is good. Tomorrow: Florence.

Plan B

2006-12-19T19:47:00.000Z

After a week and a half on the rails, we've decided to adjust our itinierary for our next few weeks. Rachel prefers smaller towns to big cities and I'm eager to go to a few places where I've never been before. At the suggestion of Alberto, a well-traveled Italian whose aquaintance we made in Granada, we've decided to add Carcassone (France) and a series of small towns between Siena and Florence to our docket. In order to make time for this, we've decided not to go to Rome. We were originally going to spend Christmas there, but we realized that most of the museums and attractions we wanted to visit would be closed for the holiday. Rachel is less interested in the history and Roman Catholic stuff there, and I would really need more than just two days to do it right. I have been to Rome before, so I am willing to bypass it this time. Instead, we will be spending Christmas in Assisi, home of Saints Francis and Clare. We've splurged on a hotel and I think it will be the perfect way to spend the holiday.

Barcelona

2006-12-19T19:22:00.000Z

Greetings from Barcelona, where the break-neck-paced Schwester-Euro-Extravanza '06-'07 continues! Not even head colds and sore throats could keep us from seeing Barcelona in eight hours today.

The remainder of our time in Granada was delightful. We went out for tapas with folks from our hostel on Sunday night, which was a great way to see some of the Spanish nightlife. My, how I love Sangria. Monday we went on a walking tour which was not particularly exceptional, but was a good way to see more of the town and learn a little bit about its history. We spent the remainder of our afternoon eating churros with chocolate at a fabulous plaza-side cafe and we had a vegetarian-suitable lunch at a Moroccan tea house. It was one of the better meals we've had since we've been here and the tea was fantastic. After a little down time at the hostel we went out for a few tapas before catching our night train. It was my first time traveling via hotel train and it was a comfortable way to spend the night. We shared our compartment with a young woman from Chile and were able to carry on a little conversation with our broken Spanish and her patchy English.

Once we arrived, we found our hostel, took showers, dropped off our ever-growing backpacks, and hit the town. First stop was the all-organic restaurant our guidebook recommended, which proved disappointing. Next, we went to the Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's breathtaking cathedral-in-progress and the highlight of the day. I remember climbing the spiral stairs to the tops of the spires and being met with a view of the sun setting over the city when I visited here seven years ago and I was eager to return. It is still as moving as I found it last time. Rachel seemed to really enjoy it as well. Next, we visited a large market off of Las Ramblas where we found produce items that puzzled even my farmer sister. We spent hours wandering through the Gothic Neighborhood until we dragged our weary selves back to the hostel. We'll take it easy this evening and get to bed early in preparation for an early morning train to Carcassone, France tomorrow. Next stop after Carcassone is Cinque Terra, which is five small towns clinging to the Italian coast. I definitely can't complain.

Granada

2006-12-17T16:03:00.000Z

I´m sitting in the mood-lit common area of our fabulous hostel, Rachel´s reading a book, and our laundry is spinning in the machine. We´ve spent the day at the Alhambra, which is more stunning than I remember it - and I remember it being pretty amazing. Here´s a recap of what we´ve been up to.

Our time in Paris was very nice, if a bit chilly. We stayed in a budget hotel a few metro stops out of town. We only had about a day and a half in the city when all was said and done. Our first day was very full. We started out at the Eiffel tower with coffee and crepes for breakfast as we wandered around the park at its base. We then went on to the Rodin Museum, which is one of my favorite places in Europe. There was a fantastic temporary exhibit of some of his sketches which gave me a whole new perspective on his sculptures. After some wandering around and getting lunch in the Bastille district we went to the Louvre, which consumed the rest of the day and into the evening. It is funny traveling with Rachel and discovering that we like the exact opposite things. We split up and she spent her time with the Egyptian artifacts, which didn´t do much for me, while I hung out with the paintings, which she found boring. Some of my favorites were Rembrandts portrayals of Bathsheba and Susanna, probably because I´ve been studying those stories in my Feminist Biblical Interpretation class this term. Our second day in Paris started with lugging our backpacks to the train station and locking them up. We spent the remainder of the day walking through the Latin Quarter and sitting in various parks enjoying the people watching.

We left on a 3:50 p.m. train for Seville and didn´t arrive until noon the next day. We had a type of sleeping train that had beds. It was aramshackleamshakle with six beds to a room, stacked three on top of each other, but it was luxury compared to the fold out seat compartments I remember from night trains in my past. I think Rachel was a bit puzzled by my joy at the cramped quarters.

We stepped out of the Seville train station into the sun and gladly shed our winter coats. Southern Spain is just as beautiful as I remember with antique painted tiles on every building and orange trees providing shade. Narrow streets twist and turn opening up unexpectedly into tiny plazas. Flamenco guitar strains floated up into our third floor window from a guitar shop down the street, the same window which provided a view of wooden tables and postcard racks in the courtyard below. Rachel started to get a cold around our train ride, so we took it easy in Seville, sleeping late and doing lots of walking around the town.

We took an evening train into Granada last night and have been enjoying ourselves here as well. We slept late again and set off to the Alhambra for most of the day. We´re taking a rest in our hostel before doing some window shopping, then we´re going on a tapas tour this evening. ¨Tapas¨ is Spanish for ¨Angela-sized portion of food.¨ I remember them being really tasty during my last trip to Spain, but we had awful luck with them in Seville. Hopefully they will be redeemed on the tour tonight.

Other than Rachel getting sick, we´ve only run into two other obstacles during our travels. The first is that, unlike when I traveled seven years ago, lots of the trains now require reservations, which cost extra. It has been nice to have seats guaranteed on the trains, but it has also resulted in unexpected expenses, which is a little annoying since we´re on a organic-farmer-and-grad-student budget. The other struggle has been, surprisingly, finding food. Rachel is a nut-allergic vegetarian who tries to limit her dairy, and we´ve had an awful time finding protein for her. It doesn´t help that neither of us eat fish. I´ve tried to convince her that my all-carb diet is a suitable alternative, but she´s not buying it. We´ve never been so happy to see a falafel place as we were this afternoon.

Overall, the trip is going well. The more I travel, the more I realize how small the world is. We learned this morning that one of the other women in our 6-bed dorm room here is from Tacoma. Even stranger, she already ran into someone else in our hostel who she had a class with at UW Tacoma. Crazy stuff.

Southern Spain in the Sun

2006-12-16T22:37:00.000Z

Before I attempt to do a catch-up post about Paris and Seville, I have to say that we´ve arrived in Granada and we´re staying in the best hostel I´ve ever seen. It´s amazing what a difference this makes in our outlook (which wasn´t all that bad to start with). It´s good that we´ve already booked our night train in a few nights or we might stay here until January. This hostel is so fabulous, in fact, that it has free intenet, so expect a lengthy blog in the next day or two! But for now, off to bed.

Paris

2006-12-13T21:53:00.000Z

Very quick report - we`ve had a full and wonderful day in Paris, starting with morning coffee and crepes in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower followed by hours upon hours in museums. Now we`re tuckered out and turning in. Tomorrow we`re going to spend the morning wandering around the Latin Quarter before leaving for Spain on a 20-hour train ride, so I may not be able to blog for awhile. Farewell Paris... Seville, here we come!

Stood up

2006-12-12T20:28:00.000Z

This post must be short. Ah, how I long for the days when I had my own computer and didn`t have to pay for internet connections by the minute.

The rest of our time in Amsterdam was very nice. It rained the entire day, yet we persevered. The worst part was that we were stood up by not one, but two walking tour guides for two different walking tours. What bad luck! We made the most of our time, though. The Anne Frank House was as haunting as I remember from seven years ago. The most moving part for me was seeing the pencil marks on the wall tracing the children`s heights during their time in hiding.

We stayed at a Christian hostel during our visit. Perhaps a strange choice for Amsterdam, but I remembered the hostel I stayed at last time as so dirty and sketchy, that I welcomed a place that didn`t allow drugs inside. It was very clean inside and was one of the nicest hostels I`ve stayed at.

We took a train to Paris this morning. Rachel spent the train ride knitting a hat and listening to her ipod while I devoured a paperpack and neglected the essay drafts nagging from my backback. We are staying at a budget hotel for the next two nights. It`s not the Ritz but we feel like royalty having our very own room. We`re enjoying local cuisine and have been nibbling on the same wedge of Brie all afternoon. Rachel said she`d give me 20 Euros if I`d eat the rest of it because we`re so sick of it.

Tomorrow we plan to see all of Paris (wish us luck) before heading to southern Spain on Thursday afternoon.

Amsterdam

2006-12-10T16:37:00.000Z

This must be quick because we're in a very expensive internet cafe. We're off and running on our Euro adventure. The last few days at Westcott were busy and emotional. I started crying Friday morning at the end of the Advent carol service, continued straight through mulled wine, mince pies, and goodbye hugs, and finally tapered off when Rachel and I were sightseeing in Cambridge.

We've had a great time in Amsterdam so far. We stayed on a houseboat B & B last night, which was lovely except for the time we spent walking aimlessly in a hail storm trying to find it. We strolled round last night soaking in the night life of Amsterdam which is, as you would expect, unlike anywhere else in the world. Luckily today has been sunny. We've been walking a lot and have spent most of the day in some fantastic museums and have seen beautiful works by Rembrandt, Van Gogh, Gauguin, and others. We'll wrap up the day with a comedy show tonight. Tomorrow we're going on a walking tour and will see the Anne Frank House.

Arrival!

2006-12-07T12:27:00.000Z

Schwester arrived safe and sound today. We're laying low so she can recover from her red-eye flight. Tonight is the end-of-the-term formal hall and tomorrow we'll tour around Cambridge before leaving on Saturday.

Christingle

2006-12-06T21:48:00.000Z

I just returned from the Westcott Christingle service. From what I’ve ascertained, Christingle services are tradition here in England, even though they have only really been celebrated this way since the 1970’s. We celebrated today because it is St. Nicholas’ Day, but one of my friends said they also have Christingles on Christmas Eve.

This service is designed for children, which were certainly there in abundance. I think kids are cute, but let me tell you - kids with English accents are about ten times cuter. Even cuter than that is when they are decked out in Santa outfits. I participated in the service as part of the skit which told the story of St. Nicholas. Our (female) Vice Principal played the part of St. Nick, complete with a poster-board bishop’s miter. I was one of the three daughters to whom St. Nick gives financial assistance. It was a humorous version of the story; the narrator’s explanation that the daughters’ poor father was worried that he wouldn’t have money for dowries and he feared that they “would have to remain spinsters for the whole of their lives” was met with their response, “Oi!! Has thirty years of feminism passed you by?” and “You’re just using this sketch to push the agenda of a white male patriarchal elitist hegemony, aren’t you?” In our version, St. Nick’s moolah ultimately goes to fund graduate school and entrepreneurial endeavors. I know, I know: typecasting.

The highlight of the ceremony is when the children (and, in this case, trans-Atlantic visitors as well) receive their Christingle. Apparently this symbol is Moravian in origins, but has been incorporated into English tradition by a children’s charity, which accepts donations in exchange for the supplies for the Christingles and for which people at Christingle services pray. The Christingle is made of an orange (the world) with a red band (Christ’s blood shed for us), four toothpicks of sweets (the fruit of the earth in the four seasons), and a tall white candle (Jesus as the light of the world come to us at Christmas).

It really was a charming service and I delighted in being part of it. As for the Christingle, I lit it long enough to take this picture… then I ate it.

Brimming

2006-12-06T14:14:00.000Z

I have only a few days left in Cambridge and my heart is so full that it feels like a brimming cup. My lack of blogging in recent days is not because I have nothing to say, but because there is so much to say that it is overwhelming. I have to concentrate. Balance. Make lists. Pack. Finish essays. Keep level. If I stand back and think about what it means to leave this place, I fear I’ll overflow.

I don’t know exactly what this experience has been for me, nor do I think I’ll be able to understand how it has changed me for quite some time yet. But I do know, with absolute certainty, that this has been a very important time of formation for me – both as a person and as someone called to ministry. An inscription on the bell that is rung before prayer here reads “the one who calls is faithful” (1 Thessalonians). This has certainly been true for me. I felt called here, even though I did not know why, and I responded in spite of the emotional hardships of leaving YDS, relationships, and things very dear to me. God has been faithful, though, and I am emerging much richer than I was when I arrived. I was called here for a reason, I know that. I’m excited to see what that reason is someday.

This week is a collage of “lasts” and goodbyes. My last evening prayer at Margaret Beaufort and tea with the girls afterward. My last tutor group breakfast. Debriefing our experience as international students with the community here. Last formal hall. Last tutorial. Last nighttime bike ride. Last cooked breakfast (thank goodness for that one). The only “last” I haven’t seemed able to achieve is turning in that last essay - oopsies. I have felt so affirmed in being a part of these communities that these last few days have been very overwhelming. Each moment seems poignant, as though I’m already cherishing the memories as I make them.

Fear not, these emotional, transition postings will only last a bit longer. Soon enough I will return to travel-log mode and give full accounts of the Euro-Schwester-Extravangza. Stay tuned.

Small World

2006-12-03T13:45:00.000Z

I just had coffee with Claire, a woman who was a resident on the second floor of Mehling Hall at University of Portland when I was a Resident Assistant there in 2000-01. We’ve just figured out she lives right across Jesus Lane here in Cambridge, where she has a fellowship to study neuroscience (smarty-pants). Seriously, she lives within a block of me; I pass her house every day. We had a lovely catch-up and compared notes on our efforts to re-create our Salzburg experiences by being here. I only wish we had realized we were neighbors before my last week in town.

Westcott Weekly Notoriety

2006-12-02T16:05:00.000Z

An excerpt from this week’s Westcott Weekly, a satirical student-written publication:

"On the back of success in Manchester and forthcoming projects in Somerset, Westcott are seeking to engage in mission closer to home. A new bureau has been established which aims to secure the residency of international refugees by launching their glittering careers in popular music [profits helpfully diverted to the Development Office].

Our first initiative is to retain our American visitors. Noticing the huge gulf left in the popular music market by the tragic demise of the Spice Girls, it is our intention to harness their talents in a new Christian-pop music phenomenon: American Spice. This project will launch the careers of Blazer Spice, Deep South Spice, Kick-Ass Catholic Spice, Coxing Spice, and Sound-of-Music Spice.

Projects in the pipeline include a Canto-pop sensation for which we are seeking a Hong Kong duo. "

Guess which spice I am? Hint: it’s not Sound-of-Music Spice.

Euro-Schwester-Extravaganza '06-'07

2006-11-30T14:30:00.000Z

When we were little, my sister and I decided that we loved each other so much that the word "love" was insufficient to convey our feelings. We invented a new word, whose rough translation means "I love you even more than 'I love you' means." (Sorry, I can't tell you the word; it's confidential. You'll have to make up your own word.) It is still a common statement at the end of our conversations and e-mails.

One week from today Rachel arrives from Colorado. We will be spending four weeks traveling together over the Christmas and New Year's holidays on the "Euro-Schwester-Extravaganza '06-'07," as I like to call it. She has never been to Europe before and I am eager to introduce her to his beautiful continent. We have very ambitious plans which include stops in the Netherlands (Amsterdam), France (Paris), Spain (Barcelona, Granada, and Seville), Italy (Cinque Terra, Florence, Venice, and Rome for Christmas), the Czech Republic (Prague and Cesky Krumlov for New Year's), and Austria (Salzburg). All in four weeks. We may sound nuts, but I think we can do it.

My sister and I are very close, but we are also very different. Take the way we've each prepared for this big trip, for example: I have researched hostels, train timetables, and bought plane tickets, compiled the information into a spreadsheet, and inundated her with e-mails about what she should and should not pack. Rachel, on the other hand, has lovingly knitted us each a warm hat or her own design and impeccable crafts(wo)manship for the cold trip, along with making us hand-sewn passport holders from one of our mother's old scarves. Rachel is a hard-working vegetarian organic farmer. I eat things like frozen chicken pot pies and prefer not to get dirty if I can avoid it. I'm at home in a musty cathedral, while I think she's probably more comfortable on a hiking trail. Despite these differences, though, I think that in the last few years we've found ourselves to be more similar than we ever expected to be.

She is two and a half years younger than I am, although, admittedly, I still treat her like she's twelve sometimes. I am acutely that we are in a small window of life when we are old enough to take a trip like this and appreciate each other as adults, but still young enough to have the freedom from life's weightier responsibilities (careers, children, mortgages) to allow us this opportunity. It is a very precious time and I expect that we'll cherish the memories of this trip for decades to come.

Gold Star

2006-11-30T14:06:00.000Z

Yesterday marked the last day of classes. If you are surprised that the term seems to have gone by so quickly and if it seems to you like my classes started just last week, you’re not alone – it feels that way for me, too! Now I have a week to finish my essays, say my goodbyes, and pack all my belongings. I have a hunch it’s going to be a rough week.

I deserve a gold star for perfect attendance this term, too, which I think is a “first” for me. When the term is only eight weeks long, missing a class means missing 1/8 of the course. That’s powerful motivation to get your tush to class, even if you woke up at 4:00 that morning to catch a flight from Dublin.

Sorry, Yale friends, that you’re still in school. Sometimes I think I may have gotten the better end of this exchange deal…

The Hills are Alive

2006-11-30T12:19:00.000Z

The very first thing I did when I arrived in Salzburg, Austria, seven and a half years ago was to drop my suitcase in my room and find The Sound of Music Tour. (The Sound of Music is set in Salzburg, you know.) During our year in Salzburg we watched the movie often, to the point where we knew most of it by heart. When we returned to the US, watching the movie almost seemed like watching bits of a friend’s home video.

Somewhere in the mean time, though, I lost touch with The Sound of Music. S.O.M. came to mean “School of Management” instead of its rightful meaning. The pattern on the curtains/play clothes faded in my mind.

I got back to my Sound of Music roots by attending the new musical production in London Monday night, and it felt like coming home. I had to remind myself that neither Julie Andrews nor Christopher Plummer were going to walk onstage, but once I accepted that, I really enjoyed the production. The set was very impressive, with large swastika banners unfurling throughout the theatre during the part where the Trapp family sing at the festival near the end. There was also a large flying-saucer-disk thing that tilted up and down to represent the mountain, giving tremendous depth and scale to the stage. (And yes, Maria did the requisite twirl through its “meadow” during her first song.) The intricacies of the set did prove to be a drawback, though, as the performance was interrupted and the curtain drawn for 15 minutes during the first act due to technical difficulties.

The only disappointing part was during the Lonely Goatherd song. One of the top five moments of the movie, hands down (and I just dare you to disagree with me), is the part where they sing, “soon the duet will become a trio” followed by tiny baby goat voice “lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo.” We used to demand that all people be silent during this part, and if a person dared to ruin the baby goat yodel, we would simply rewind and watch again until we could enjoy it uninterrupted. Alas, there is no baby goat voice in the London production; it is just sung like normal.

All in all, though, it was a delightful experience, and it made me very excited to return to Salzburg next month.

And mother superior definitely stole the show; I honestly felt like I really could climb every mountain when she sang to me.

Compline

2006-11-26T23:46:00.000Z

My name finally came up on the prayer officiant rota and I was responsible for leading this evenings Compline. I'll admit, I was a bit nervous, as there seems to be more-than-moderate attention paid to liturgical precision here. There is a "right" way of doing nearly everything, including which candle of the two on the altar to light first. It is understandable in a house of ministry formation to be attentive to such details, but since I'm the kind of person who often only figures out the "right" way by stumbling into the "wrong" way, it doesn't make me feel particularly at ease.

It turns out I didn't have much to worry about. Compline is optional (as opposed to 7:40 morning prayer and 6:05 evening prayer) and only two other folks showed up. The cantor didn't even make it. Sure, I made some minor goofs in a few places, but I think it went fine. Now I feel more ready to lead Thursday morning prayer, where there are sure to be more people in attendance.

The best part: I even got to ring the call-to-prayer bell, something I have to restrain myself from doing every time I walk by that sturdy metal bell and taunting dangly rope.

St. John's Advent Carol Service

2006-11-26T09:55:00.000Z

Weeks ago, based on a tip from one of the Westcott women who studied at YDS last year, I requested tickets to St. John’s Advent Carol Service. St. John’s is one of the beautiful old colleges here in Cambridge and it touts a boys’ choir just as renowned as the one at King’s. Last night I donned my snappiest attire and spent an hour and a half in Advent music bliss. The recording of last night’s service will be broadcast on BBC Radio 3 next weekend, and I highly recommend it.

The Little Things

2006-11-23T23:22:00.000Z

In true Thanksgiving tradition, I've been thinking a lot about the things for which I'm thankful. I'm overwhelmed by the blessings my life and have so many important things to be thankful for: a God who created me, knows me completely and - even so - loves me more than I can understand, a family which is overwhelmingly supportive and loving, meaningful and enriching friendships, education, the opportunity to travel - the list is endless.

There are so many big things to be thankful for, but there are so many little things as well. Here are the bits and bobs of my daily life in Cambridge that make me happy; for them, I am thankful:

The stretch of Sedwick Ave where I can pedal my bike really fast at night and pretend I'm seven years old again
The big pitcher of cream next to the puddings (desserts) that you can pour on anything
My big black Guinness mug filled with tea
Fresh towels
The tiny fireplace in my room
The little bits of lemon or lime that float in my G&T from the college bar
The rare occasion when they serve porridge for breakfast
Getting calls on Skype
Finding out that people read my blog
Bits of gossip from YDS
Things being described as "brilliant"
My striped gloves that make me feel spunky
Travelzoo Weekly Top 20 e-mail
My blinking bicycle lights, especially when I put them on the really fast setting
Cornish pasties
The old, nicked wood of my desk
Feminist Biblical Interpretation
That my lock on my door here says "Yale"
Thursday afternoons stretching into evening at Margaret Beaufort
Novels
My snooze button
Church songs I recognize
Trains - especially when I get two seats to myself
Curling up under my duvet at night
Facebook
New entries on my friends' blogs
Saturday mornings
McVitties carmel chocolate digestive biscuits
Half-sheets of scrap paper to write lists on
Postcards that I keep
My pashmina
Travel books
Silence
Knowing how to ride the bus
Being Catholic
Trying to talk in a British accent
Gospel choir rehearsal
Indigo Girls
No TV
Two pound coins
Going into the dining hall and knowing I can sit anywhere I want to
Rotas
Celebrity gossip
The wobbly stone in the walkway by my room which makes a satisfying shift and thunk when I step on it just right
The few flowers that stubbornly bloom in November
Timetables
The smell of fog
The bells that ring around Cambridge almost without ceasing on Sundays
My favorite jeans which are paper-thin in the knees
Notebook paper with 4 holes instead of 3
The almost daily e-mail conversations with my college girlfriends
Looking at pictures on my digital camera right after I take them
The bell calling us to prayer
My big red travel backpack with lots of pockets
My very own pigeon hole
Chips (French fries) from the take-out place dipped in mayonnaise
Knee-high socks
Shiny earrings
High-speed internet
Travel-sized bottles of lotions and shampoos
Ribbons marking places in prayer books
Tea-light candles in heavy glass holders

Feel free to add some of the little things that make you happy in the comments section.

Thanksgiving in Cambridge

2006-11-23T09:50:00.000Z

Thanksgiving has been in the air here at Westcott. A group of Americans (5 of whom are here just for the term, another two of whom are doing their whole degree at Westcott) have been working feverishly to share our Thanksgiving celebration with the Westcott community. We felt that, this was our opportunity to do something in return for the community which has given us so much. Biscuits and pies were baked, American-themed decorations were hung, and Ian, Sara, Cheshire, and I spent Sunday afternoon making 70 turkey-hand placemats out of construction paper while watching a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.

Last night we had a formal hall (one of our fancy dinners) complete with turkey, stuffing, green beans, cranberry sauce and mashed potato/sweet potato hash. We had pies and mulled cider in the common room where all the Americans shared a little about their Thanksgiving traditions back home and all were invited to say something they were for which they were thankful. I was really touched by how willing people were to speak openly about the blessings in their lives. Then we had a dance party until late. It was a wonderful Thanksgiving.

Tonight we will have a bit of a Thanksgiving themed dinner at Margaret Beaufort, too. Susan, the principal who doubles on Thursdays as gourmet chef, is making turkey stir fry and pumpkin pies. I helped her with some of the prep work for a few hours yesterday afternoon. (I tried to warn her about my disastrous track record in the kitchen, but she wanted my help nonetheless.) In the midst of the academic chaos of the end of the term, those few hours of measuring, chopping, and washing were a welcome respite of calm.

I’m thankful to be able to celebrate the holiday with both of my communities in Cambridge – communities for which have welcomed me in with overwhelming hospitality. Communities for which I offer thanks this year.

Oh no!

2006-11-21T15:53:00.000Z

I just went to the theatre to pick up our Wicked tickets for tonight and found out that Idina will NOT be performing. Instead, her understudy will do her part. Now I'm in an internet cafe, furiously trying to coordinate with my friends via e-mail about if we should try to exchange our tickets for another night or not. The problem is that we're running out of other nights.

Idina, if you're reading my blog, please, please, please change your mind and perform tonight. Or come up to Cambridge for a private concert. That would be acceptable as well.

{Update, November 23: Turns out Idina's understudy was probably EVEN BETTER than Idina would have been. The girl could sing. The show was magical and I'm very glad I went. It would have been worth it just to see Wicked with British accents - what a riot!}

Saturday in London

2006-11-21T10:23:00.000Z

It's funny, but it seems like the times I least want to do something I end up enjoying it the most. At parties where I plan to just make a quick appearance, I end up dancing until 3 a.m., books I read because I've been goaded into it captivate me, and doing things out of a sense of obligation end up the most rewarding. Such was the case with my day trip to London on Saturday. I agreed to go with the group of international students since our esteemed colleague and leader went to the effort of coordinating it. I was tired, stressed out about the work I needed to be doing, and overall unenthused, but since I'd committed, I went.

It ended up being one of the best days in London I've had. The weather was clear, sunny, and warm, feeling more like early October than mid November. We started the day at Borough Market, where the people-watching amid the hustle and bustle was superb. It is one of the oldest continual markets in London and sits in the shadow of the flat which served as Bridget Jones' residence in the movies. We popped into the lovely Southwalk Cathedral where several of my friends here will be ordained before walking along the Thames to the Globe Theatre. I've wanted to see this recreation of Shakespeare's original playhouse for some time and it didn't disappoint (except that I wasn't able to find a suitable souvenir for my friend Erik's fabulous new theatre, the Horatio).

After lunch on the Thames, we parted ways. I ended up spending the afternoon with Frankie, a priest visiting from Hong Kong. We walked over the Millennium Bridge and climbed the 400+ stairs to the tip top of St. Paul's Cathedral, with London spread out below us far into the distance. We spent the remainder of the afternoon strolling through Regent Street, Oxford Circus, China Town (where Frankie treated me to my first taste of Chinese fried dough - yum!), and ended with a cup of tea at Leicester Square as the sun set over the city.

The day wasn't over, though, because we met up with the rest ofPiccadillyp at Picadilly Circus and headed to a Taize service at Westminster Abbey. This liturgy was part of the "Pilgrimage of Trust" where some of the brothers from Taize provide Taize worship for people who want to experience it but can't get all the way to France. Although we sat on the floor for the two-hour liturgy, the music was beautiful and it was a lovely way to end the day. Perhaps the highlight was listening to Rowan Williams (head of the Anglican Church - kind of like the pope for Episcopalians, my dear Catholic readers) preach with Isaac Newton's tomb as his backdrop. Rowan Williams sat only 15 feet away from me throughout the service and I got to shake his hand at the end. I would have shaken Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O'Connor's hand at the end of the service as well, but I couldn't find him.

It was a fantastic day which, even though I was tuckered out by the ride home, was well-worth the trip. I am actually off to London yet again today to visit CAFOD (Catholic Agency for Overseas Development), where the wife of one of the students here works and has graciously invited me to visit. Hey, I only have a few months left to figure out what I'm going to do with my life before the great Job Search 2007. Then tonight we have tickets to see Idina Menzel (one of my favorite actresses) star in Wicked, which I've been looking forward to for months.

The photos from my day in London are online now in the "London" album. You can also see pictures from Julia's fabulous birthday party under "Westcott Friends." photos.yahoo.com/angelabatie

Off to Hogwarts

2006-11-19T13:47:00.000Z

With three essays due in the next three weeks, I have decided to retire my studies of theology and undertake a new degree program in witchcraft. I’ve transferred to Hogwarts and will begin classes there immediately. One of my friends took this photo of me at platform 9 ¾ at King’s Cross Station as I pushed my luggage cart through the wall to board the Hogwarts Express. Henceforth, I will be blogging via owl.

Dublin

2006-11-19T13:03:00.000Z

Four of us went to Dublin last weekend, a trip we'd been planning for awhile. We left Westcott at 4:40 a.m. Friday to catch a bus to Stansted airport for our early flight. Since our room wasn’t ready for check-in when we arrived in Dublin, we dropped our luggage off and bounded onward to see the Book of Kells at Trinity College. The Book of Kells is an intricately illustrated set of the four Gospels made around the 9th century. I’ve wanted to see it since I studied it in Art History seven years ago and it was very impressive. We retreated to our hotel for a much-needed afternoon snooze, after which we went to the Temple Bar area. Although this is the hub of nightlife activity in Dublin, it wasn’t exactly hopping when we arrived at 5:30. We tried out a couple of pubs (which, shockingly, are very similar to all the Irish pubs I’ve visited in other parts of the world), had dinner, and turned in early (except for John, who insisted on hitting the town instead of the pillow).

We ventured to the fishing village of Howth, just a few miles outside of Dublin, on our second day in an effort to get out of the city. The fishing boats docked along the dock were delightful and a seal even bobbed up out of the water to greet us. After a leisurely pub lunch we hiked to the summit of the town, enjoying the views while we clowned around in the unbelievably strong wind. When we returned to Dublin that evening we went to a pub down the street to enjoy some authentic Irish music. This was the highlight of the trip for me. Although the ensemble consisted of only a guy on guitar and a gal on the fiddle or flute, the music was beautiful and the pub was lively. There’s something about Irish music that seems to reach right into my core. One of the songs was so melancholic that it was as if it were singing every heartbreak I’ve ever felt, every dream left unrealized, every tragedy ever witnessed, and every goodbye ever said. She might have just as well been playing my heartstrings instead of her fiddle. I recovered quickly, though, as the next song proved to be a rowdy drinking song. What a fun night.

We tried to cram everything else into our third and final day. Cheshire, John, and I went on a historic walking tour which was a little heavy on the history and a little light on the walking, but very good nonetheless. It’s easy to forget just how recently Ireland has been plagued by conflict. I ate honest-to-goodness Irish Stew for lunch before we went on a tour of the Guinness Storehouse. I went because it seemed to be a compulsory activity for a trip to Dublin, but I was pleasantly surprised by how well-done and interesting the whole place is. After we went through the self-guided tour, we ended up at the top-story bar, where we not only got a free pint of Guinness, but we also enjoyed a fantastic view of Dublin as well. We walked the long way back to our B&B in order to pass by St. Patrick’s Cathedral, which was dark and closed by this time, unfortunately. After picking up a few souvenirs, we returned home to pack and head to bed early, since we needed to get up at 4:00 for our flight Monday morning.

To be very honest, although I had a lovely time, I was a little disappointed. I have wanted to go to Ireland for years and I built it up in my head as one of the greatest places in the world. I think I would have liked my visit more had I gone somewhere other than Dublin because it felt a lot like other big cities in Europe. The countryside and smaller towns probably would have offered a better opportunity to get to know Irish culture and landscape. Still, the people I met in Dublin were charming and I’m very glad I had the chance to spend the weekend there.

Dancing Queen

2006-11-18T08:19:00.000Z

You haven't danced until you've danced in a room full of Anglican ordinands. Julia's birthday party last night was the most fun I've had in quite some time.

I'm off the London for the day with the international students. Thanksgiving preparations begin tomorrow. More on that later.

New Pictures

2006-11-15T12:39:00.000Z

I've posted new photos here. Look for the new albums for Dublin, Wales (more of which will be added when Sara downloads her photos since my battery ran out 4 hours into the trip), Ely, and Norwich. I've also added photos that Sara took to the Iona, 3-Day Tour of Scotland, and Edinburgh albums. For pictures of life at Westcott, including Formal Hall and Guy Fawkes Day, look in the Cambridge album. Happy clicking!

My Pet Peeve

2006-11-15T10:55:00.000Z

My biggest pet peeve for years has been sinks with two faucets. (I use the term faucet to refer to the metal thing from which the water flows. Is there another name for it?) Two nobs are fine, but two spigots? Illogical and irritating. I imagine most of you have encountered a dual-font sink at some point, but they are thankfully rare in the U.S. The reason I hate them may be obvious: while you have access to both hot and cold water, you have no way to mix them into warm water. Hence, washing your hands results in either freezing digits or scalded skin.

Every stinkin' sink in England has two faucets. In fact, the rare occurrence when I find a mono-spigot sink is reason for frivolity and celebration. The picture above is the sink in my room. Note how far apart the two faucets are. In order to wash my face, I need to make a cup shape with my hands, hold them under the cold water, swiftly and smoothly move them to under the hot water all the way in the other corner of the sink, add enough hot to make the water warm, then try in vain to get some of the few remaining drops of moderate-temperature water onto my face.

It’s not just my room sink, either. As I said, it seems that every sink in England is designed the same way. Kitchen sinks. Hotel sinks. Public restroom sinks. Most of these sinks have a stopper as well, but there is no way I’m stopping up the sink in a public restroom and using the puddle of warm water to wash my hands. That’s a quick way to get some crazy disease – Bird Flu, Ebola, or the Plague anyone?

I like the English way of life quite a lot, but I think this is a major flaw. Dear British friends, please think about purchasing some lovely, one-spigot sinks. Check out the Home Depot faucet page if you need examples, where nary a two-headed faucet can be found. You’ll thank me for it. I promise.

My New Favorite Saint

2006-11-14T23:50:00.000Z

I’m crazy about a woman. It’s true. She keeps popping up in my thoughts and her influence is shaping my life and spirituality in new and exciting ways. She’s also from the 14th century. Just over a week ago I took a day trip to Norwich, home of St. Julian. I had been encountering her works lately through various venues and have been falling for her ever since.

Julian’s writing are filled with inspirational thoughts, perhaps the best-known of which is the assurance “all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” Other beautiful quotes include “God said not, ‘Thou shalt not be afflicted’, but ‘Thou shalt not be overcome’,” and “I am that which is highest. I am that which is lowest. I am that which is All.” She spoke of the motherhood of God, something we seem to still have a hard time doing today. Her Revelations of Divine Love is considered the first book written by a woman in the English language. She is not a peddler of cheap optimism, but of grounded, faithful hope and deep trust in a God who is defined by love. It resonates fully and loudly with my sense of God, my sense of self, and my sense of faith. It’s as though she wrote these things just for me.

The funny thing is that I think my wise mom gave me a book of St. Julian’s writings a few years back. It sits on my bookshelf, unread, abandoned with half-hearted good intentions to pick it up one of these days. My mom seems to always know what my spirit needs before I do. How does she do that? One thing is certain: that book will be spine-broken and dog-eared within weeks of my return to the U.S.

Visiting St. Julian’s shrine was definitely the highlight of my day trip to Norwich (pronounced Nor-ich). We wound through a tiny alley in order to find the small church and even smaller room where she lived her life shut away. The room was unimpressive, containing a small altar, a few signs, and some candles. However, as I knelt in meditation, out of nowhere I found myself crying. (Seriously. One minute I'm on a train and feeling fine, the next I'm sniveling on the floor of some church. Good grief.) I wasn’t crying from heartbreak, or from hurt, or frustration. Instead, I cried because I felt so deeply grateful for the confident assurance that God cares for me, has a plan for me, and that “all shall be well.” Lately I’ve been carrying around the good-byes and uncertainties of the next year – leaving Cambridge, graduating from YDS, moving yet again, trying to find a job – like a brick in my stomach. I felt all of that ease away as the comforting words of Julian rolled over my soul like waves sculpting a beach. All shall be well.

The rest of our visit to Norwich was lovely, if fairly typical. The cathedral was very beautiful, and the modern statues and hand-crafted banners showed that it houses a living congregation instead of resting like some kind of museum relic. The evensong we attended was very nice, filled with all the pomp at ritual that could fit. My favorite thing in the cathedral was the copper baptismal font which is a hand-me-down from the chocolate factory. Imagine being baptized in a former chocolate-making kettle! That might be the ultimate spiritual experience, at least in my sweet-toothed world.

Luck o' the Irish

2006-11-09T23:06:00.000Z

It has been a busy week here; I've been planning liturgies, meeting with professors about my essays (eek!), and a slew of other time-consuming things. I wish I had time to blog about my day in Norwich last weekend, community night at Margaret Beaufort tonight, and other happenings, but I can't right now because... I'm going to Dublin! Not this minute, but at 4:30 a.m., so I need to hit the hay. I've never been to Ireland before and I've wanted to go for a very long time. We return early Monday morning, so we'll have three solid days there. I'll be sure to give a full report next week.

Formal hall

2006-11-08T16:12:00.000Z

I attended my first formal hall last night. Formal Hall is something that takes place in almost all of the Cambridge colleges, including Westcott House. In the other colleges it usually means that students wear their academic robes to dinner. At Westcott we just dress up nicely. Dinner is fancier than normal, with sit-down service instead of the buffet, tables dressed with tablecloths and candles, and gourmet cuisine. Last night’s menu included pate, fork-tender lamb, and a delicious mint-chocolate ice cream pie.

Beyond the dining finery, though, formal hall is nice because of the air of celebration. When the same people you see every day in jeans and fleece don ties and nylons (not usually on the same person, mind you), it feels like something special is going on. It was a lovely evening, even though I had to pass up continuing the celebration in the bar because I had to finish putting together the prayer I lead for our tutor group this morning. The next formal hall will be on November 22nd and will be comprised of a Thanksgiving feast, complete with special touches by the American students. I’m already looking forward to it.

Guy Fawkes

2006-11-06T15:55:00.000Z

My friend, Erik, studied in London for awhile, so before I came to England I asked him what I should do while I’m here. Alongside the requisite list of museums and sights, he said, “Don’t forget to celebrate Guy Fawkes Day on the 5th of November.” Always a sucker for a good holiday, I dutifully marked the day in my diary, with no actual knowledge or interest in who Guy Fawkes was and why he gets his own day. After all, this is the girl who spent much of her young life thinking that one of our country’s founders was a guy named Richard Stanz. (“And to the republic, for Richard Stanz, one nation, under God…”) Discovering the details of the historic characters to whom we pay tribute has never been a priority for me.

It wasn’t until I got around to looking Guy Fawkes up on wikipedia a few weeks ago that my Roman Catholic sensitivities were aroused. It turns out that Guy Fawkes was one of a group of Catholic conspirators who attempted to blow up parliament in 1605 in an effort to oust the Protestant regime. Festivities on November 5th celebrate the day his plan was foiled. I agree: blowing up parliament = not very nice. However, it seems like early celebrations were more of an anti-Catholic extravaganza, with effigies of the pope burned in bonfires and poems that included talk of choking him.

Crisis! What was I to do? Celebrate this holiday and feel like a hypocrite or steadfastly refuse to turn against my spiritual family and miss a good celebration, not to mention important cultural event (and I really like fireworks, too!). My anxieties were assuaged by my Catholic friends at Margaret Beaufort, who assured me that there is no anti-Catholic sentiment in modern celebrations, nor has there been for quite some time. Instead, they spoke of a holiday which reminded me very much of our Independence Day (except with gloves and hats instead of shorts and sunscreen) mixed with a bit of Halloween. Families would build bonfires and eat sausages. Children would make their own dummy (a “guy”) and wheel it from door to door in an old pram or wagon, chanting “penny for the guy.” Neighbors would ooh and ahh over the guy and give some pennies to the children, which went to buying wood for the fire.

Apparently new regulations surrounding bonfires have severely limited the ability of families to celebrate in the traditional manor, which, not unrelated, seems to correspond with the recent and drastic increase in the attention paid to the Halloween in England. Instead, the city has a large fireworks display. I went with a group from Westcott to the big field down the street to watch the show. The constant flow of revelers, families, and friends felt like 4th of July celebrations in Tacoma. We watched the impressive fireworks display, after which a large bonfire was lit at the end of the field. My favorite part was the very English announcer requesting that the crowd “make some noise” (to be read with British accent), to which the proper crowd made a nearly inaudible muffled cheer/grunt. I guess they didn’t want to make some noise. We returned to Westcott to eat homemade chili in the common room/bar and enjoy each other’s company. It was a lovely night.

Today

2006-11-06T12:34:00.000Z

It's a clear, glorious November day here in Cambridge. It's the kind of day where hats and scarves are more fashion than function. It's the kind of day where everything seems possible.

Half Term

2006-11-04T22:52:00.000Z

It is half-term here, which means the place has cleared out and most folks have left Cambridge for hometowns, London, or other adventures. The phrase “half-term” indicates – perhaps you can guess – the point halfway through the term. School children seem to get a week off of school, but for Westcott it means no evening prayer on Friday, giving people a 2-and-a-half-day weekend. This is the only break in the term, much unlike YDS, which seems to have a reading week every month. I’m sticking around Westcott because I went away last weekend and will be gone next weekend as well. This weekend is for doing laundry, catching up on homework (and blogging), celebrating Guy Fawkes Day, and a day trip to Norwich.

But, even though it feels like a normal weekend for me, the idea that I’m now halfway through my time at Westcott seems unbelievable. On one hand, it feels like I’ve been here forever. I automatically hoard 20-pence coins for the good laundry dryer, I communicate with people via notes in “pigeonholes” with ease, and the bits of British lexicon which puzzled me at first I now hear tumbling out of my mouth. On the other hand, it feels like I’ve only just arrived here. I was talking with my sister on the phone (well, technically the computer, thanks to Skype) on Wednesday. When we were hanging up she said “I’ll see you in five weeks.” I honestly thought she was kidding, but, sure enough, my diary revealed that in five weeks the term will be over, my papers will be completed (oh please, I hope my papers are completed), and I will be traveling with my sister. Time is a strange creature. Just when you feel like you’ve finally hit your stride the finish line is already looming.

Wales: Not Just Aquatic Mammals Anymore

2006-11-04T22:32:00.000Z

OK, fellow Americans (English folks, please refrain from answering. You too, Dad; you know too much stuff.), name three things about Wales. Hmm… Diana was the Princess of Wales. It’s near England. People from Wales are called “Welsh.” Can you come up with anything else? Perhaps the name of a Welsh city? Yeah, I couldn’t either. All I really knew is that I hadn’t been there before, which is reason enough for a visit by my standards.

Sara and I were so taken with the tour company we used for our three-day tour of Scotland (about which, by the way, I never blogged. Life went on and it seemed like old news. Suffice it to say it was fantastic. We made friends, saw the beautiful Scottish Highlands countryside and various historic sites, ate haggis, drank whiskey, slept near Loch Ness, you get the picture), that we decided to take the same tour company’s three-day tour of Wales. We left Westcott at 5:00 a.m. on Friday in order to make our 7:15 departure from London. Just like our first tour, our tour guide was a Scottish man named Dougie. Rather than seeing this as coincidence, Sara and I determined it was a good omen.

Sara and I took our customary seats in the front of the bus (extra leg room, better entertainment listening to Dougie’s rants, best view in the bus) for the long drive to Wales. We quickly were dubbed “blondie” (Sara) and “the other girl” (me), which pretty much remained our identities throughout the tour. Dougie, who also served as DJ, ensured that the music contained a fair representation of Welsh singers, which basically meant we listened to Charlotte Church and Tom Jones for much of the trip. He dispensed such important information as:
- the knowledge that the passing town is where the bacon slicer was invented
- “Kellogg” means “chicken” in Welsh, which is why corn flakes boxes bear a picture of poultry
- Tennis was first played in Wales
- The Welsh have the most microwaves per capita of any country in the world
- Jack Daniels and Captain Morgan have their origins in Wales

Welsh is considered one of the most expensive languages because every bit of text, from road signs to government documents, is printed in both English and Welsh. This ensured that that I got a fair exposure to the language just by watching the signs near the road. I quickly surmised that vowels must be going extinct in Wales. Full words, like “bwlch” lacked a customary “e” or “o” and letter combinations like “fydd” and “gwthiwch” were not atypical.

The morning of the first day included a visit to Chepstow Castle, where we were able to stand with one foot in England and the other in Wales, followed by a stop at Tintern Abbey. We climbed the hill to a burnt-out, vegetation-supporting frame of a small church skirted by a very old graveyard. From this poetry-inspiring place we gazed upon the magnificent shell of Tintern Abbey below. We bought the requisite Welsh love spoons in the gift shop, which are part of a charming yet strange tradition where young men would decoratively carve wooden spoons to give to the woman they wished to court. Our lunch stop was at Caerphilly where we ate a Cornish pasty (one of the most brilliant English inventions) while overlooking one of Europe’s largest ruined castles.

In our afternoon drive toward Abergavenny we passed Aberfan within a week of the 40-year anniversary of the coal-mining disaster that killed 116 schoolchildren, eliminating an entire generation of the small town in the blink of an eye. We disembarked from the bus in Brecon Beacons for a short hike to a waterfall, where Sara and I decided to take high-school-senior-portrait-esque pictures to entertain ourselves, a momentary lapse in maturity undoubtedly caused by sleep depravation. We finally reached our hostel in Abergavenny and, after a pint and dinner in the pub, turned in for an early night.

Day two’s first stop was in the charming and quirky town of Hay-on-Wye, which is renowned for its many bookstores. In the 1970’s a resident declared the town its own country (with him as ruler, naturally) and he carried a toilet plunger around as his scepter. We also stopped at the place where the last Welsh Prince of Wales (now the Prince of Wales is the heir to the English throne), Prince Llywelyn, was decapitated in 1282 and we peered into the well where his executors washed the blood off his head before bringing it back to England.

Next stop was Castle-y-Bere, which may have been the most memorable part of the trip for me. Castle-y-Bare is the ruins of the last Welsh (not English) castle. The weather was “atmospheric” with fog and mist swirling around us. We wandered the ruins and found the legend - that if you spend the night at this castle you will either wake up a poet or crazy - to be believable. We drove through by Snowden Mountain, but we couldn’t see it because the thick fog was nudging up against the bus. It felt like we were about to drive off the end of the earth. We spent the night in a hostel within the walls of the magnificent castle in Caernarfon and woke up early to watch the morning sun dance on the bay outside the walls.

Our final day was spent mostly on the road. We drove through the beautiful Snowdonia National Park, which almost made me want to go hiking (and it takes a lot to get me thinking like that). We stopped at the town with the longest name in Europe:
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, which translates to
"St Mary's church in the hollow of the white hazel near to the rapid whirlpool and the church of St. Tysilio of the red cave." Don’t be too impressed; the town adopted this as its name in the 19th century in order to improve its tourism industry. After more time on the road and a few stops, including one at an aqueduct with stunning views, we returned to England. Our final stop was at Stratford-upon-Avon which, while not in Wales, was on the way home. I saw William Shakespeare’s grave and birthplace during the 45-minute stop.

We arrived back in London at 8:00, much later than the 6:00 time advertised, and didn’t make it back to Westcott until 11:00 because of the English policy of doing rail repair work on Sundays. It was a very full weekend with beautiful sights which, although I tried to etch in my memory, are already fading. Being gone for three days set me back in my school work, but it was well worth the sacrifice. I won’t have photos for awhile because my camera battery died approximately four hours into the three-day tour (whoops), but I’ll pass some along when Sara downloads her photos.

Happy Halloween

2006-10-31T22:03:00.000Z

I'd take the opportunity of this holiday to tell you about the British attitude surrounding it and its relation to Guy Fawkes Day on November 5, but it seems that the New York Times already did that for me. How thoughtful of them! Thanks for the link, Kelli.

Tintern Abbey

2006-10-30T22:51:00.000Z

From William Worsdsworth's Tintern Abbey (1798)

… And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things…

I'll be sure to post about our fantastic three-day tour of Wales (including a stop at Tintern Abbey) later this week. I'll be spending my Halloween tomorrow at a conference in London, so I won't have time to write.

No Time to Chat

2006-10-26T10:59:00.000+01:00

The beautifully relaxed pace of my first few weeks at Westcott has suddenly churned itself into a frenzy of activity. I'm finishing an essay on Judges 19 (which, if you've never read before, you might not believe is in the Bible. Seriously, I think it is one of the most disturbing passages in the whole thing), planning Mass at Margaret Beaufort, and getting ready to head out of town for three days. Next week promises to be busy as well, as I have a conference in London on Tuesday and am singing in two choirs for our All Saints Day service on Wednesday. I won't be able to blog for a few days still, but I will give a full report of Wales and other miscellaneous Cambridge musings next week.

In the meantime, here's a photo of houseboats along the River Cam to tide you over.

Get out of Town

2006-10-24T23:11:00.000+01:00

Today, Sara and I made reservations for a three-day backpackers' tour of Wales. We depart from London early on Friday and return late Sunday. We're using the same tour company we used for our tour of Scotland because we really liked them. It will be nice to get out of town, and if it is half as beautiful as the photos on the website, it will be well worth the journey.

Ely Cathedral

2006-10-24T10:48:00.000+01:00

Saturday I visited the Cathedral at Ely, which is only a 15-minute train ride from Cambridge. It is also an 18-mile walk or bike ride, which I considered undertaking for about two seconds before deciding that this is exactly why trains were invented in the first place.

It’s a magnificent building, nearly overwhelming in proportion, and it traces its lineage back to a monastery founded in 673. Most of what is there now, as I understand it, was completed by the end of the 14th century, with major renovations since then. Unfortunately my interior pictures did not turn out well. If you look closely at the one in this post, though, you might see where statues were pummeled to obliteration by iconoclasts (people who believe that religious images are in violation of the First Commandment prohibiting idolotry) during the Reformation.

Autumn's Arrival

2006-10-22T19:50:00.000+01:00

The inevitable happened today and the defiantly long summer surrendered to autumn. I pulled out the heavy wool coat for the walk to Church and at 5 p.m. it’s already getting dark. Fallen leaves are leaving their pulpy prints on the pavement, and riding my bicycle seems less appealing than it did a week ago. I spent the drizzly afternoon in my room with a Starbucks (the first time I’ve given into the call of the green monster since I arrived, I swear), lit some gloom chasers (Mom’s word for candles), and listened to Indigo Girls while the raindrops left runny trails down the small, lead-bordered panes of my window.

My Sister's Keeper

2006-10-18T16:42:00.000+01:00

I neglected my studies a bit today to finish My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult. It raises some interesting questions surrounding medical ethics as well as telling a gripping story of a family and its complicated relationships. Definitely worth a read. Be prepared to shed a few tears, though.

My New Ride

2006-10-17T12:45:00.000+01:00

I finally rode my bicycle yesterday. Westcott arranged to let the international students use some of the abandoned bicycles in the back of the bike shed. This took a few weeks to coordinate because apparently the US isn’t the only country plagued by liability insurance bureaucratic nonsense. They gave me one of the nicest bikes since I make the trek to Margaret Beaufort daily. It’s a boy’s bike, but I don’t mind; I’m a feminist. Yesterday I wiped the dust and bird droppings off of it, bought and installed lights, and purchased a lock. I was ready to roll.

I accomplished my two primary goals in my first ride to Margaret Beaufort: to get to my destination and to not die in the process. I can’t say that the freedom of riding and the wind in my hair produced any brilliant reflections or thoughts. They must have been crowded out of my mind by the constant mantra, “Stay to the left. Stay to the left. Stay to the left.” It’s funny how something so easy for me to accomplish politically and ideologically seems so unnatural on the road.

But I channeled the image of my super-bicycle-commuter-extraordinaire friend Molly and pressed onwards. The chain rattled, as though to warn the pedestrians ahead of me that it might be prudent to dodge out of my unintentionally-reckless path. Once I got back into the swing of things, though, it was a nice ride. Seriously, there’s something to the idea that things are “just like riding a bike.” It really does come back to you. It was also nice to be able to stay at Margaret Beaufort in silent reflection after prayer for a few minutes rather than hustle back to catch dinner while it was still being served. I don’t think I’m ready to go on any lengthy bicycle adventures yet, but at least I’m getting around.

Taking my Medicine

2006-10-17T12:39:00.000+01:00

As I look toward graduating in May, I am less aware that I have completed most of my degree requirements and more aware of things I have not studied yet but probably should. Recognizing that I’ve never taken a proper introduction to Augustine and Aquinas, I decided to audit a class here covering the two theologians. My approach to it was much like my approach to medicine: I didn’t particularly want to do it, but I figured it’s good for me.

So, imagine my surprise at being captivated by the lecture today. Even more astonishing, exploring Augustine’s ideas gave me fodder for spiritual reflection and prayer. One of the more memorable thoughts was that God’s creation didn’t just happen eons ago. Actually, we only continue to exist because, in this moment, God wills us to. Without God’s creative sustenance, we would revert back to nothingness. How powerful! The fact that I can walk back to Westcott through the beautiful grounds of King’s College, the fact that I can sit and type at this computer, and the fact that I can even take the time to think about God is all a result of the fact that God wants me to be here. Even right in this moment, God is willing me to continue to exist.

There might just be something to this Augustine guy.

Disappointment: UPDATE

2006-10-16T15:52:00.000+01:00

Thanks to those of you who've made suggestions of ways to watch Grey's Anatomy. I'm happy to report that Sara has been able to download episodes on i-tunes and we've watched the first episode of the season on her computer. Hooray! We had to stop ourselves from watching all of them late into the night because, no matter what's happening at Seattle Grace, morning prayer still starts at 7:40. All it took was a little preseverance. It may seem silly, but it's a way to have a little bit of home here and to be connected with friends back in the US. And it's fun to watch.

Great Date

2006-10-15T20:01:00.000+01:00

I took myself on a date today. I must say, it was a very nice date. I whisked myself away to London by train, which only cost 13 pounds. (Apparently, I’m also a cheap date.) I was going to treat myself to a show, but there wasn’t much playing. Instead, I spent four hours in the National Gallery. Armed with an audio guide, I had a fantastic time absorbing the outstanding permanent collection and enjoying two temporary exhibits: Cezanne in Britain and Manet to Picasso. After wandering around Trafalgar and Leicester Squares, I made my way back to Cambridge. It only took an hour from boarding the train at King’s Cross before I stepped back into my room at Westcott.

You know, it was such a great date, I might just take myself out again sometime.

Lingering Summer

2006-10-14T16:51:00.000+01:00

Everyone is saying that this has been a very uncharacteristically warm October. I keep trying to take advantage of the beautiful weather because I always fear that tomorrow will bring the cold and damp I’ve heard so much about. This afternoon I decided to go for a walk along the river in the direction I hadn’t yet traveled. I wandered alongside the houseboats and watched the various crew teams practice. I eventually found myself in the next town over, where now-residential street names like “Oyster Row” and “Garlic Row” echo its past as a market center. Two hours later I arrived back at Westcott, refreshed.

Did I mention that I wore short sleeves the whole time? The weather is that beautiful. And to think New York State got record snowfall this week.

Tonight I'll attend a housewarming party (the second in as many days). Perhaps I’ll head out of town for a day trip tomorrow, destination yet to be determined.

The Greater Silence and the Greatest Disappointment

2006-10-12T23:24:00.000+01:00

I like TV. Quite a lot. In fact, more than I usually let on for fear of appearing unsophisticated and uncultured. For the same reasons, really, that I usually keep my preference for “chick lit” dime-a-dozen novels secret. But that’s beside the point.

When I prepared to move to Cambridge, I expected that I wouldn’t have access to a television. I actually began to look forward to that because, as much as I love TV, I also hate that I watch so much of it. The year I spent as a volunteer in Pennsylvania, sans boob tube, I learned to knit and play the guitar and overall felt like a sophisticated, superior person. Still, there are a few shows that I like to follow and I’m left in cliff-hanging suspense as I’m unable to watch the new episodes. Who has been “aufed” on Project Runway? Are Benson and Stabler together yet (and shush, you nay-sayers; they will get together!)? How are things on Wisteria Lane?

The show I think I miss the most is Grey’s Anatomy, which I had become accoustomed to watching weekly with friends. Sara is also a big fan and together we bemoaned our impending drought of Seattle Grace drama. So, imagine our surprise when we saw posters for GA while we traveled in London. Could it be true? Grey’s is broadcast in England on Thursday nights? When we saw that Westcott’s common room had a TV, we began to take heart and felt the warmth of hope welling inside of us. This was confirmed when we learned that the TV in the Common Room does, indeed, receive regular TV stations. Hallelujah! We would be able to watch Gray’s Anatomy, gin and tonic in hand from the seminary bar, every Thursday night.

At the start of orientation we received a 10-day schedule which details everywhere we need to be. Thursday night had a listing of “Compline and Greater Silence” beginning at 2100. I knew that compline is a type of sung prayer at the end of the day, but I was unsure of the meaning of “greater silence.” So, just as the international student orientation instructed me to do, I asked about what I didn’t understand. I was told that no one is allowed to speak in Westcott House public spaces for the rest of the evening after compline.

No speaking. At all.

Chatterbox that I am, I found the task daunting, but I could appreciate its value. In fact, I think I would find it very nice any day of the week except Thursday. But Thursday was to be TV night. Alas, our plan was foiled! Someone suggested that perhaps we could watch the TV with headphones, but I thought it would just look too pathetic to have two Americans huddled over one set of headphones, desperately trying to follow the show with one ear.

Yet, we were not to be deterred. We convinced one of our new British friends who lives in the next building over that it would be fun for all of us to watch TV in her room on Thursday. She welcomed a laid-back TV night and we thought we would finally be able to see our show. We arrived promptly at 10 last Thursday and turned on the television… but we couldn’t find Grey’s on any of the stations. We came to the sad conclusion that it must only be on cable.

So here I sit, Thursday night, knowing that Grey’s Anatomy is on all over the world and I am not watching it. Thank goodness for friends with TIVO.

Closer

2006-10-12T13:22:00.000+01:00

There is a little theatre just a few blocks away from Westcott called the ADC Theatre. I went to see Closer there last night with Sara and Cheshire (another American exchange student). The movie version left me cold, so I was curious as to if it would work better on the stage or not.

Better, yes. Terrific, no. The dialogue still seemed unrealistic and awkward to me and the storyline a bit unbelievable. It was still hard to find a character to care about. However, it was (for the most part) well acted and interestingly staged. The theatre was nice and the tickets reasonable. It felt good to get out and see some live theatre again, and I'll have many more opportunities to catch shows there since they run a different production every weekend.

I've Gone Goth

2006-10-12T12:27:00.000+01:00

Tuesday night I attended a Goth Eucharist. It’s something that I’d never heard of, but has apparently been featured in a few international news stories. It “seeks to find new ways of making the life of the Church meaningful to people from alternative, and particularly Goth communities.” I found myself wondering, “shouldn’t all churches be seeking to be meaningful to people from alternative communities?”

I went primarily because I’m making an effort to try lots of new things while I’m here. My focus in preparation was more on what I was going to wear (all black, of course), doing John’s eyeliner, and taking pictures of the other Americans Gothed-out for the event. I gave little thought to what the actual service would be like.

It turned out, unexpectedly, to be one of my favorite liturgies I’ve attended since I got here. I thought it was very well done in a number of regards. It was clear that a lot of thought was given to the space, which was decorated with candles in a cross-shape on the floor. The chairs were arranged in a semi-circle instead of pews facing the altar. A bulletin with the order of service gave a good and welcoming introduction to what would happen in the service. The sermon on imagination was creative and relevant. There was a strong sense of community. The upcoming topics for sermons (like Sex and Relationships, Androgyny and Gender, and Church Inclusivity) seem like important topics that don’t receive their fair attention from the pulpit. On a personal note, I really enjoyed the usage of music from Jesus Christ Superstar. Even the website offers helpful devotional prayers and scripture references. I loved the creativity and imaginative effort used in the liturgy. I kind of wish I was a little more Goth because, even though the community was very welcoming, I felt like a huge poseur.

What was, perhaps, the most exciting thing about it was the announcement at the beginning that the Archbishop of Canterbury was having the service filmed next time for a DVD about his Fresh Expressions initiative. I was delighted with the idea of a church leader who welcomed such creative innovation in liturgy.

Back to School

2006-10-09T16:33:00.000+01:00

Somehow, amidst the tea drinking, luggage unpacking, Cambridge exploring, window shopping, long walks taking, trips planning, name learning, and novel reading, I almost forgot that I'm actually taking classes here. But, I've been firmly brought back to reality. Just as YDS begins its fall break, I have now attended the first lecture for each of my classes.

I'll be taking three classes for credit: The Theology and Practice of the Lay Life at the Margaret Beaufort Institute, Feminist Biblical Interpretation, and Jewish/Christian Relations. I also hope to audit a few courses at the Divinity Department of Cambridge, including one on Augustine and Aquinas and one called "Poets, Prophets, Storytellers, and Sages." The term is only eight or nine weeks long, so I'm going to have to buckle down and make the most of it. The classes are delightfully small with my largest class weighing in at 14 students. All three of my classes seem very interesting and I like all the professors.

So rest assured, I'm not just on an extended vacation over here. I'm actually being put to work.

Oriented

2006-10-09T09:50:00.000+01:00

Although classes began on Thursday, the term starts in earnest for me today since two of my three classes meet on Mondays. Before I get fully immersed in the thick of things, I wanted to report on some highlights of the ten-day orientation:

Being neither an ordinand or a Greek student

Language classes begin two weeks before the regular term, so the overwhelmingly busy feeling of orientation is mostly a result of learning Greek on top of orientation sessions. Since I am not taking Greek, I spent the time allotted for that class to explore Cambridge and get settled. Add onto that the fact that I am not an ordinand in the Church of England (or anywhere else, for that matter), so I didn't have to attend sessions on Bishop's requirements or formation procedures. As such, a typical ordination day looked like this for me:
7:40 - Morning Prayer
8:00 - 8:45 - Breakfast
8:45-12:30 - Wait for Lunch. Maybe walk around downtown, window shop, decorate my room
12:30 - 1:15 - Lunch
2:00 - some activity or other - a tour, a chapel orientation session, etc.
6:30 - evening prayer
7:00 - dinner
8:00 onward - Hanging out with my new friends.
Not a bad start to the term.

Tour of Cambridge

As part of orientation, we were offered a tour of Cambridge. A professor here led the tour through several of the Colleges and told us what was significant about each. I saw the window to the room where Isaac Newton lived for thirty years. Names like Darwin, Marlowe, and Milton popped up casually. It turns out that I pass Wittgenstein's bedroom window on my way to the grocery store. Oliver Cromwell's head is buried in the chapel of his former college, but the exact location remains anonymous because hatred of him is still so strong that it would most likely be dug up. I saw the marker of the grave of George Washington's uncle (note the stars and stripes on the family crest) and waked through the college which counts John Harvard, founder of that other university in that other Cambridge, among its alumni. Some of my pictures in the Cambridge album are from this tour.

International Student Lunch

The Federation arranged a lunch for all international students, mostly comprised of Americans, Germans, Chinese, and Kenyans. It was fun to chat about the idiosyncrasies of life in England with other foreigners. The leaders of the program also provided some helpful information about how course work differs here, so I feel slightly more ready to begin classes. In Cambridge, far away from the land of grade inflation, scoring between a 40 and a 70 on a paper is good. Anything above an 80 is virtually unheard of and suggests possibility for publishing. On the other hand, a comment of "quite good" is not a positive assessment. I'm glad I know these things before I get my papers back because receiving a paper with a marking of 50 or 60 would otherwise be panic-inducing!

Bar Induction

Westcott House has its own bar and a liquor license. It is a pretty casual set up and is only open a few hours a night. Since there are no hired barkeeps, the students serve as bartender on a rotating basis. Consequently, bar induction was part of the orientation. One of the great things about living at a seminary is that everyone here knows where the keys to the liquor cabinet and the money drawer are located, yet they still remain secure. At the same time I was undergoing bar induction, YDS was having a heated community conversation over the role alcohol plays in its social life. I wonder what they would think knowing that the 70-student seminary here has its own bar.

The Angela

I went to the pub one night and ordered a whiskey sour. Whoops. Apparently, "sour" is not a drink description in an English bar. The bartenders were curious about what it was and I tried to describe it to them. Later, one of them came up to my table and asked me to try a drink. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't a whiskey sour. He went back to the bar and returned again, asking me to taste the drink. Still not a whiskey sour, but he named it "the Angela." I felt quite privileged to have a drink named after me. So, next time you go to a pub, order an Angela and if the bartender doesn't know what it is, just explain that it is Jack Daniels, ginger ale, and lime.

Principal's Licensing

I'm not the only new person at Westcott; they have just taken on a new Principal. His licensing took place during my first weekend here with a worship service presided over by the Bishop of Ely. I sang in the choir and enjoyed the fellowship and reception afterward. It was a great time of coming together as a community in celebration. I even discovered that the chair of the Westcott Council, who gave the sermon, got his STM at YDS. The only part of the service that surprised me (not that it should have) was the oath to the queen. That's something you don't hear every day in the States.

Library Induction

As with any good school orientation, of course there was a time dedicated to library orientation. Really, that wasn't a highlight of my time here, but I wanted to mention it because it was during this session that we learned to check out our own books. The libraries in the various houses are not always staffed, so students check out their own books. How's that for an honor system?! The librarian taught us how to log into the system and use the scanner to scan our cards and our books. When I took a career test, it said that I would be happiest as a librarian. I guess this is my opportunity to give it a whirl.

Mighty Boosh

Mighty Boosh is a totally bizarre British television show. One of the students at Westcott has it on DVD and we've watched it in his room a few times. It's becoming a bit of a tradition and I'll be disappointed when we've watched all the episodes. If you like really weird British humor, it might work for you. When watching it, I'm usually back and forth between "what in the world...!?" and hilarious laughter.

Federation Worship

Last Tuesday saw our first Federation Worship. Every few weeks one of the members of the Federation coordinates a liturgy which all the students attend. It's a good chance to explore some of the issues surrounding ecumenism. The first worship was followed by a "disco" in Westcott's Common Room. There's nothing like a group of ordinands dancing, let me tell you, especially when a black light and smoke machine are involved. Good times.

There were other things during orientation week, like going for dessert at my tutor's house with my tutor group or chapel trainings and so forth, but this gives you a bit of an idea of what I've been up to. It was a great opportunity to get to know the other students and start to get my bearings for how things work here. I still have a lot to learn, but I'm off to a good start.

These Boots are Made for Walking

2006-10-08T20:34:00.000+01:00

One of my favorite things about living abroad is that cars are absolutely unnecessary. I don’t miss my car at all. This may seem unbelievable to some of you, since in the States I’m more likely to drive three blocks than walk them. But for some reason, over here walking is one of my favorite things to do. I have been walking an average of 1.5 hours a day, I would guess. The Margaret Beaufort Institute is a 25-minute walk from Westcott House and I don’t hesitate to stroll the 50-minute round trip for a 10-minute prayer service. On top of that, I’ve been using free afternoons to explore the town, often wandering for quite some time.

Yesterday the sun was shining when I woke up, despite the fact that I was sure winter had arrived earlier in the week with chilly temperatures and damp air. (I’m learning that the only thing predictable about the weather here is its unpredictability.) American Angela would probably have spent the day inside or driving around and running errands. British Angela seized the day and made the 7-mile roundtrip walk to Grantchester, a nearby town, via a beautiful path that follows the meandering River Cam. It was the perfect way to spend a sunny Saturday. I felt very Jane Austen, as though I should be wearing an Empire-waisted dress and have rosy, wind-blown cheeks as I bounded through the meadows, wildflowers clutched in my delicate grasp. Instead I was clomping around in my hiking boots and bundled up in my practical fleece jacket. Not quite the same thing, but close enough.

Sara came with me and we enjoyed a proper cup of tea in the garden seating of an inn in Grantchester. All in all, the perfect way to spend an autumn afternoon.

If a picture is worth a thousand words...

2006-10-07T12:03:00.000+01:00

...then I just posted 574,000 of them online. No, you certainly don't have to look at each and every picture. Lots are of scenery, some are just of us being silly. I've mostly organized them into albums by location, so some are much longer than others. If a few shots seem out of order at the end, they're probably pictures Sara took that I added later. Some have captions, but feel free to e-mail me questions about any that prompt queries. I have also included pictures of Westcott House and my new abode in its own album if you want to get a sense of where I'm living. Enjoy!

photos.yahoo.com/angelabatie

Lazy Friday

2006-10-06T17:05:00.000+01:00

The term has officially started, but since I don't have class on Fridays I had the day free. Also, since two of my three classes haven't met yet, I don't have homework to feel guilty about while I dawdle away the hours. (Well, there is that teensie little article, but I don't have to read that until Thursday...) To make use of my down time, I spent the afternoon at the Fitzwilliam Museum, which houses a pretty impressive collection. I'm relishing these last few days before the term gets up and going, since I think things are about to get pretty busy.

Iona

2006-10-05T11:14:00.000+01:00

As promised, here's a report of our trip to Iona.

Iona is a tiny island, 3 miles by 1 mile, off the coast of another island off the western coast of Scotland. The trek to Iona involved a bus ride from Edinburgh to the coast town of Oban, a ferry ride to the Island of Mull, a one-hour bus ride on a single-lane road across Mull, and finally a six-car ferry across the narrow channel to Iona. As the ferry bobbed atop deep azure water, the vivid green hills and white sandy beaches opened before us. The shore was lined with a row of buildings at the end of which stood a beautiful old stone structure, clearly the Abbey.

We arrived mid-afternoon on a Saturday and located our B&B (the result of 13 phone calls seeking lodging on the island), which was near the ferry terminal and attached to the village store. There was a hot water kettle and all the fixings for a proper tea waiting on the table in our room and hot water bottles were tucked into the closet. Unlike the hostels where we’d been staying, we also had our own bathroom (“ensuite” as they call it here). We ventured around to get our bearings, which did not take too long. The ruins of the “nunnery” had lovely flowers planted among the remaining stone walls, creating a beautiful space for reflection. We also located the Iona gift shop and stocked up on souvenirs and postcards. In the sun, the green of the grass and blue of the water on the island looked pure and vivid. Sheep were grazing near the road, which is only a narrow ribbon of pavement unwinding over a small part of the island and supports far more traffic from pedestrians than cars. The island's only taxi is advertised by flyer on the community board near the ferry terminal. The clear message is that the pace of life on the island is purposefully lethargic, creating a space to get back to basics. Our shopkeeper didn’t look twice when we excitedly exclaimed that there was a cow strolling by on the road outside the shop, as though the credit card transaction she undertaking was a more compelling and unusual event.

The weather on day two was also beautiful, so we hiked to the south and crossed the island. When the road (which had dissolved to a coupling of tire tracks dipping through the grass) ended, we traipsed through the community grazing land, also serving as the island’s golf course. We reached shore. The water of this sea seemed to stretch to the ocean and I filled my pocket with shells dug from the white sand. Solid, roughly-hewn volcanic-looking rock interrupted the grassy meadows and jutted from the beach, begging the water to mist and splash around it.

As we tucked in for the night, gearing up to leave on an early ferry the next morning, Sara said she wished we didn’t have to leave. I felt the same way. Then we realized that we didn’t actually have to leave if we didn’t want to. After a brief re-grouping to adjust our plan, we decided to stay another night.

Day three promised to be rainy later in the day, so we ventured north to our remaining unexplored frontier early in the day and were tucked into our B&B watching the BBC by the time the storm grew angry. We became convinced that the grasses of the land were covered only by snails and sheep/horse/cow doodie. Again, the views were spectacular, whether bathed in sun or beaten by the wind. I was astounded by how much wonder of God’s creation could fit into such a tiny island.

While on Iona we also attended worship services at the Abbey. Iona is known in theological circles for its ecumenical worship community focused especially on social and ecological justice. We attended morning and evening prayer at 9:00 a.m. and p.m. except on Sunday, when we went to the 10:30 Eucharist service. The atmosphere in the Abbey was prayerful and the services were nice. It didn’t strike me as anything earthshakingly innovative, probably because after worship at Marquand at YDS not much will, but it was great to pray with other travelers. There was a real sense of coming together for a similar purpose. Sara and I had not thought to bring a flashlight to the evening services which made the journey back to our room a bit of an adventure, but the deep canopy of stars overhead encouraged us along.

We left the fourth day feeling refreshed, a bit windblown, and prepared for our next adventure.

And We're Off...

2006-10-04T22:21:00.000+01:00

Orientation has officially ended and classes begin tomorrow. It's felt like quite a long settling-in process (ten days), but since I'm not taking Greek and I'm not an ordinand - which means that I don't have to attend most of the sessions - I've had lots of time to wander around Cambridge and get my bearings. Still, I'm almost welcoming the start of course work.

I haven't been blogging because I've been getting my online photo albums ready to post soon, so expect some fantastic pictures in the next few days.

2006-10-03T15:53:00.000+01:00

On the Ball

2006-10-03T15:40:00.000+01:00

One of the tricky parts of getting settled in a foreign land is figuring out how to keep in communication with friends and family back home while sticking to a budget. Out of principle, I have resisted buying a cell phone, even though the international pay-as-you-go plans are fairly competitive. I can use Skype to make outgoing phone calls, but I wanted to have a way for people call me and I thought Mom and Dad would be happier if they had an actual number where they could reach me. Our rooms have a phone jack for land line phones, but I didn't want to spend too much money on one when I'm only here for two months.

Yesterday we ventured to Tesco, a Target-Walmart-supermarket-esque box store, so I decided to see how much a phone would cost. The cheapest was 14 pounds (28 bucks) until I saw a few phones on clearance for 2 pounds. 2 pounds - that's certainly in my budget! I convinced the other three Americans with me that buying these phones was a brilliant idea, so we did. Now I can call Sara to see if she wants to do something instead of communicating via some kind of flashlight/curtain signal scheme. The phones work fine and we're all set up now.

There is one small catch about the phone, though. See, the reason it was on clearance is that it is shaped like a soccer ball (or "football" as the rest of the misguided world calls it). Yes, there is now a plastic/rubber soccer ball attached to a phone cord sitting on my desk. When the phone rings, I pop it open into two half-spheres and hold it to my head. When I dial, I see a football field as backdrop to the number keys. I'm the happiest nine-year-old boy in the world. It's even funnier knowing that three other American students here have the same thing in their rooms, and that we're talking football-to-football when I call them. Maybe the British folks will think that everyone who's anyone in the states has a football phone and that it's the latest craze.

So, once I figure out what my phone number is, you should call me just to have the satisfaction of knowing that right before I said "hello" I reached for a funny soccer ball, opened it up, and spoke into it. That's gotta be worth a laugh.

Connection!

2006-10-03T14:06:00.000+01:00

Hooray! The internet is finally connected in my room. Prepare for lots of bloggie tidbits. A backlog of blog, if you will.

TGIF

2006-09-29T10:27:00.000+01:00

I've survived my first week of orientation here at Westcott. I've been typing up lots of blog entries with juicy tidbits about life on this side of the pond on my laptop in order to not tie up the communal computer in the library. However, I'm still in the abyss of no internet access in my room. Why the computer guy went on vacation the week that all the new students needed to be hooked up to the network is a mystery almost on par with the Trinity. At any rate, expect oodles of good stuff once I'm on line. For now, just know that I'm doing well, adjusting, and enjoying the new folks I'm meeting.

Sources of Wisdom

2006-09-26T10:13:00.000+01:00

So, in order to combat that brief bit of transition melancholy, as I like to call it, I went to two of my favorite sources of wisdom and insight: the Bible and the Indigo Girls. Here are the things that got me through:

Psalm 30:5
Heaviness may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.

Indigo Girls
One tank gone, second thoughts are on my mind:
What's this trip gonna cost me this time?
The devil I know is starting to look awfully kind.
But the new road is an old friend.
Fill it up again.

All it took was a day to adjust and the sun coming out for me to feel much happier about being here. Of course I still miss home, but I know my time here will zip by so quickly that I can't waste any of it being homesick.

Margaret Beaufort

2006-09-25T17:17:00.000+01:00

I've just returned from my visit to Margaret Beaufort, which is a theological institution, not a person. (Well, she was indeed a person as well, but you know what I mean.) I think now would be a good time to explain exactly what the set up is here. I am living at Westcott House, which is a seminary for people who are preparing for ordination in the Church of England. As far as I can tell, Westcott House is part of a consortium called the Cambridge Theological Federation, which has about seven members or so. Students of the Federation (which I love to say because it reminds me of Star Trek) may worship and take classes at any of the member houses. The Federation as a whole is affiliated with Cambridge University and Anglia Ruskin University. One of the major reasons I wanted to come here is because of the Roman Catholic member of the Federation, called the Margaret Beaufort Institute of Theology. The Margaret Beaufort Institute is an all-female institute seeking to form women for lay ministry in the Church. Right up my alley, eh? Because the exchange takes place between Westcott and YDS, I will live at Westcott and am able to participate in the community here as much as I would like. However, they have been very supportive of my desire to engage the community at Margaret Beaufort.

So, my tutor in my tutor group is a lay Roman Catholic woman who has been very helpful in my quest to figure out just how to be a member of two communities without short-changing either one. She made an appointment for me and John (another Catholic YDS exchange student) to visit MB today. I fell in love with it. It's quite small - ten students, to be exact. However, they are offering a few Catholic classes that I may take and they celebrate Mass together on Thursdays, just like the YDS Catholic group. I'm eager to figure out a way to be part of that community.

Arrival!

2006-09-25T13:37:00.000+01:00

Hmmm.... this was meant to post yesterday, but apparently it only saved as a draft. Well, here you go, a day late and a dollar short.

***

I've made it to Cambridge! Wait a minute, you say, don't tell me about Cambridge yet; you still haven't told me about your nine days in Scotland. Yes, that is quite true. The unfortunate news when I arrived is that the I.T. guy who sets up people's computers is on holiday right now, so I won't be able to use my computer for another week. There go my hopes of Skype-ing* people today. Until then, I'm sharing two very slow computers with all the new students. What I've decided to do is to type up my entries for Iona, the Highlands, and Edinburgh on my own computer, then post them next week some time when I have internet access. Hopefully there will be pictures then, too. It probably works out better that way, because you may already be sick of the mundane accounts of my day-to-day life here and be eager for more travel adventures stories.

So, we arrived yesterday. Unbeknownst to us, orientation programming began at 4:00 p.m. We arrived at 4:30 expecting to have the evening to unpack and settle in. After dropping out bags of in our rooms, we joined the program. First meeting was for our tutor groups. Tutor groups meet once a week and serve as a peer group of sorts. They also plan services for the larger community from time to time and are a way to ensure that everyone is on track for their academic plan. The next activity was evening prayer. I am quickly learning that worship here is very different than at YDS and it will take some adjusting to really engage it, but I'll have plenty of opportunity to do that since morning and evening prayer take place daily. After a lovely dinner buffet, we had some social time to meet the staff. The bar in the Common Room stayed open late and people chatted until about 11:00. It was nice to get ready for bed in my very own room for the first time in three weeks.

I woke up with a start because I couldn't remember where I was. Scotland? Croatia? USA? I remembered quickly and prepared for morning prayer, which starts at 7:40 a.m. They use a loud bell to signal the time to go to chapel. Breakfast followed prayer, then I had the morning free to unpack and walk around Cambridge, since all the programming was for ordinands and people taking Greek (neither of which include me). It felt nice to finally unpack my stuff and to prop up pictures on the mantle above my wee fireplace. Lunch was delicious (Wow, I can really get used to the food here. The Refectory at YDS has nothing on this place.) and I'm about to attend a session on chapel life before heading to an appointment at the Margaret Beaufort Institute, which is the Roman Catholic component of this theological federation. I'm looking forward to connecting with the folks there.

To be honest, I must admit that some homesickness has set in during my first day and night here. It is fun to meet all the new people, but it is a reminder of all the friends that are far away. I'm also finally realizing that - shocking I know - my friends' lives go on without me while I'm gone. Shouldn't come as a surprise, but I wasn't ready for how sad it would make me to be so far away from those I care the most about. I'm sure it will pass quickly as I adjust to the new schedule here. Classes don't start until a week from Thursday, but I expect to be too busy to be homesick once they begin.

Off to chapel. Love to you all!

*For those of you who don't know, Skype is a free program that anyone can download from the internet. With it, the computer and a headset with microphone acts like a telephone. With Skype, I can call any phone in the world for very cheap, or I can talk for free to anyone else who has Skype. If y ou have it, look me up! I'd love to chat once I finally get my computer set up.

Edinburgh, Part II

2006-09-22T19:20:00.000+01:00

This is my second try typing this entry - stinkin' expensive hostel computer ate my last attempt! As the Scots say, krikey!

We arrived back in Edinburgh this evening after our three-day tour of the Scottish Highlands. I still owe a report about our time in Iona and we saw so much on this tour that I'm not sure I can even recount it all. I may not be able to give details about these adventures until I get settled into Cambridge on Sunday and have more time on a computer. Tonight we're hanging out with some people we met on the tour, tomorrow is a whirlwind day of sightseeing around Edinburgh, and we take the train to Cambridge on Sunday. I'm getting excited to finally arrive at Westcott, meet some of the other students, and get settled in. In spite of being a little road-weary, though, this week in Scotland has been amazing. What a fantastic culture and landscape! I feel so fortunate to have been able to spend this time here.

More to come! Stay tuned!

Loch Ness

2006-09-20T23:03:00.000+01:00

We're having a blast on this tour! We're staying in Loch Ness tonight. I'll tell more when I can get to a computer for longer.

Patience is a Virtue

2006-09-19T21:00:00.000+01:00

I may not be able to blog for the next few days, so sit tight. Sara and I depart tomorrow morning for a three-day tour of the Isle of Skye, Inverness, Loch Ness, and other Scottish beauts. I'll fill you in about the tour and our time in Iona when I'm finally able to spend some time on a computer, which might not be until we get to Cambridge on Sunday.

Backpacker Hygiene

2006-09-19T20:39:00.000+01:00

It's funny what living out of a backpack for three weeks will do to a person's standards of cleanliness. Things that once were considered necessities, like makeup, leg shaving, and clean clothes, become elevated to luxury standing. I actually chose the shirt I am wearing today because it fell into the "not too stinky" category. I wore sandals in a rainstorm last night because I'm rationing my last pair of clean socks.

Thank goodness I don't have much to unpack when I move into Cambridge; I'll be spending most of my first day in the laundry room.

Edinburgh, Part 1

2006-09-18T14:31:00.000+01:00

Ah, Scotland. What a beautiful country. Just as Split and Dubrovnik had been breathtaking in white walls and red-tiled roofs, Edinburgh's dark gothic stones and looming castle are equally striking, if very different. We knew we weren't in sun-baked Croatia any more when we could see our breath on the train platform. We were once again exposed to Scottish hospitality when a man on the platform gave us directions to the hostel (through the roundabout, up the hill, onto the cobblesone, down the hill, and ye'll be right thare), but also offered his phone number in case they were full so we could stay with his family.

We found a hostel. For those of you who've never stayed in a hostel, it's kind of a mix between backpacking and summer camp. Usually a bed in a "dorm" for about Â£10-15 ($20-30) gets you a bunk in a room of 4-18 (or more) beds, often co-ed. Bathrooms and showers are communal, and the better hostels sometimes have kitchen, internet, and/or laundry facilities. Sleeping in a room with a bunch of strangers takes some getting used to, especially when some choose to come in drunk and loud at 3 a.m. while others wake up at 5 a.m. to catch a train. Eyeshades and earplugs are necessities. The price is definitely right and it's a fun way to meet other travelers if you can get over some of the grit and chaos. The hostel where we stayed in Edinburgh was so-so and was probably very nice once, but now things were falling a bit apart (3 of 4 shower lights didn't work, one shower door was off it's hinges, another was missing a shower curtain, 2 of 3 toilets didn't flush right, and the computer exploded - smoke and all - the week before we got there). It still was fine for us, but we've booked elsewhere when we return to Edinburgh.

For our first day in Edinburgh, we prohibited ourselves from seeing anything historic or touristy in the city. We had promised ourselves a day to relax and regroup after our whirlwind trip through and back from Croatia. We also had to plan our entire 9-day trip through Scotland, which we hadn't thought much about until this time. Most of our day was spent walking back and forth from the information center, the bus station, and various backpacker tour booths, with stops along the way to process the information with a Pimms and lemonade, my new very favorite beverage. At the end of the day we had decided to leave the next day (Saturday) for Iona, stay for two nights, stop in Glasgow on our way back to Edinburgh, have another day in Edinburgh, take a 3-day backpacker tour through Scotland and the Isle of Sky, then one more day in Edinburgh before heading to Cambridge on Sunday. It took us 13 phone calls to find last-minute lodging in the small island of Iona, but we ended up with a very reasonably priced B&B with our own bathroom - oh, the luxury! With our plans settled, I took a stroll by myself down the Royal Mile (Edinburgh's main street) while Sara rested. As I navigated along the many shops advertising cashmere and wool goods, the whiskey stores, John Knox's house, and centuries-old soot-stained buildings, I couldn't help but think of how fortunate I am to have this opportunity. We tucked in early (although we were awakened by theraucouss party-goers who insisted on noisy revelry outside our dorm-room door until the wee hours) because we needed to wake up at 5:45 to catch our bus (then next bus, then ferry, then another bus, then another ferry) to Iona.

More on Iona next time.

The Epic Journey

2006-09-18T14:21:00.000+01:00

When a small Bosnian town is your departure site, the journey back to the UK is not an easy one. In the course of juggling our travel arrangements in order to make the most of our time in Medjugorje, we ended up with a 24+ hour trip. This is not impossible, but we were concerned about making all of our connections. One missed bus or train meant we'd be stranded in Austria. We took a 3 hour bus from Medjugorje to Split, had a 20-minute layover, took a 8-hour overnight train to Zagreb, had a 45-minute stop, took a 4-hour train to Graz, directly to a streetcar then a bus to the airport. Relieved to make our plane and grateful for hitch-free trip, we flew back to London, unsure if we would spend the night in London or continue to Scotland. Upon arrival, a ticket agent told us that, if we ran, we might be able to make the last train to Scotland from across the City. Although we were exhausted and eager to have a meal not eaten out of a grocery bag, we were not to be deterred! We took a train from the airport to London, a subway to the train station, and made it to our platform with 2 minutes to spare. Pigeon Tours took flight. We were pretty proud of ourselves and spent the train ride affirming what tough travelers we are. The bed at the hostel in Edinburgh looked like heaven.

More Musings on Medjugorje

2006-09-18T13:57:00.000+01:00

Pardon the interruption. As I was saying...

Apparition Hill is one of two main hills in Medjugorje. Many visitors choose to climb this very rocky and steep hill as a form of penance and pilgrimage. Some even choose to do so barefoot, but I kept my sturdy, practical American hiking sandals on. There were beautiful stations of the cross along the journey and I could hear the "Hail Mary" in countless languages as I climbed. There were even two men wearing liederhosen as they trekked. I was very struck by the way that the rough edges of the stones in the path were worn soft and shiny by countless pilgrim paces. It was a rough climb but very rewarding. The top of the hill opened up into a leveler area with a statue of Mary and a cross. Small papers with petitions written on them and photographs were stuffed into the nooks of each. After hearing the reading of the Sower and the Seeds during Mass that morning, I was struck by the rocky terrain of this holy place. Perhaps God can even work in our rockiness, in our stubbornness and selfishness, to create beauty and peace. I removed my sandals and noticed that the same edges of the rocks that battered my feet on the ascent were able to sooth my soles as I rested my feet on them. We spent some time at the top of the hill in prayer and meditation. Friends from YDS and back home, family, the patients I spent time with in the hospital this summer, and the need for peace in this world were heavy on my mind. The psalm refrain from Mass echoed through my head: Here I am, Lord. I come to do Your will. As always, I listened for a clue as to what that will might be, but I still came away unknowing.

We returned to the village below and, after bidding farewel to some of our money at the local gift shops, we went to our bus stop. I didn't see Mary in Medjugorje or have a spiritual epiphany, but there is no doubt in my mind that I was in a very special place.

2006-09-17T17:56:00.000+01:00

Dubrovnik, Medjugorje, and Pigeons

Long time, no blog, I know. Due to the break-neck pace of our recent travels, it has taken me quite a while to get to a computer. Thanks for hanging in there with me. Although I am now on the tiny Scottish island of Iona, I'll try to change gears and catch you up on the rest of our time in Croatia.

We've developed a thing for pigeons, and it's not an "ew gross, they're the rodents of the sky" kind of thing. It began our first night in London when a pigeon made himself comfortable on our windowsill. So comfortable, in fact, that he decided to serenade us. I don't think I'd ever heard a pigeon coo before, and it wasn't an altogether unpleasant sound. Once we assured ourselves that there was no way for him to get into our room, we grew a little fond of him. When we arrived at our lodging in Split we found that the owners of the place where we were staying kept pigeons as pets in a pigeon-pen off the patio. We took this to be a good sign. So, when we dined outside on our first night in Dubrovnik and a cute (if scrawny) calico cat came soliciting scraps at our table, naturally we took him under our "wing" and named him Pigeon the Cat. Our entertainment for the evening consisted of sneakily feeding him bits of chicken and pork from our plates without attracting the attention of the wait staff, who were less than fond of Pigeon. We had a lovely long dinner, soaking in the atmosphere of Dubrovnik, feeding our cat (whose allegiance was, sadly, fleeting), and relaxing.

We sight-saw some more the following day in Dubrovnik and made use of the extra time for one last visit to the beach. We lounged on the sand and I swam in the Adriatic sea, which was so clear that I could see the fish swimming around my ankles when I was shoulder-high in the water. Pigeon tours (as we have named ourselves) took flight again on a 5:15 bus to Medjugorje.

There is so much to say about Medjugorje, and despite the fact that I've had a few days to think about it, I'm still finding it difficult to articulate my experience there. Medjugorje is a small town in Bosnia where the Blessed Virgin Mary appeared to some children in 1981 and has continued to do so ever since. Because of that, it has become a pilgrimage destination for people from all over the world. We arrived around 9:00 and found that lodging was more difficult to get than we expected. Fortunately, a Scottish man name Gerry told us he had spoken with a friend of a friend who had a room available for him and he would check if they had other rooms as well. Sure enough, a man named Mario arrived to cart us off to the pension. While the situation was something that would have been very sketchy in the U.S., it is the kind of thing that happens often in these European tourist towns. We were very pleasantly surprised to find that the room was near the town center, was very clean, had its own bathroom, and included breakfast. After venturing out for a late dinner and to window-shop all the Medjugorje memorabilia, which is sold alongside hand-made lace linens and counterfeit designer perfumes, we settled in for the night.

In the morning, we enjoyed breakfast with the other guests at our place of lodging. We were the only Americans and the youngest guests by far, but that didn't make a difference. We set out for our day-long pilgrimage, trying to make the most of the day until we had to catch the bus at 5:20 p.m. We started with English Mass at the parish church. All those leading worship were Irish, which reminded me of our Irish priest at St. Patrick's Church in Tacoma. The church was standing room only in spite of the fact that several Masses are celebrated back-to-back. I grew worried when the opening hymn was "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Huh? I was able to suppress my giggles and continue to worship. The reading was the Parable of the Sower from Mark's Gospel. In that story, the Sower spreads seed on different types of land - the rocky ground, the thorny ground, the good soil, etc. The message is that the word of God can only thrive in the good soil. I spent my day meditating on soil. I thought about my sister, and how she farms organic soil and coaxes plant into producing. I wondered what kind of soil I am. These thoughts were prominent when Sara and I climbed the very rocky, very steep Apparition Hill, where Mary first appeared.

I must cut this posting short because my time at this computer is up. I'll post again as soon as I can. Big thanks to those of you who've commented on here or e-mailed, and I'm sorry I haven't been able to write back yet. It's great to know that folks are actually reading this (and it's great motivation to keep it going!).

2006-09-14T12:46:00.000+01:00

I only have 2 minutes on this computer. A bus ride, two train rides, another bus ride, and a streetcar ride in the last 22 hours have brought us to the Graz, Austria airport for our flight back to London. Stay tuned for lengthy reports about Dubrovnik and Medjugoria!

2006-09-11T17:42:00.000+01:00

Time seems to stretch indefinitely here... at least when I try to think of everything we have done over the past few days.

Saturday, September 9th, we arrived in Split. In Croatia, it is very common for people to rent out a room in their homes to tourists for the night. Sure enough, a young man greeted us just as we stepped off the train to offer lodging. We agreed, as Sara, Elin, Sofie and I would get a private apartment with our own bathroom for the equivalent of $20 a night. We walked to their home, which was tucked back in a maze of narrow marble walkways. We descended some stairs into a sunken patio sheltered by a canopy of grapevines. They offered us cafe lattes, which we drank on the patio while we waited for the room to be cleaned. It truly was a family operation - son at the train station, daughter driving people to the airport, mom cleaning the room, and all of them willing to offer restaurant suggestions or chat on the patio until the late hours of the evening.

I should make a side note here because I'm realizing that some of you may not know who these travel companions are. Sara is another YDS-Cambridge exchange student. We didn't know each other very well last year, but we decided to travel together in order to take advantage of the few weeks before our term in England begins. Elin and Sofie are two Swedish women we met at the train station in Zagreb and continued to travel with for three nights. We've promised to visit them in Sweden in October.

Back to Split. After a nap to re-energize our night-train-weary selves, we spent the day exploring Split. Split is one of Croatia's larger cities. As with many of the other Croatian towns, the buildings are knotted together against a hillside, creating a small sea of red-tiled roofs. Boats of all shapes and sizes bob along the shore and much of the shoreline is occupied by street cafe-bar-restaurants. We walked through the city and explored Diocletian's Palace, which was very impressive. The ruins have not been preserved as if in a museum, but the city continues to operate intermingled with its history, and markets, restaurants, and satellite dishes for private residences are tucked haphazardly among the age-old stones. The rest of the day was spent at a crowded beach just outside of downtown and at various restaurants. We gave the Split nightlife a whirl and I was thrilled to discover that I'm not allergic to Croatian wines like I am to wines sold in the US. Hallelujah!

Yesterday was our ''vacation day.'' After arriving at the dock just in time to see the 9 a.m. ferry pulling away, we took the 11 a.m. ferry to the nearby island of Broc, then a bus to the village of Bol, and finally a boat taxi to the beach of Zlatni Rat, which has been listed on the ''Top 10 Beaches in the World.'' Leathery Croatian men in speedos abounded and some sunbathing women apparently consider bikini tops optional, but the weather was perfect and the beach was stunning. And, thanks to the SPF 20 ''sun milk'' I found at a local shop, I didn't even get too sunburned. After an afternoon of lounging in the sun and swimming in the Adriatic Sea (at least the other girls swam, I watched our stuff and stayed dry), we returned by a beautiful sunset ferry ride. We spent our last evening with our Swedish friends hanging out with some other travelers on the patio of our ''home'' and eating authentic Croatian food at a restaurant favored by the locals. It was, by far, the best meal yet.

Sara and I left early this morning on a bus for Dubrovnik. The four-hour bus ride traced the shore and offered one breathtaking vista after another. Whatever sadness I felt to leave Split dissolved when I saw Dubrovnik, a stunning fortified city right on the water. We found lodging again with a family, whose youngest daughter reminded me of my sister, Rachel, when she was a gangly teenager. If it weren't for the comments in guidebooks and small memorial in town, I would find no trace of the destruction that occurred here in the early 90's, when half of the homes and all of the tourist sights were hit by shrapnel or other explosives. As we rode into town squeezed in the back of this family's black Jetta, I wondered what it must have been like for them here 15 years ago. I suppose it is a fitting way to remember September 11th - to once again recognize the horrors of war, to pray for peace and for those who grieve the loss of loved ones to violence.

Sara and I spent the afternoon exploring the city and soaking in the views from the fortresses. We aim to take it easy tonight. Our plans had to be creatively rearranged when we arrived and found that there is only one bus to Medjugorie from Dubrovnik each day. We think we have a plan now that will let us stay in Dubrovnik for most of tomorrow (Shopping and going to the beach? Anyone?) and take the 5:15 bus to Medjugorie, where we will stay until the next afternoon. The only downside to this plan is that we will now travel for more than 24 hours straight to catch our flight back to London. There is little wiggle room in our new schedule, so we're praying that our busses and trains all arrive on schedule.

Thanks for keeping with this blog, those of you who wade through these lengthy entries. Hopefully the posts will be shorter when I have more regular access to the internet. We're off now to find a hearty meal and head to bed!

2006-09-09T14:44:00.000+01:00

This will be a brief post, as the internet is expensive and our Swedish friends are waiting for us outside. We've arrived safely in Split after a LONG wait at the train station and a fairly uneventful night train. I wish I could download my digital pictures to post here because words are so useless in describing the beauty of this town. (Photos will come when I settle into England.) We've been trying to change our flight out of here because there is so much we want to do, but it looks like that won't happen. We'll just have to make the most of the time we have, which will hopefully include a trip to one of the nearby islands, some time in Dubrovnik, and a pilgrimage to Medjugorie. More to come later.

2006-09-08T15:09:00.000+01:00

It's been a busy last few days and this is the first time I've gotten to the internet. First, as promised, I must explain the Patrick Swayze story. (Patrick Swayze of Dirty dancing fame, not Patrick Stewart of Star Trek. Good guess though, Mom.) We spent Wednesday afternoon sightseeing in London and we bought tickets for Guys and Dolls, which I have always wanted to see performed professionally. We went to the theatre a few hours early in order to locate it before eating dinner and people-watching at Piccadilly Circus. There was a large crowd waiting out side the stage door being corralled by security officers. We could only surmise that the people were waiting to see Patrick Swayze after the matinee performance and, in accordance with the social law that you must always join in a group or line when you see one, we decided to see what the fuss was about. Sure enough, after a bit of a wait he came out to talk to the crowd and have his picture taken. He actually was quite nice and gracious. He shook the hands that reached out toward him. When his hand touched mine, the heavens opened up, rays of sunshine poured down and framed us in that soft lighting only seen in films from the 1960's, and I saw him stagger slightly under the power of that touch. Well, actually, that didn't happen. In fact, he didn't even make eye contact. Nonetheless, it was a pretty funny experience. The show that night was one of the best I've seen and the perfect way to spend our last night in London.

The next morning, we woke up early to catch our flight. One tube ride and one express train later, we were checking in at the Ryanair counter. The flight was smooth and professional. I still can't believe it cost only $50. We landed in Graz, Austria since we weren't able to get a flight directly to Croatia. I was surprised by the wave of nostalgia that hit me as we took the bus into the town center. I lived in Austria for 8 months in college and, although I only visited Graz once, it felt like coming home. We only had a few hours before our train left for Zagreb, so we got food at a sausage stand in the main square. I ate a kaisekranner - a sausage with little bits of cheese in it - which was my favorite thing to order at the sausage kiosk in downtown Salzburg. The sausage lady served it just the way I rememberd: sliced up into little disks to be eaten with a tiny plastic fork, a pool of spicy mustard on the side, and accompanied by a round roll. I can't remember the last time something tasted that good. I was also surprised to find my German still serviceable enough to get us transported and fed. We made it back to the train station and, as our train slid past the sunset-bathed countryside, my memories of my time abroad in college danced across my imagination. It's strange to revisit a place that has left an imprint on your soul after years have passed. I'm no longer the 18-year-old woman who grew and learned and laughed and really lived there in Austria, but that time shaped me into who I am now and I am grateful for it.

The train ride was fine except for the momentary boughts of anxiety that struck each time we remembered that we would arrive in Zagreb at 10:30 p.m. without arrangements for a place to stay. Normally that would not be a problem, but we had heard that it is difficult to find lodging in Zagreb without prior reservations. When we arrived at the train station, we saw two other women around our age, also bearing large backpacks. Like us, they too were bee-lining for the ATM (which is backpacker step number 1 when landing in a foreign land with foreign currency). We made conversation and learned that they (Ellen and Sofi) are on a month-long trip from Sweden. Like us, they hope to head south into Croatia for the week. Also like us, they were without lodging. We pooled our travel-book resources and found a youth hostel near the train station with enough beds free for us. Then, emboldened by our new friendships and a second wind, we went out on the town and made conversation over the Croatian version of a Lond Island Iced Tea at a lively bar-lined street.

Today started out sunny and promising. We ate our now-standard breakfast of a chocolate croissant and yoghurt next to a lovely fountain in one of the city's public squares and we wandered among the sights with our new friends. Zagreb is lovely and the architecture reminds me of Vienna a little. It is sad to see majestic old buildings tattooed with graffiti, but there is certainly energy and life in this city. We parted with our friends for the afternoon since we wanted to do different things. Sara and I went to the small but superb museum of Naive Art (of which I had never heard). Check it out at http://www.hmnu.org/en/default.asp. When we emerged, our sunny day had produced a rainstorm that even this northwesterner found daunting. Without our raincoats, which were securely stowed in our backpacks in a locker at the train station, we took refuge in a cafe. Our weary legs (half of Zagreb is up a very large hill) were grateful for a few hours of coffee drinking and rummy playing. When the rain didn't pass, we trudged to the internet cafe and arrived soaked to the bone. We have 5 hours before our night train to Split departs. I think we may spend the rest of our time in Zagreb holed up in restaurants, cafes, or the train station trying to stay dry.

Hopefully the train will be empty enough for us to spread out and get some sleep tonight. So far, Croatia is not too much unlike other Eastern European countries I've visited. There are subtle differences (like the y and z keys being reversed on the keyboard - zou have no idea how much longer this blog is taking me to tzpe than normal!), but overall it feels majestic and safe. Hopefully our time on the coast will have better weather. As always, I'll post again when I get the chance.

2006-09-06T23:20:00.000+01:00

I touched Patrick Swayze's hand today. We shared a special moment. Can't write more now, but I'll be sure to update later.

2006-09-06T13:13:00.000+01:00

It's Wednesday morning here in London. Sara and I accidentally overslept, but I think our bodies needed the rest; it has been a busy few days! Yesterday was terrific. We started the day early, found a chocolate croissant and coffee and ran some errands. Next task: getting our gigantic suitcases to Cambridge. The train ride to Cambridge is a quick and easy 45 minutes, which makes us think we'll be making more trips back to London once the school term starts. Ten minutes out of the city the countryside was dotted with sheep. In Cambridge, we found Westcott House on Jesus Lane (no, I'm not kidding about that one). We entered through an unassuming arch in a wall and the whole place opened up into a breathtaking courtyard framed by flowers. The architecture is beautiful, old, and brick - just what you'd expect from Cambridge. We received a hearty and warm welcome and were shown to my room, where we'll stow our bags, two wooden flights up in the top floor of one of the buildings. The cheery yellow walls slant to remind me that I'm really up in the rafters. There are two rooms, one a sitting room which overlooks the garden and the other a bedroom with a sink and small fireplace. I'm already excited to move in and get settled. We had our first cup of British tea with one of the ordinands and received a tour by the Director of Studies, who made us feel right at home. I'm looking forward to making the acquaintance of one of the older residents of the seminary: a 62-year-old tortoise named Hort who lives in the courtyard.

We explored Cambridge a bit and had a meal outside a restaurant on the market square - how positively European. After a brief detour back to Westcott to retrieve my wallet from my room (whoops!), we made the return trip to London. We arrived just in time to trek to the West End to catch a show. We saw Evita, which has been one of my very favorites since I saw a local production in 1994. What a fantastic performance! We got a late dinner at a Latin American-themed restaurant (Buenos Aires burgers in honor of Evita) and "played" in an orchestra as part of one of the most interesting public art projects I've seen in awhile. Check out play.philharmonia.co.uk for more info. We topped the evening off with a stroll across one of the new bridges, navigating between cuddling couples and aspiring guitarists peddling their performance, as a nearly-full moon peered out through the looming London Eye. It was magical.

Despite our late start today, we have big plans to sightsee at some of the markets. We're saving the indoor activities like museums for the upcoming colder weather. Tonight, we're trying to get tickets to Guys and Dolls staring Patrick Swayze. Guys and Dolls is another one of my favorites, but who could pass up the chance to see Patrick Swayze onstage?! Tomorrow we fly to Graz, Austria, and take the train into Croatia.

Thanks so much to all of you who've e-mailed me or posted comments here. I'm mindful of the fact that YDS starts classes today and it's a little hard to adjust to being more limited in my communication than usual. (Although, I will admit that I really enjoy not having to cart my cell phone all over the place.) I miss you all very much and it's great to have messages when I log-on. I'll try to write back as our limited internet access allows.

A special note to the ladies: sorry to break it to you, but leggings are back with a vengeance. I swear, it looks like the 1980's walked into London and exploded.

2006-09-04T20:45:00.000+01:00

Well, we made it! Our flight left JFK last night at 8:30 Eastern Standard Time. Luckily, getting through check-in and security were a breeze. I could already tell I was somewhere different than the USA because the airline served two meals of actual FOOD - not just pretzels - on a 7-hour flight, which is unheard of for domestic flights. (Not to mention the complimentary wine...) After a few hours of restless airplane sleep, we arrived in London at 8:45 a.m., which felt like 3:45 a.m. to us. It was a real sight to descend over the London landscape and to see landmarks like the Tower Bridge and the London Eye sitting placidly below. Immigration let us through without a problem. The trickiest part of our journey was getting our jet-lagged selves to trudge through a bus ride, two tube stops, and a half mile of walking to get to our hotel, each of us laden down with a huge suitcase, full backpack, and carry-on (plus one wad of someone else's chewed up gum. Ick.). I can't think of a time I have been more happy to see a hotel room. The journey conjured up memories of a similar baggage-burdened trek through London at the beginning of my study abroad year when one of my classmates kept insisting that our hostel was "just around the corner," which we never let him forget. Our hotel is a modest one, but seems very safe and is in a nice neighborhood near Notting Hill. There are just enough subtle difference to remind me that we're not in the US anymore, like ashtrays and the stale smell of cigarette smoke in the lobby and a shower head that I have to stoop to fit under.

We were quite tuckered out from the journey so we decided to rest for a little while. After a nap and shower, we ventured out in search of food. We found an Italian restaurant where we were able to have a plate of pasta and a latte for the equivalent of $20 - very cheap by London standards. I'm learning quickly that the dollar is worth very little here, so we're trying to be creative in our budgeting. After a leisurely meal, we decided to forgo the expensive tours on the red double-decker busses and instead we used our day-long transportation pass to hop on the first public bus we saw, also a double decker. Six different bus rides later, we'd seen a good chunk of the city and were quite proud of our self-guided tour-giving skills. We're sitting in a skudgy cyber-cafe near our hotel now and will be turning in early tonight. Tomorrow we plan to deliver our gigantic suitcases to Cambridge and get our first peek of our new home. Wednesday will probably involve more sight-seeing around London before we fly to Croatia on Thursday. We also hope to catch a few shows while we're in town.

JFK feels like a million miles away and it seems like a week since we left. Every now and again throughout the day I would be shaken out of my weary stupor by the reality that I'm actually, finally here. I'm already looking forward to settling in at Cambridge and getting to know some of the Westcott students. Love to all of you at home!

2006-09-03T16:45:00.000+01:00

I leave in just a few hours. Lots of YDS friends came out last night for a little send-off at Archie's. It was the perfect way to spend my last night in New Haven. I sure will miss YDS while I'm gone. The sun is finally coming out and the campus looks beautiful. It will be hard to say goodbye today, but the excitement is building and the Croatian beaches are calling my name. I'll post again as soon as I'm able to.

2006-09-02T00:50:00.000+01:00

In 48 hours I will be getting on a plane bound for London. Although I’ve been planning for this for more than eight months now, somehow I’m surprised that it has snuck up on me so quickly. A week ago I was still at my summer chaplaincy internship and a week from now I will be vacationing in Croatia. Unbelievable.

Amidst the tedious to-do’s of preparing to be abroad for four months, I’m finding myself sad to be leaving YDS and the friends I have come to love here. New student orientation is in full swing and it feels like things are just getting started, yet I’m saying goodbyes. I’m aware that my time left at YDS before graduating is short, and I am feeling the price of going abroad. Still, I know this is a great opportunity and I’m excited.

The Admissions Office hosted a lovely high tea yesterday and invited all the incoming and outgoing Cambridge students to mingle. The British students are delightful and have been very helpful, answering countless questions about life in the UK. (Where can I leave my suitcase? What is the cheapest way to travel? What do the rooms look like? Is there really a bar in the basement of the seminary? By the way, the answer to that last question is yes.) I was even awakened this morning by a phone call from the Director of Studies at Westcott House who was working diligently to make sure that we will be able to enter the country as planned, since our official letters from the University have not yet arrived. She even volunteered to meet us at the airport in London if need be to ensure that we can pass through immigration. If that isn’t hospitality, I don’t know what is.

All in all, the next two days will be filled with some sad goodbyes (or “see you laters” as I’ve been trying to think of them), but I have a real sense that I’m embarking on something marvelous. I feel a bit like a pilgrim with an unknown destination and I’m looking forward to walking the paths of those who have gone centuries before me, perhaps carrying some of the same questions. As one woman at YDS told me, I’ll come back “me” but an even better me. I do hope that’s the case.

I plan to continue to blog during my travels and hope to post photos as I am able. I hope you’ll journey along with me.

2006-08-08T01:15:00.000+01:00