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A Christmas in Japan

A Christmas in Japan
I went back & forth and back & forth on whether or not I should write this post.
Would the audience accept a less quippy, Japanese-themed post in exchange for a more thoughtful, solemn essay?
Would I lose readers because I went too deep?
Would it be offensively weighty?
But I trust you. I trust you to read if you like and pass if you don’t. I won’t insult your intelligence by assuming you can’t make that choice. So if you’ve had enough of artsy-heartsy Christmas posts and you’re just here for your dose of Japanese life, meet me here next week?
For now, I have this small corner of the internet and, if I may, I’d like to prop up a little Christmas tree here and turn on the lights.
I’ve been celebrating Christmas in a different way this year than I ever have in the past. I’m usually surrounded by family and laughter and noise and music and movies.
It’s a bit quieter in Japan. We have the music some nights and I’ve watched 3 Christmas movies and trust me, WE LAUGH, but it’s an altogether lower decibel Christmas this year.
The busy is missing and the hustle they sing about in the songs is easy to avoid when all your shopping is shipped before December 10th so it makes it by Christmas.
And the quiet, as it does if you let it, brings with it a small dose of reflection and an invitation to explore a little deeper. I accepted. And so in the corner by the tree, I’ll share what’s happening in this artsy-heart.
Christmas is a big event. Commercially. Personally. Relationally.
Big marketing campaigns.
Big dinner plans.
Big lists (that must be checked twice).
Big story. The biggest story in the history of the world, if you believe what it says. And even if you don’t, the claims of this story are certainly the biggest. A God of the universe becomes a baby…a tiny helpless human predicted to SAVE THE WORLD, conceived & born of a virgin…a teenage girl, who could’ve been stoned for betraying her betrothal vows. This baby then grows up living a perfect life and performs miracles of healing & immense power only to throw all the fame away to die by crucifixion with a promise to take away our sins and defeat DEATH in a death-defying rise from the grave 3 days afterward.
I’m sorry…wha??
I’m not here to defend the claims of the Scripture that Jesus lived, died & rose again. There are lots of more qualified resources for that.  I’m just here to tell you how my belief in that big story is shaping my small life this quiet Christmas.
Several years ago, I read in a beautiful book by Sheldon Vanauken “Van” called A Severe Mercy (I could give this a full run-down and recommendation, but for sake of time & topic, suffice it to say that it’s wonderful, so go read it) an auto-biographical story of Sheldon and his wife, Jean Davis “Davy”, their love for each other and their friendship with C.S. Lewis that eventually culminated in a conversion to Christianity. The story-telling of this couple’s love of & devotion to one another is breath-taking in its grandeur and simultaneous simplicity. It’s not an imagined, romantic, Notebook-esque story, but it leaves you thinking, “I thought that only existed in the movies.” It’s that over-powering and enchanting. But it all boils down to glass of water.
In an explanation of the level of love and devotion they were willing to give each other, Van doesn’t read us an oath they signed in blood or a grandiose vow to die for each other if needed, he tells us of a promise they made to always be willing to bring the other a glass of water. No matter what they were doing or what time of night, if one asked for a glass of water the other would bring it to them.
How laughably little they promised each other.
But don’t you feel it? Don’t you see the pristine example of selflessness this is?
We are not often asked to jump in front of a bullet, to lay on the grenade, or to stop a speeding train, though our hearts, in the throes of love, shout that we would do any number of these and more if it were asked of us. It seems actually easier to promise that which we will, most likely, never have to do.
But what if the test of our love were a glass of water? Now that’s dangerous. I might have to do that every day. I might have to show you my love as I promised it: With a daily relinquishing of my rights so you can have a glass of water. 
I can feel it in my heart now. The courage to help Oakie if he was in danger rises up in my chest as I sit on this couch imagining all the ways I save the day. It’s just as real as the irritation I feel when I’m interrupted because he needs a favour. I’m embarrassed as I type. What if I’m the only selfish one that cringes when I hear that voice I love asking me to STOP WHAT I’M DOING AND HELP HIM?
But, love, can’t you see I’m reading?
You don’t understand, GILMORE GIRLS is on.
No, but YOU’RE CLOSER.
The ire I am capable of unleashing is better kept for a villain who threatens our lives, but aren’t the tinges of it right there at the edges of my heart when he gets it wrong or misunderstands or forgets…again? Just me?
Stay with me; Christmas is around the corner.
So what is the root of that ire? That grating pain as I comply, but grumble?
Isn’t it the pain of dying just a bit? Dying to my desires? Dying to my rights?
Could this be the version of dying for each other I’ve been given?
And isn’t it just the smallest thing?
I’m here to tell you, I married a guy who excels at this kind of death; this kind of life.
He is so incredibly selfless, sometimes it hurts to be married to a guy so kind.
Sometimes it shows in sharp relief the hurt I’ve dealt him with my sharp words and my knees buckle under the weight of my ingratitude. And I feel another small piece of myself die and be replaced with a fresh desire to love him like that.
It happens when I say to him, “I’m really frustrated with you right now.”
When he didn’t communicate and he DIDN’T TELL ME THE PLAN and I’m hungry and there was NO COFFEE this morning.
And I turn my face to the window of the car so I don’t have to see him extending his hand to hold mine; that way I could play it off as unseen instead of another unkindness.
And he just says softly, “It’s ok.”
And I add it to my ammunition to fire another round. It’s ok? Gee, thanks for your permission to be frustrated but—–
And just as the Proverbs say, his gentle answer turns away my anger.
He didn’t rear up to fight back. He didn’t defend himself against my out-of-proportion annoyance. He didn’t swing the spotlight around to show all of my wrongs. He just acknowledged it in gentle love. And my answer came in kind.
When he shows me that kind of love time & time again it chips away at my ego and my need to be right and instead creates in me a desire to find a way to show him how thankful I am.
He died for me right then. He died to his pride & his right to be right & his big love came right down small to me.
And isn’t this the Christmas story?
Didn’t the big God come right down small?
And before He ever did the big dying, He did the small dying.
He was wrongly accused & reputation-ruined & belittled & forgotten & dismissed, but He didn’t rear up to fight back. He didn’t defend Himself against our out-of-proportion ire. He didn’t swing the spotlight. He just acknowledged it in gentle love.
He died to His pride & His right to be right & His big love came right down small to me.
And He died for me right then. On that cross. Those two thousand years ago.
The biggest loving & living & dying started with the smallest.
the small girl from the small town loving a small man and a small baby.
And He says, “Follow Me.”
If we can follow Him in the small ways of dying to ourselves so others can have a glass of water, won’t these small deaths eventually add up to a whole life of big love?
So then, Luke 16:10 makes a little more sense when it says, “He who is faithful in what is least is faithful also in much.”
The big God came down to show us that the way to the big things we desire: value, purpose, joy, forever-living, peace, harmony, beauty is the really the way to Him: Jesus.
Acknowledging this will cause a dying in you. And dyings are painful. I feel it every time I lay down myself for the glass of water. We can’t do it on our own. We need Him to show us the way, but because we’re so set on turning our face to the window we will not take His hand.
Thank God that He takes ours.
And He doesn’t take it by force, swinging the spotlight and angrily showing us our faults. He comes in a soft answer, a little baby born in a little town weaving a big story of a big love.
Showing you, through His life and death, time & time again, that
He values you.
More than this whole big wide world.
He. Loves. You.
You need do nothing more extravagant than turning to Jesus.
Look to Him for your meaning
and your value
and your purpose
and in Him you will find joys unimaginable.
He already showed you how He thinks of you when He sent that baby to give you a way to see Him and know Him and love Him back. He came for you.
And if that soft answer is turning away your anger, turning your face away from that window reflection of yourself & your endless attempts at creating happiness and purpose out of yourself, I believe it is evidence that He is calling you now. Follow Him. He’s been coming for you from the beginning.
merry Christmas.
love,
caroline

Ramen with Ramon

This week was one of little joys. 
I will share them with you as I encountered them: In a simple, small, joyful way. 
We recently visited a small church in Machida (one town over from ours) where we immediately felt at home. There were no more than 30 people at the English service that afternoon, but it was one of earnest worship and humble love to these two newcomers. We weren’t able to attend the following week because Oakie had to work and I lost my set of car keys (hold your laughter, please), but later in the week we received an invitation to lunch from a man we’d met at the church. Thank you, Jesus, for brave & selfless people who reach beyond themselves to hold onto us because we all belong to each other.
Enter Ramon (or Ramòn maybe?). He remembered us from the service and also works on Camp Zama, but as a civilian. He bravely followed up and offered to take us to lunch on Wednesday. He drove us to a shared parking lot for 3 restaurants and let us choose: Sushi, upscale Japanese lunch, or ramen from a shack. I’ve mentioned before that Oakie’s been into noodles lately, plus, shacks tend to be the homes of the best hole-in-the-walls I know……..so ramen it was. Now, I realise the role that ramen has taken in present-day American society. 
It’s the package of choice for poor, broke college students who just need to make it to next week; it’s the just-add-hot-water-and-stir staple of the down-and-out. But here….it’s an art form.
The shack seated about 12 people side by side on low stools at a bar facing the kitchen. Your order is placed at the vending machine by the door and the water is self-serve (come to think of it, I don’t think there were other drink options…). After a brief volley of bows and arigato gouzaimasu-es, we took our seats and waited. Watching these chefs was like a Food Network segment. They grabbed big bowls and added a small ladle-full of this and a dash of that and a big dipper of milky white broth and then the famed ramen which cooked as they topped it all with a slice of ham and a sheet of dried seaweed. This is then placed in front of you with chopsticks and a spoon while the bubbles of the boil are still subsiding. AND IT’S AMAZING. It’s creamy and savory with just the right amount of crunch and chew and all the ramen realities you know are burst with this perfect pin point dish that you’re already pencilling in your calendar to have again. SPOILER: If/when you come to visit, we will be taking you to this place so you too can be disappointed in American ramen in a whole new way. 

Funny thing we learned from Ramon/òn: The Japanese borrowed the word ‘mansion’ from the english language and have attached it to apartment complexes. 
No amount of correcting them will change their minds. 
Apartments are mansions. 
So just shut up about it.

[Enter clever transition here]
So, as many of you know, I had a birthday this week (thank y’all for the greetings and well-wishes!!!). I highly recommend you try this whole Japanese-birthday thing. Little secret about birthdays in Japan…they last a whole lot longer than regular old American birthdays. I (justifiably) started celebrating 14 hours before y’all and then got a 14 hour extension too! Henceforth and forevermore, I will be celebrating in this fashion. 38 hours of birthday privilege! It’s a lot easier to sell than the birthday-week or birthday-month thing. These are cut down by the fact that birthDAY has a set time limit within the name, but if you play the time zone angle, it’s STILL your birthDAY for 38 hours because science. You’re welcome. 

I had a lovely 38-hour day complete with a make-your-own-Pad-Thai at the Pacific Rim restaurant on our housing area where they sang “Happy Birthday” and gave me a cupcake with a candle and this lovely picture:

And speaking of pictures, [note to self: transition nailed] I GOT A NEW CAMERA AND IT’S FANCY AND I DON’T KNOW HOW TO USE IT, BUT I’VE ALREADY TAKEN 78 PICTURES. To celebrate this addition to our family, (other than to use all caps, obviously), I will show you some pictures of our house and my birthday baking efforts and the candles.
But first, the first ever pictures taken by my camera:

 Our sitting room/sewing room/display room for my #taylorswift magazine: 
(didn’t think I’d get it in there, did ya?) 
[note to self: nailed it. again.]
My favorite spot in the house (sorry, Taylor) is this Christmas still life. 
A little place where my decorations make me happy.
Baking Chewy Chai Spice Sugar Cookies on my birthday because it delights me to put something undone into a hot box and then take it out deliciously done. 
Plus, they have cream cheese in them and I basically NEEDED them.

And then Oakie put 26 candles into 26 cookies and sang to me. #blessed

And then, perhaps the highlight of my week, starts with a confession:
Hi. My name is Caroline Elizabeth Osborne née Garcia (I just learned about the word ‘née and I want to take a moment to congratulate myself on smoothly squeezing it into my blog… OKAY OKAY, we’re getting back to the confession) and I had never seen a single Star Wars movie until Friday night. 

Now before you go all “I’m gonna unfriend you on Facebook and ruin your reputation and kick over your trashcans” on me, please know: I have now watched ALL SEVEN OF THEM. One each day until the midnight premiere here in Japan when I watched Episode III right before Episode VII. I…I…I’m a fan. There. I said it. You know what they always say, “Late is great.” Right? …guys?

Another thing you need to know: I have formally committed to pronouncing it so that Wars rhymes with Star…go ahead. Give it a shot. Star. Wars. SO FUN RIGHT? So there’s that…

But seriously, I am a fan. And I will not espouse my new-found opinion on the movie so as not to spoil it for other die-hard fans like myself. 

To prove my love, I did my hair Princess Leia-style for the premier and I was NOT ASHAMED.
 I also used our wrapping paper tube as my light sabre.
 And yes, I know that Princess Leia doesn’t use them.
#artisticlicense
so that was our week.
it was small and simple and wonderful.
plus, I met a Japanese lady, Chieko-san, who offered to teach me the traditional Japanese tea ceremony and I am SO excited!
love from Japan.
and may the force be with you.

God. Is. So. Cool.

Wow. Went to mass this morning at the Duomo (Also known as the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore). Now, I’m not Catholic so I just went for the experience of church in another country, going to Mass, etc. But God had some other ideas. As I’m sitting there listening to a language I cannot understand, in a country I do not live in, in a church I do not participate in, I heard God. In English. Now this might have been due in part to the fact that the program we received upon entry was in several languages including ours, but nonetheless… I was reading the verses that they had selected for today’s homily and my first thought was one of critique. Why were these verses grouped in such a way that they seemed to go together, but were actually pulled out of context so that they read a whole different message…but I kept reading…and then I opened my own Bible and compared notes, as it were. And that’s when it happened. “The I got lost in the You” as the Opera I saw on Friday night sang. I turned to 1 John 4:7-21 and began reading. The combined conviction and encouragement hit me like a Mack truck. God is love. The strains of the organ and the choir only added to the enormity of the moment. I was participating in worship 5,000 miles away from my home church (CrossPointe) and God followed me there, pursuing my heart no matter where I went. Verse 20 says, “If someone says, ‘I love God,’ and hates his brother, he is a liar; for one who does not love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen.” Conviction slammed into my heart with startling accuracy. How can I say I love God and not forgive those who have wronged me? How can I say I love God and ignore those crying out for my love? Verses 7-10 show us the Gospel. They tell us what love is and why love is. “By this the love of God was manifested in us, that God has sent His only begotten Son into the world that we might live through Him. In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation (sacrifice) for our sins.”
‘All you need is love.” We’ve heard it a million times. But it’s true. Not the love of a man or a woman because they change their minds. They leave us. No. All we need is the love of the One who came up with the idea in the first place. He created love. Think about someone you love. How do you know you love them? You care about them. You care if they live or die, yes. But it’s so much more than that. And sometimes you don’t even mean for it to happen. But all of a sudden you realize you care. It matters to you. They matter to you. You care if they have a good day or a bad day. You care if they succeed or fail. You care if their eyes are happy or sad…
“[…] cast[…] all your cares upon Him, because He cares for you.” -1 Peter 5:7
He feels the same way about us. The way that we care for that certain person (or those certain people) is the way that He cares for us…only times about a million. The fact that we have the capability to care for someone or about someone is evidence enough that He feels that way about us. He created us and everything that we feel and have the ability to feel in His own image. You are cared for, LOVED, by the Creator of those very things. What more do you need? Because of this, we can love. We can share that love with those around us. In fact, we perfect the love that God shows us. Verse 12 says, “No one has seen God at any time; if we love one another, God abides in us, and His love is perfected in us.” Furthermore, we don’t have to be afraid! Verses 18-19 say, “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves punishment, and the one who fears is not perfected in love. We love, because He first loved us.”
So love, friend. Love with reckless abandon. There is no fear in love. Love those around you. Love your friends. Love your enemies. Love strangers.
Care. Care about those around you. Care about your friends. Care about your enemies. Care about strangers.
Don’t be afraid. Let them matter to you. And then love them with everything you have…
In a language I could not understand, in a country I do not live in, in a church I do not participate in, I heard God. Yes, God. Is. So. Cool.

It Might Have Been in Gay Paris… (pronounced Paree)

So I found this blog that never got published from my first study abroad trip to Germany. Thought some of you might enjoy this tid-bit about my adventures in Paris…

**Small explanation for the title: For those of you who don’t follow old music, this is a song by The McGuire Sisters from the fifties. It’s all about finding the world in someone you love…however, this post is about a weekend trip to France**

As I write this, I am in the hotel lobby listening to the sweet strains of some ’40s music that our desk clerk found on the radio. He’s this adorable, little old man that doesn’t speak a word of English. So…I learned to say my room number in German.

I have quite a few stories for you involving angry French waiters, Disney-like bird feeding, relics, and of course: Train rides, so here goes…

Right after class on Wednesday we packed up for Paris and caught the 5:39 train. Train rides have become my favorite European habits; they’re like chocolate boxes: you just never know what you’re gonna get. On this train, we got a lovely mix. The four of us (we were missing the last part of our CSU Jackson Five) sat at a little table facing each other…love that. Across the aisle was a French family with the cutest 6 or 7 yr. old little girl. She was listening to an audio book in French that apparently encouraged interaction because she would pipe up every now and then with little French phrases that I didn’t understand.

Behind this lovely family was a young man with cool horn rimmed glasses (seriously IN in Europe). He was on the phone when we first boarded and within ten minutes of being seated he had set up an entire office complete with laptop, mouse pad, mouse, headphones, and a mini-secretarial service. Throughout the trip various exchanges were made with him…such as eye contact and the occasional smile. About halfway through the trip a gentleman joined him and within the minute he was asleep…but he’s not the type to do things half-way. He didn’t just sleep, no no no! He SNORED. The kind that makes you a candidate for those breathing strip commercials. Well, obviously, I wanted a picture (documentation purposes only, folks), but our horn-rimmed friend was still awake so I had to be discreet. I asked Shane to act like he was taking a picture of me, but really take one of the snoring man and our horn-rimmed friend. Apparently, he thought I said, “Really obviously take a picture of the man that’s snoring and the man beside him.” These instructions, he followed verbatim. Turns out, our horn-rimmed friend was looking right at Shane when he took the shot. I include this picture.

Parenthetically, the little old desk clerk is now watching old westerns. Gunshots are ringing out in the lobby.

Moving on. While in Paris, we did a number of different things; I’ll hit the highlights. Our first day there we stopped at the bakery at the end of our block and got Quiche Lorraine to eat on the bus (can you say delicious?) Hopped on the train (you do that a lot in Paris…hop) and went to the Sarce Coure Basilica. Turns out with all our various errands, picture taking and cliff dwelling, we got there just in time for the noon mass; a very cool expereince. (NOTE: When walking the streets of Paris, one must be constantly vigilant because of the men on the sidewalks hawking Parisian paraphenalia like little Eiffel towers on keychains, little Eiffel towers that light up, and little Eiffel towers with special psychic powers.) We thus far had done a fine job of running across the the street every time we came into contact with them until this one time at the Basilica. We were coming down the MILLION steps and we walked straight into them. Two African men working the stairs with odd knotted strings hanging from their fingers. Following Kori and Shane, Robin and I watched them neatly skirt them. Expecting to be able to do the same thing we charged forward saying, ‘No thank you’ in the British accents we had adopted for our stay in France. But alas! One grabbed my hand. I tried to pull away, but he was holding on too tight. I kept backing away saying, ‘No, please don’t’ Shane and Kori were calling from a little further down the sidewalk. The man was trying to place his knotted string on my finger and he succeeded. I now have a bracelet and a cool story and it only Cost me EIGHT EURO. Unbelievable.

On My Journey to Becoming a Local…

Well today started off with a bang as we met our tour guide from ACCENT (this stands for something that means it’s the name of our school here in Florence) at 9am for a practical walking tour of the city. We learned where the Post Office was, how to find a English-speaking doctor, and what bookstore won’t kick us out for “just looking” and I can’t remember any of it. Talk about JET-LAG. It caught up with me with a vangeance at least four times today. We then continued our day with an orientation about how not to get robbed, raped, or run over. Very informative (and yes, Mom, I do remember THAT part). Then a two hour break to find food before our Survival Italian class for 2 and a half hours where my second jet-lag attack had me dozing in class. Sort’ve wish we’d had that class before I had to walk up to a very busy Italian restaurant owner and tell him I wanted the Rustici sandwich (the contents of which remain unknown) in the worst Italian accent ever. However, after this class I feel much better about my Italian skills and even got a chance to use them with confidence later the same day…but you don’t get to hear/read that story yet 🙂
After this LONG and information-slammed day I ventured with Michelle (not one of my roommates, which is important to know in a few sentences) to look for grocery stores because we needed toilet paper, laundry detergent, breakfast food, and tissues. And lo and behold we found several stores, but as we wandered around exploring the goods we realized just how clueless we still were when it came to finding what we needed, but we took a stab at it and from the above list we ended up with paper towels instead of toilet paper (hold your laughter please), fabric softener instead of laundry detergent (ok, now you can laugh), some breakfast  food (VICTORY!!!), tissues and no trash bags because I forgot (…classic). We will be executing Grocery Shopping: Take Two tomorrow.
The next part of the story is far less discouraging (or hilarious depending on your perspective). Michelle and I both needed to get ready for our evening adventure to the Opera so we had to part ways half-way home since we don’t live together (told you this part was important) and, yes, I DID successfully navigate my way back to my apt. all by myself!! Mom, at this point I just need you to start breathing again. Our ACCENT program director said that walking alone in the daytime is perfectly safe. Also it was only a few blocks, but this should not in ANY way minimize the outstanding nature of my victory because after last night, finding my apartment at all was amazing and without the help of my friends…it’s applause worthy.
The next noteworthy event was the eternal walk we had to take to the German opera we went to go see. Jason, I’m gonna be FIT whether or not I end up intentionally training for this triathlon. The walking is awesome because your view is stunning; however because you’re so wrapped up in the breath-taking architecture, stunning sculptures, and beautiful views of the river, you don’t notice the DOG POOP you are walking through. Apparently, there are no pooper-scoopers in Italy. Or laws against leaving your dog’s “flowers” all over the sidewalk. Bummer.
The Opera was aMaZiNg. And yes I DID just use alternating capital letters so you know I mean it. I could tell you everything, but that would take FIVE hours. Yes, you read correctly, FIVE hours of very high singing…in German. I am not even going to lie. I fell asleep in the first act, but using my newly acquired Italian skills I was able to order a cappuccino from the concession stand flawlessly before the second act. *high five* Stayed awake for the rest of the performance and was blown away. These people could sing like nobody’s business. And it was visually stunning. Loved it.
Made it back home with no issues and I’m ready to sleep a little extra tomorrow so I can finish up some assignments and explore our neighborhood a little more.
With all this walking, navigating and Just Saying No to Street Hecklers (in their own language of course), I am well on my way to becoming a local!
Ciao!

Alright! Update time!

We arrived in Frankfurt this morning after an all night flight from Atlanta…oh, but it doesn’t start there! Before even successfully leaving the country the adventure looked us in the eyes and said, “Not so fast!” We gathered in the never-ending line to check our bags and an HOUR later we were on our way through another never-ending line at the Security Check-Point. Once past this, now, MILESTONE of our trip we boarded those lovely trains that mean you don’t have to walk to the very last concourse in the airport. As we laughed about the ridiculous nature of the checkpoints, took silly pictures of the “beginning of our journey,” and excitedly planned our events once we arrived, the train came to a stop and we exited like the nice lady said to at Concourse E (as in Echo). But for some reason, once we got off there was no where to go. People were standing still and watching the signs above the trains that read “Do Not Exit Concourse.” Somthing was UP. Majorly. Eventually we realized we weren’t going anywhere any time soon so we took seats in the middle of the mini-train station and waited…and waited. Finally a voice came over the intercom announcing that a lady named Olive needed to come to the nearest payphone and dial 911 for a very important message. Whoa. Then they hit. Security I mean. Swarming in their royal blue, crisply creased uniforms. I felt better already…until we heard what was REALLY going on. A mysterious package with wires wrapped around it was found in our concourse and they were working as quickly as possible to resolve it, but they would need to set up additional security screening stations before allowing passengers to board. Wowzers. So it went on…for another 20 minutes or so before finally boarding and taking off an hour late for our 8 hour flight (which I slept through–surprise, surprise) to Frankfurt. The good news was that it ate up our layover, so all I had time for was one run through my Taylor Swift playlist and a brief nap stretched out on the chairs at our gate. Keepin’ it classy. While on this flight, thanks to Lufthansa’s lovely ListenRelax radio, I discovered a fantastic new artist and her song “When You’ve Got Trouble.” Here’s a link so you can share in this experience: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UM4tDPSPtp0 You’ll love it.
A long, though relatively uneventful day here in Florence as we found our apartments, rode in taxis down CRAZY Italian streets, and navigated the Via De’s (all of the street names here begin with this) of Florence to our dinner meeting at a local Pizzeria. The most exciting thing all day was trying to find our way BACK to our apartment which seemed to have relocated. We tried FIVE different doors before realizing we were on the wrong street…blast. I was FREAKIN’ out just as we saw it gleefully sitting right where we left it. Unbelievable.
Safe and sound and about to call it a night. Gotta kill this jetlag!

A Day Full of Laundry, Noise, and Trains

Yesterday, Kori and I decided to do some laundry in Bonn (the closest laundromat). We caught the tram around noon and we were pretty proud of our timing because the tram we needed pulled up just as we approached the platform. We boarded and looked around. Our fellow passengers were numerous and between the ages of 14 and 18. They were decked out in Gothic styled clothing and they were all half drunk. There were about 25 in all. Kori and I make eye contact, “NICE!!” we communicate silently. We are both BIG fans of new euro experiences. As the tram takes off so does the noise level in the car. What appear to be the ring leaders are five or six boys standing in a circle yelling chants that the rest of the car joins in on; call and response type chants. They were passing around a keg and the whole car smelt of alcohol. When they all got off a few stops later (that’s a lie…it was more than a few) they left behind beer spilled all over the floor, bottles and trash galore. It was insane.
Then we found the laundromat that was disguised as a coffee shop dropped off our laundry and went to go find some food. Because we’d slept late we hadn’t eaten yet. The place we stopped at served breakfast till 3…NICE! I ordered the “American Breakfast” and got fried eggs, a muffin, bacon and sausage…as well as a random side of guacamole.
After this we went shopping, which included walking around a lot of stores and trying on a lot of clothes. We had a blast.
We came back to pick up our laundry four hours later and it had only just come out of the dryer (again with that perfect timing). We did a quick fold, stuffed it back in our bags, and headed to get a coke. Then we went to the train station and laughed. The next train to Bad Honnef arrived in 7 minutes: PERFECT TIMING. We sat down with a few other people (a nice-looking kid with a backpack, a family with several daughters, and a couple that just got done shopping) prepared to wait just a hot minute for it to show up…then it did and the sight that met our eyes was enough to put us back in our seats: The train was jammed. And I don’t even mean standing room only; I mean windows fogging up because of the body heat, bodies slammed against every window and door, and security guards standing around to make no one else tried to board the train. It was bizarre. We looked at each other and made the only choice we could: we’d wait for the next one, thanks.
So we did…for 20 minutes. The kid with the back-pack kept looking at his watch. We kept laughing at that one train that was so packed. And then came another one, just like the other one. You may laugh because that rhymed…but we REALLY laughed because it was true. The second one was just as packed if not more so. This time when the doors opened to let people in, the people being pressed against them fell out and had to push to get their place back. At one point Kori told me we would just punch our way on to the train and though the kid with the back-pack didn’t appear to understand us, he laughed when he saw her put her fists up. “Is this normal?” we asked. “No, it is very unusual,” he replied. We had a new friend. Just then, his phone rang and we heard urgent German and saw another frantic glance at his watch. We later discerned that this was his mother wondering where he was…
Six trains and two hours later we were still sitting in the train station in Bonn with the kid with the back-pack waiting for a train. At this point we decided to skip trying to get on a Bad Honnef train and just try to catch ANY Line 66 that came by with enough room to squeeze on three people (Kori and I had decided that we weren’t leaving the kid with the back-pack behind). We figured if we caught a Ramserdorf train and rode it to the end of the line and then caught a Bad Honnef from there we might have a better chance of getting home within the next month. With this new goal in mind ran to the doors of the already almost full Ramserdorf train that came and Kori and I shoved our way on. I turned around and the kid with the back-pack was backing away and shaking his head. “Come on!” I yelled, “There’s room!” He grinned and jumped in just as the doors shut on his backpack. We were off.
A few stops down, the train completely emptied and we realized that there was some sort of concert/festival going on right outside of Bonn and that’s why every train going that way was slammed. We got off at the last stop and ended up having to catch a train to Obercassel just a couple stops down before finding an empty Bad Honnef train. At each connecting train stop, the kid with the backpack always made sure we knew which one to catch next and stuck with us whenever we encountered sketch characters on the trains. “We’re here for another month,” Kori told him.” Maybe we’ll see you again!” He smiled and nodded. When we boarded the last one, our friend asked where we were getting off. We told him Konigswinter. “Where do you get off?” “Here,” he said and waved goodbye. I may never see him again, but I’ll never forget the kid with the backpack.
We finally made it back to Konigswinter around 8, grabbed some dinner and spent the rest of the night remembering our crazy day.

Peace!
~cg

Germany, Germany, Germany


As some of you may know and some of you will find out (in about as long as it takes to you finish this sentence): I am in GERMANY!! I’m on a Study Abroad Program for five weeks this summer in a little town called Konigswinter (a suburb of the bigger city called Bonn–the birthplace of Beethoven). I so super love it here. The air is humidity-less and the birds sing sweeter in another language.
I’ve already been here a week…may not seem that long, but there’s already too many stories to try to catch up on (I’ll do a Day 1, 2, 3 thing later) so I’ll just skip to today. Nope, changed my mind. I’m rewinding to yesterday because I have the experience of a lifetime and I need to tell you about that first.
Thursday we (the CSU Jackson 5 as we call ourselves: Kori, Shane, Robin, Caleb and myself) struck out on our own for the city of Amsterdam. Left to catch the train after breakfast and it turned out we had our own compartment..whoa. We arrived and walked for a while in the wrong direction, backtracked, found our hotel (the Best Western Apollo Museumhotel–yes, it’s all one word), checked in and went to find some dinner. We ended up eating at the Hard Rock Cafe: Amsterdam. It was wicked cool. Then we strolled through the streets dodging bikers, cars, and dogs as we went only to find ourselves in the middle of this huge lawn full of picnickers. It was wonderful. We stretched out on the grass and soaked up some culture all the while taking pictures of the ducks, people and mermaid in the little pond (dubbed a mermaid because all we could see were bubbles and obviously that means it was a mermaid…and we’re theatre people).
The next morning we woke up at 6:30 so we could get in line at Anne Frank’s house which opened at nine. We had heard that the line was REDIC so we figured if we were there about an hour early we might be fifth or sixth in line…right? Well apparently we were the ONLY people in all of Amsterdam who thought of that: We were first…for a WHILE. Then we were joined by a guy who we found out was from Israel. He had flown in at five so he could see Anne’s house and some other high points of Amsterdam and he was flying out at 9 that night. Dedication.
Anne Frank’s house was incredible. For those of you who don’t know, I’ve played Anne twice in productions at Family Theatre and at the Springer so I have an oddly tangible connection with her and her story. It was touching and awe inspiring to walk through her room; see the pictures of movie stars glued to the wall; walk through the bookcase door; see the chestnut tree out Peter’s window from which she drew so much strength. I don’t posses the words necessary to describe it to you or even to think about it in anything other than emotions so I won’t even try. I will say though, if in your life you EVER have a chance to go…GO.
We then went to the Rijktsmuseum where we saw original Renoir and Rembrandt paintings. Super cool. Grabbed some lunch at an Italian place and headed to catch our train back home. Funny (and by funny I mean mildly humorous and moderately entertaining unless you were on the train…if that’s the case it was a HILARIOUS) story: We were riding along hyped up on the coke we got before we left; I was being riotously funny quoting movies and vividly describing the scene in Bambi where he gets shot in the neck and lives (“Bambi’s a real man: he got shot in the neck and moved on”); and we hear some Dutch over the PA. We look at each other with the same blank stare that we always use when listening to the languages in this part of the world; we wait for the familiar “Ladies and Gentlemen,” but it doesn’t come. People are starting to look angry and the train is groaning to a stop. Now our blank stares are replaced with wild confusion. Why are all the people so angry? Then we hear it: “Ladies and gentlemen, we are stopped. (really?) Due to electrical problems we will remain this way for a while. Please feel free to move about outside the train.” “Great!” I say. As I look out the windows at the German equivalent of a general store on one side and the pasture of cows on the other I continue with, “Please feel free to exit the train, kill a cow, make a hamburger, eat it, and be back on the train all before we’ve even THOUGHT about moving again.” After about 20 mins of motionless anxiety (except for me because I found the whole ordeal amusing) they announced that instead of taking us back to Koln, they were stopping at Dusseldorf (about 45 mins away). So we had to catch a connector, get to Koln, and catch our train back to Konigswinter. All around an adventurous day.
More later!

~cg