It finally came!

My new computer is here! I'm blogging from my much faster, not-randomly-shutting-down, with-working-USB-ports, not-critically-out-of-disk-space machine. I'm excited.
And now a moment of silence for Caravaggio.
-moment-
Farewell, old machine. You served me well. Sometimes. But then you fell apart, and I replaced you. (At least you're recyclable.)

Free stuff!

It turns out that we will have (some) furniture for our apartment after all. The church's music department is getting rid of some old couches and whatnot, and thus one purple sofa and one chair/ottoman pair (with, as my mum describes it: "small checks that're blue and gold and cream and pinkish"...aka "ugly") have been bestowed upon us. Aesthetically unappealing, but very affordable! That's how first furniture is supposed to be, anyway, hey? I think I would feel like I was missing out on part of the apartment-getting experience if the furniture was actually attractive.
But anyway, now, if you ever come visit, we'll actually have a place for you to sit down. Yay.
Now the hunt is on for a coffee table...

Flashback #2: Check your tickets

So, Julie and I finally found each other in Frankfurt (see Flashback #1).
We were in the Frankfurt Airport, which is attached to the Frankfurt train station, which is convenient when you're landing only to catch an overnight train to Prague. While the whole not-finding-each-other thing did eat up some of our time buffer, we still had plenty of time to sit, devour some trail-mix, attempt to communicate with the train people regarding how to get my rail pass validated, and stare glazedly in post-adrenal stupor at the train arrival/departure board (one of those exciting ones that still uses the flippy letters which spin through with a satisfying whoosh every time they're updated).
Our train was to leave at 10:20pm.
At 8:45pm we continued to be mesmerized by the train board.
At 9:00pm I joked that after the ordeal of finding each other, it would sure be horrible-yet-funny if somehow we were at the wrong train station or something. Ha ha ha.
At 10:00pm we finally noticed that our train number was still not showing up on the pending departure board. Nor was any other international train. And that this might be a bad thing.
At 10:01pm we looked at our tickets. Again. More carefully this time.
At 10:02pm we were frantically dashing to the taxi cabs parked outside the airport, hoping that one would magically be able to get us to the international train station in downtown Frankfurt in enough time for us to get to our boarding platform before the train left. In fifteen minutes.
At 10:07pm we were being laughed at by the cab drivers for even imagining such a thing was worth asking.
At 10:24pm I was remembering my 9:00 quip as we settled into our luxury sleeping quarters, stretched out on the airport floor, awaiting morning and the cab that would take us to the international station and the 6:00am train to Prague. Ha ha.

A new home!

It's official...we signed the lease papers today, and are moving into our new apartment one week hence. (Pictures will follow once we've taken some. It's a great little place.)
Extra bonus: it got me out of jury duty, because I'll no longer be a resident of Washington County on the day I'm called to report. Booyah.

Slideshow Woes

So, I'm making a video/slideshow/photo album of my European travels, and I'm having problems with the music. I just can't seem to find the right sort of playful-yet-not-obnoxious music that isn't a love song (creepy) and captures the combination of goofing off and beautiful sights shown in my pictures. People don't write good songs about friends. Just really, really sentimental ones. At least usually.
I have "We're Going to Be Friends" (either the White Stripes or the Jack Johnson version), "Via Con Me" by Paolo Conte, and "A Paris" by some old French guy, but there are still a few holes (currently in Vienna and the Cinque Terre). Maybe some more Jack Johnson? They Might Be Giants (selectively)? Iron & Wine? Alli Rogers?
Bah.

More Pictures

My mum has now posted her pictures from our Europe trip, if you're interested:
http://flickr.com/photos/harmsfam/sets/72157606799089013/

A place to call my own...

I was officially approved for my apartment today, and the move-in date is set for the end of the month! Yay!

Flashback #1: Should Have Had a Back-Up Plan

So, after about twenty-two hours of traveling and thirty minutes of sleep (not counting that twenty-minute zoning-out nap-type thing in Heathrow which almost made me miss my connecting flight...brilliant), I arrived in Frankfurt to meet Julie. At least we had the foresight to arrange our rendezvous ahead of time; we devoted a whole thirty-second phone-meeting to it as Julie packed for her tour and we scanned the Frankfurt Airport online map for a meeting place, landing on the most recognizable symbol for native Northwesterners: Starbucks. (I'm almost ashamed to admit that. But it was sort of fun to throw casually into conversations: "No, sorry, I can't work that Friday. I'm meeting Julie at Starbucks...in Frankfurt." (Bwa ha ha ha.)).
Anyway, the Starbucks was conveniently located between the plane terminals (me) and the train platforms (Julie), so it seemed like a good choice. And we had a good four hours to kill before our overnight train to Prague, so we could do with some coffee anyway.
So I found it and sat down on my backpack and waited. And waited and waited and waited. I'm not generally one to worry, but as it approached an hour past our scheduled time, then passed the hour mark, I was admittedly concerned (the whole sleep-deprivation thing wasn't exactly helping with the nerves, either). Did she miss her train? Did she get on the wrong train? Did her train derail? Had she been kidnapped? Arrested? Blighted with some horrible disease? Was she--as is the risk of all people in our over-caffeinated world--waiting for me at a different Starbucks?
Here's where the back-up plan would have come in handy. Should I stay there? Should I wander around and look for her? Send airport security after her? Hug a tree?
I called my dad.
Okay, actually I did a loop of the whole area between the train platforms and the Starbucks, talked to the information-booth people about whether there were any other Starbucks in the airport (no), sat some more, asked them to page Julie (which they claimed to do, although I didn't hear it), paced a bit, and then called my dad.
Or tried to call him. I then experienced the humiliation of realizing that I was incapable (apparently) of figuring out German pay-phones. (Again, we'll blame it on the sleep-deprivation.) So I found an email kiosk, and tried to write a very fast (aka expensive) email on a German keyboard that would sufficiently convey my desire for help without causing my parents undue alarm. How they could help, I'm still not entirely sure. But it seemed like the thing to do at the time. Then I paced some more.
Finally I went over to the information-booth lady (in sight of the Starbucks), asked her to tell any distraught-looking American backpackers named Julie who enquired that I would be back soon, and headed back towards the trains one more time. I was on the hunt. On the hunt for an average-height blonde backpacker in an airport full of German travelers. Hm.
I was just despairing of the hunt when I happened to see a familiar-looking back-of-head standing at a pay-phone (dang, she was smart enough to use them). Eureka! Success! Julie! I thought she was going to faint with happiness when she saw me standing there. (I thought that I might faint, too, but that was more because of the lack of sleep, ravenous hunger, and limb-exhaustion from all that pacing and looping with my thirty-pound pack...)
Apparently some airport guy had misdirected her, so she ended up in a hallway that required a boarding pass for entry (which she didn't have, obviously). So she thought she was stuck at the trains. And didn't have a way to tell me. And no back-up plan. And thus spent a very similar two hours pacing and wondering if I was stranded, kidnapped, arrested, blighted, etc...
Seriously. It's all about the back-up plan.
But we found each other. And it was much more entertaining this way (even at the time, but particularly in hindsight).
Of course, even with more than an hour to spare after our reunion, we still managed to miss our train. But more on that later...

Flashbacks: The Introduction

So, you may have noticed that I have a list in the sidebar of my blog entitled "Things I Learned Experientially in Europe." Some of you have even commented that you enjoyed them. But I'm also guessing that--unless you are Julie or my mum, and learned experientially alongside me--you have no idea what most of them mean. Nor really about anything else that happened on the trip.
And so, since it made me a bit sad that so much uniquely entertaining blog fodder presented itself to me at a time when I was blogging very inconsistently (namely when I was wandering around Europe nursing my inner-Luddite and generally trying to pretend that electronic devices didn't exist) (except digital cameras), I have decided to subject you all to a series of flashbacks. Therein I will share some of those amusing, crushing, bizarre and/or otherwise noteworthy things which I didn't share at the time. Aren't you excited?
Of course, since my current life is also continuing (and is naturally full of amusing, crushing and bizarre elements of its own), these flashbacks will be sprinkled throughout those entries which I would write now anyway.
However, I've taken up so much room with this introduction it seems that it would be overkill to actually share a flashback now. So you'll have to wait.
(Just trying to give you something to look forward to...)
(Yes, that was a blatant defiance of the "don't end sentences with prepositions" rule. Bwa ha ha.)

How Much Dare I Keep?

I've been thinking about money again lately, and the concepts of "necessity" and sacrifice. It's probably a combination of the fact that I'm currently creating my first fully-independent-of-parents budget while trying to swing downtown rent/move-in fees and replace my computer which is now (somewhat suddenly) in its last throes of death.
Last night I was describing to my dad how amazing it was to watch Les Miserables--on of my favorite stories--in London. And it was amazing. But I also remember that on the way home from the play, while walking to the tube, we passed a homeless man asking us for money. As I wrote in my journal that evening, trying to process that:
"On my way home from one of the most poignant stories of human dignity and mercy and compassion--a story which cost me a notable amount of money to see--I had 'nothing to give' the homeless man I met. ... I've been taught to love sacrificially, and I've been taught that to give money on the street is to enable drug habits and line the pockets of swindlers. It is so easy to justify inaction. I acknowledge the problems of the poor and yet always wait for a 'better opportunity' to help them than the opportunity before my eyes..."
I still don't know whether I should have given that man money that evening. Perhaps he would have used it for drugs or some other self-destructive habit. Perhaps he would have used it for food. I don't know. I do know that some people are dishonest, and prey upon people's compassion to get handouts. I also know that many, many people are hungry and suffering, and I am not.
There are other ways to help hungry people: to give them food, or food coupons, or walk with them somewhere to buy them the food or other things they need. Every time I pass an open hand or hat or battered paper cup and put nothing into it, I tell myself that: "There are other, better ways to help them." And inevitably that thought is chased by the next, that "Unfortunately, right at this moment I don't have food or coupons or time to give to them...next time." And I go on with my day, and they remain hungry.
My budget doesn't have a lot of breathing room right now, it's true. But if I know myself at all, it probably never will; because--should my income ever increase--things which now seem like unnecessary luxuries will suddenly turn into fun "splurges" and then into expected comforts, and the definition of "necessity" will subtly and nefariously raise higher and higher.
I am genuinely happy right now with what I have. I have no cause for complaint. Theoretically, if I made twice as much income as I do currently, I could continue to live as I do now and simply have that much more to give away. If only I would.
Ach, there is so much suffering and oppression and injustice in this fallen world. I pray that by the grace of God I will never be able to see it and remain content with doing nothing. (Given the mad justification-of-inaction skills I possess and less-than-ideal past experiences of wanting to save the world on my own terms, I am increasingly aware of the absolute need for it to be God at work, not myself...but those are other stories...)
-pause-
Anyway. My mind and heart are so full of these issues right now that I could go on and on, but I'll try to process in installments for the sake of anyone reading.

Trampoline

I just found out that trampoline is an Olympic sport. That's pretty sweet.

Ravioli and Future Reminiscence

Today my grandma and I had a lovely time making spinach ricotta raviloi with butter-walnut-sage sauce, accompanied by homemade olive-thyme artisan bread and green salad. I like cooking with my grandma. We just sort of make things up as we go (including messes, which are an essential part of cooking, in my opinion). And--of course--the outcome was quite tasty. Come fall we're going to make some butternut squash tortellini (you know, once squash is actually in season); always something to look forward to.
Then when I got home I got to watch history in the making as I watched Michael Phelps dramatically win his seventh gold in Beijing. While I'm not so much into this "he's the greatest Olympian ever" thing (since he happens to be in a sport which allows so many medals--unlike, say, beach volleyball or gymnastics or decathalons--I don't think being the "most decorated" necessarily makes him the "greatest"), it is fun to be a part of the world watching him win this many medals and know that in twelve or sixteen or twenty years at the future Olympics when they're still talking about this epic Olympic performance, I'll be able to tell little Daniel and John and other as-yet-unknown little people in my life that I remember watching it happen. Not that they'll necessarily care. But I'll still add it to my "I remember when" repetoire (which currently includes cassette tapes, dot matrix printers, the advent of PCs, gas under $1/gallon and life before the internet or cell phones, among other things). (For those of you who have vinyl records and gigantic black-and-white televisions in your growing-up memories, said repetoire may seem laughable, but hey, yours is laughable to the generations before you, too...I mean, what's the introduction of color television compared to the new-fangledess of horseless carriages or printing presses, really?).
Anyway. That was a super random, sleep-deprivation-induced tangent. These Olympics really need to end so I can get some sleep.
At least it's the weekend now. No alarm clock for me tomorrow.

Back by popular demand

So, I've received complaints that I haven't updated recently. That's probably because there isn't much to say. Really.
Um...
I made phone calls for eight and a half hours today. And I didn't talk to a single grumpy person, which made me quite happy. (Of course, most of them were answering machines, but hey.)
-long pause-
Yep.
Right now I'm watching the Olympics, and the crazy-identical Chinese synchronized divers. They look like the same person twice. And I have to say, I'm a little disappointed that the American Mary Beth who's competing against them isn't really pulling through as my namesake. It must be because she's a capital-B Mary Beth. The niggling knowledge that her first name isn't quite right is obviously throwing off her groove.
Oh, one actual piece of news: I think I found an apartment, so I'll probably be moving soon! Yay. Finally.

Off to BC...again

Well, another wedding calls me northwards. I'm heading to BC again this weekend to attend a wedding and hang out with my friends from my BC church. Of course, we don't know where we're staying yet once we get there. But I'm sure it will all work out. Surely someone will take us in.
Then I think I'm actually here to stay for a while. Amanda and I are looking at a couple apartments in the city limits on our way up, so hopefully I'll be moving soon, but I think my international travels are done for the year. It's sort of sad. My passport might start feeling neglected.

Nephew-time

Well, while I still think I would be happy gallivanting about Europe a bit longer, it is my consolation--and a very good consolation--that my nephew is here! He and his mum (along with his on-the-way little brother John) arrived today, and are staying here until Friday morning. It's crazy how much he's changed since Christmas (sadly, the last time I saw him): then he was a baby, now he's definitely a little boy. All boy. Despite jetlag, we had a lovely afternoon of running around chasing tennis balls, giggling on the hammock, and staring fixedly at water features.
Yeah, he really is the cutest kid ever. Definitely a keeper.
(Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, my mum's luggage did in fact make it back from Ghana unharmed.)

A bit more of a final update...

So it appears that the last time I updated this blog I was in Edinburgh. I did manage to get my vegetarian haggis--perhaps a contradiction in terms to those purists of the world, but quite tasty nonetheless--although the literary tour was cancelled when we got there. So sad.
From Edinburgh we headed northwest to the Highlands, in the Oban area. Our hotel was described variously as being in Kilchrenan and Taynuilt, both of which are in Argyll, and so we logically got off our train at the Taynuilt stop expecting to hire a cab to the actual hotel (which was advertised as being in the middle of nowhere, along a loch...i.e. not walkable with luggage). Of course, that action assumed that Taynuilt was in fact a town with cabs for hire, as opposed to what it actually was: a mere pause on the route, with perhaps ten buildings--main street--in view. We enquired at the post office, and they don't have taxis in Taynuilt. We ended up having to hire one from Oban to drive out to Taynuilt and then to Taychreggan, our hotel, and then back to Oban. All for a mere $80. But what can you do?
It was totally worth it, too. Okay, the hotel actually wasn't all that great. But the scenery, ach! I could feel the Scottish blood running in my veins. The pictures I have do it no justice: to stand on a hillside and look out over the green, mist-hung hills dotted with sheep and ancient cairns, to breathe the air, to see the gloaming light intensify the reddish tints run through the grasses and the glassy surface of the loch...
I want to go back.
Sigh.
But onward.
After Kilchrenan we intended to finish out our trip in Bath. We hired another cab to take us to Oban, so we could catch a bus to Glasgow, so we could catch a train to London, so we could catch a train to Bath. The bus was running late, so we had to take a later Glasgow-London train than planned, but it all still seemed to be working out alright...until, that is, they informed us that our train was no longer going to London, but rather to York. Seems there were electrical problems with the train lines between where we were and London, so they were rerouting all the trains. The difficulty, there, of course, was that suddenly several trainloads of people are trying to fit themselves onto the one train that would still be running between York and London. We had no chance. There was a second option, to take a train to Leeds, thence to London, thence to Bath, but that wouldn't get us to Bath until roughly 1am, assuming all went well (which, at that point, we were reluctant to assume).
So we stayed in York. Fun city, actually. It's walled, and you can walk along portions of the wall and look out over the city, and it has historic sections with crooked streets and buildings all tumbling together. All told, a fine alternative to Bath.
After York, the trip to London to catch our plane home was uneventful, as was the plane ride itself. I suppose they did accidentally route Mum's bags to Ghana instead of Portland (easy mistake, you see), but at least they know where it is...
And now I'm home. I like home, but I would have been content to keep wandering around a bit longer. I certainly hadn't tired of it yet.
Hm, I feel like these last couple days of the trip got much more attention than the rest, since the internet here at my house is free and the cafes I visited were not. Well, I'm sure random stories will keep popping up on here as I think of them. But this entry is getting long, so--for your sakes--I'll postpone them for now.
Later.

Pictures!

Okay everyone, some pictures are finally available for your viewing pleasure. I've posted them on my flickr site: www.flickr.com/photos/marbyeth. Bear in mind that I took 3500 pictures while I was gone, so what I have posted is a very small sampling of them. I thought you'd appreciate it if I was a bit selective. But always know that if you feel that any part of the trip is underrepresented and you want to see more, I'm sure I have plenty to satisfy you.
Also, if you want to see more pictures of me in Europe (besides my self-portraits), you can check out Julie's pictures http://picasaweb.google.com/cherrypits/July_JulieEurope. Our trip together starts about halfway through her album, as she started out in Europe with other people. And I'm sure that my mum will eventually be posting some of hers, as well.
Cheers!