Category Archives: travel

Coconuts and Sandy Feet

Posted in Family, life, travel by

Last week a friend came to my house and for a hostess gift, gave me a bag of fruit that included a fresh coconut. Because I don’t have a hammer in the house, I took the coconut to some young friends who freed it from its tough shell. Now I have the inside (the milk is dried up) and I want to try to grate it and use it for something toothsome. I’ve never used fresh coconut, so I’m eager to try.

The coconut made me think of when I was five years old. My parents took me and my two younger siblings in a pickup loaded with stuff, and drove from VA to El Salvador. My mom was creative in finding ways to pass the time–I remember little bags of M&M’s and crayons. I haven’t retained many details of the trip, but general impressions like the smell of gas at the filling stations and packing and unpacking at the border, and people speaking a language I couldn’t understand. I would take naps on the floor on the passenger side, my body in the shape of an L, with my legs between the seat and the door, and my sister between me and the seat.

My grandparents, aunts, and uncle lived at a children’s home in El Salvador, and this is where the coconut memory comes in. I remember watching my uncle, a young teen, shinny up a coconut tree and cut off a furry brown ball with the machete hanging from his belt. Down on the ground, he sliced off the top of the coconut with his machete and let us drink the milk inside. I don’t remember how it tasted, only the event.

Maybe my love of the open road and the next horizon started when I was five.  Maybe it’s in my genes from parents and grandparents who love globetrotting. I don’t know. I remember feeling peaceful and calm and happy, squished in that pickup, though I’m sure I was cross sometimes. I think I remember crying once because I was hot and miserable.

Sometimes my itchy feet get  me into trouble because although I’m fond of comfort, I’m not satisfied with just staying and settling into endless routine. Maybe sometime I’ll grow up and be ok with dailyness, and not pine for adventure  and new vistas every day. I have sandy feet too. I’ve traveled enough that I’ve been able to revisit some places, and that has its own thrill. Like traveling with my family and happening to drive past the church in Switzerland that was the live recording studio when I was with Faith Builders Chorale five years earlier.

One of my impossible dreams to have a sail boat. I know I could never actually do the work, but it’s a fun dream.  A friend suggested that I name it “Sandy Feet” which is a brilliant idea. It means I’ll always come back.

He Leadeth Me

Posted in Ireland, life, Poland, travel by

I’m in that twilight zone of being back in Poland, feeling at home but not home. I was home in Ireland for the last month. Now, these familiar smells and sounds flood my senses, and it’s as if I was never gone. Except that it’s all better because I was gone. I am refreshed and revived, my head feels clear, and my soul is calm. Maybe it would’ve happened here, but the break helped me see things with new eyes, and it’s good.

At home, things were incredibly, wonderfully comfortable. I fell in love again with everything–the lush scenery, (July, in Ireland, in the sunshine, is heaven–sunshine being the important qualifier there). The accents–I couldn’t believe the wonder of understanding the bus drivers and shop clerks, and always wanted to talk with them as long as they had time because it felt like such a novelty. The food–I’d only mention that I’m hungry for something, and mom would cook it. My church family–their support and love overwhelmed me. My family–especially the littles who I couldn’t fully get to know in 1 month because they are so deep and fascinating.

It’s not logical that I prefer living in a place without those aspects, but it’s reality. I guess it has something to do with being called to fill a place, and knowing without any niggling question that I belong at this place at this time. Even if there is no ocean down the road, and no shopkeepers with whom to make small talk. I am being led here for some reason, and somehow, it is good.

At my sister’s wedding 3 weeks ago, the ensemble sang an exquisite arrangement of “By His Hand.” As the words and harmonies washed over me, I felt deepest awe, mystery, and confidence: by His own hand He leadeth me…His faithful follower I will be.

It suits me to live somewhat in transit: at home but not rooted, fulfilled but not complacent. I’m led by a hand that is big and wise, by a will that is higher than mine, and I stumble and get distracted, but He keeps leading, and that is my confidence.

Out the Door

Posted in Family, life, Poland, travel by

Summer is nearly here, and already my teen students are leaving. Last week I said good-bye to two of them. One is heading for London for a month’s visit and then medical school. The other has a ticket to Rhodes to work at a hotel for the summer. Both model students, I am so proud of them. I tried to pour as much English into them as possible in the few months we had together, and of course I wonder if I I gave them enough.

Two other students are leaving next week for an extensive trip through Europe, and their functional language in each country will be English. There’s so much they need to know yet. At the hotels, will they be able to say, “The hairdryer/toilet/window doesn’t work. The towels are wet/dirty.”? Actually, I think Europeans are generally much better at communicating in a second language than most Americans, so they’ll be ok.

I am not their mom, only their English teacher and friend. But the good-byes make me feel melancholy and make me want to pour all good wishes into them. I remember the lines from Evangeline Paterson that my mom has read to me and written on cards when I left for extended times. The lines made me cry, and they let me feel that I live under a blessing:

On this doorstep I stand year after year
and watch your leaving and think:
May you not skin your knees.
May you not catch your fingers in car doors.
May your heart not break.
May tide and weather wait for your coming
and may you grow strong
to break all webs of my weaving.

His Perpetual Kaleidoscope

Posted in life, Poland, travel by

For two consecutive nights, I watched the sun set in glory, in an alive pink that would be impossible to recapture on paper or canvas. Saturday night I saw it from a hill in Kaziemierz Dolny, a charming artsy town in Central Poland. The next night, we were driving home in the long dusk and watched the sunset from the car.

The spectacular, unrivaled brightness and color and drama reminded me of what Jerry Root said. I posted about it last year here.

“We could have lived on a dark planet. And been told that there would be one sunset. And we’d have lined every west coast of every continent and every island on the planet. And as we saw the glory of that event and tears came to our eyes, we’d have written about it in our journals and regaled our progeny with the glory of that event.

But what must God be like, that He has made our planet a perpetual kaleidoscope of sunrises and sunsets?!”

I imagine myself in a crowd lining a west coast and willing my memory to record every change of light and cloud, every blending and separating of colors as the golden fuschia sun, like a massive coin, dropped steadily toward the horizon. To have watched the sun set only one time would be to witness the most amazing phenomena ever.

What is God like, to give us a sunset every day?

Lengthening the Cords

Posted in Family, Ireland, travel by

This article from Boundless this morning rang a deep chord in my soul. The themes of travel, the far horizon, passport stamps, and ethnic food makes my heart sing. And I love how the article wraps up with a picture of heaven. There is something timeless about exploration and sharing food with people. We were created for this, and will continue to enjoy it in heaven.

It is always a dramatic moment for me to fly trans-Atlantic with two passports in hand. One maroon, one navy. American and Irish. It is a huge gift to me, and nothing that I have earned. When the ticket agent in Pittsburg asked me to confirm that Dublin is my final destination, my friend thought it was an amazing idea. Another friend emailed me later: “Really, Ireland must be a novel place to live.” I have lost some of that wonder; some of the novelty has disappeared into the mist. But I hope I never lose the awe of being handed this gift.

The wanderlust comes from generations before me. I have two grandfathers who had the same kind of itchy feet that I inherited. One learned Spanish in middle age, took his family to El Salvador and would happily have stayed for the rest of his life. People there still call him “Papa Juan.” All his children have spent time in service in foreign countries. My other grandfather loved to tell us minute details about his globetrotting in Australia and Russia. My parents love to travel and explore new places. Their open, interested minds shaped me and made my world big.

Now my generation, my cousins, are living and serving in El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Ghana. My sister teaches school in California, which is like another country too, isn’t it? And this summer another cousin goes to Liberia, and I go to Poland.

We make our own choices, but we are products of our background. I want to say here how proud I am of my grandparents and parents whose life goals were not to stay comfortable and build up the family farm/business, but who valued people who looked and spoke different from them, and who cared about them enough to pour out their lives in their behalf.

This kind of living is not pleasure-driven, but there is pleasure in it. There is delight, joy, and “ah-ha” moments where we realize again that all people on the globe share the Creator’s stamp, and at the deepest level of our beings, we hunger and long for the same things. We’re not so different from each other after all. The cords on this tent enclose a big family.

Proceed to Orbitz with Caution

Posted in travel by

With two sisters coming from the US for Christmas, and three leaving after, and major winter storms enroute, I have never heard wilder, more impossible tales of travelling. I am one who loves the open road, and thinks happiness is found in a backpack, ticket and passport, heading for the far horizon. But after their stories of being stranded, misled by representatives, and other injustices, even I, the globe-trotter, quailed at the thought of buying another plane ticket. What kept me from despair at planning another trip was that they had some incredible angel stories too.

But all that was before the craziest story ever: Hannah and Esther were ready to board the plane at Dublin, when Hannah was told that her ticket was invalid.

Void.

No permission to board. No explanation. The. ticket. was. void.

The ticket had been paid, and a routine notice sent two days before. But on the day, the ticket was invalid, and no one can tell us why.

The angels were still on duty. One let Hannah board the first leg of her journey without a pass. The girls heard him on the speaker phone, telling the stewardess to let Hannah onto the plane after the luggage crew was told to get her bags off the plane. Who was he? How did he know to call at that moment? Who else but an angel had the power to make that command to the stewardess?

In Manchester, they had enough time to call dad who was able to buy a new US Airways ticket so that Hannah didn’t have to be stranded with an invalid ticket.

Orbitz, the company that sold the original ticket, has given no satisfaction, no refund, no explanation.

Which is why I studiously avoided them last week and got a ticket on the Delta website.

Jetlag, MRI, and a book

Posted in books, Ireland, travel by

It was a flying trip to the US, and I was going to take it in stride, but it has made me tired-er than I expected. But it was worth it. It was a significant trip in several ways. The focal point of the week was Oasis Ladies’ retreat at SMBI. A lovely, refreshing, inspiring one-and-a-half day. Other high points throughout the week were being with old and new friends and my aunts, singing with friends, brainstorming writing and art projects, hearing each others’ dreams.

It was also an amazing trip because I didn’t go to WalMart even once!! Thus, I have proved it is possible to live, yes, even to visit America, without shopping there.

Today I finished a lovely book: The Soloist, by Steve Lopez. A true story, gripping and beautifully and sensitively written. I was sorry it ended. I’m going to add it to my list on the book page. It makes me want to write a good story…

Also today I went to Dublin for my (last) MRI to assess the success of last October’s embolization. The dr. showed me the pictures then dismissed me, saying things are good, and don’t need further treatment until there are more symptoms–which I hope never happens. I thank God for Dr. Brophy and his amazing skills.

Then I trotted over to Trinity College and met Jenn whom I’d never met before, but who has just moved to Dublin with her husband. We found a cute little tea room and drank tea and ate cake and chatted easily and felt better for it.

Oxford of the dreaming spires

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So I stomped around Dublin for awhile, avoiding the rain, and flew to London Luton. Ryanair is being very strict about one piece of hand luggage only. Every time I travel with them I determine not to do it again, and then they entice me again with a rate that’s too good to pass up. sigh

Anna and her brother collected me and we had a jolly ride to her family home, to drink tea and look around the garden before heading further to A’s flat.

Sat. morn. I was sure it wouldn’t rain that day, and I was right. It was blissful to explore Oxford in the warm sunshine. On the train enroute, I could hardly stop staring at the 2 glamorous couples who were seemingly on their way to a wedding or some event that required incredibly stunning clothes that looked like they came out of the 1920’s.

I kept being amazed at how much more contintental England feels/looks than Ireland does. There are more bikes there, more cultured cafes,  vaster fields and roads. Oxford was full of tourists, but that was ok. We walked around New College gardens and cloisters, up High St. and to Magdelene Bridge and watched the punters and rowers.  We walked around Bodlian Library and looked into Alice’s Shop that was too full to go into. Walking past Merton College, we saw a poster of a choir concert later than evening!!! We browsed several bookshops, and my souvenir is The Screwtape Letters, illustrated. And now, having eaten fish and chips in the Rabbit Room (the room the Inklings met in) at the Eagle and Child, my life is complete.

O yes, and we found Pusy Lane! Sheldon and Davy Vanauken lived on that tiny street, and it’s still cobbled but their house must be gone because it was old back then and these look newer than he describes it. It was amazing to think of them going in and out of there,under the gas lamps. Vanauken’s books, A Severe Mercy, and Under the Mercy were the main inspiration that drew me to Oxford. Going back to his first book now, I realized that he didn’t spend that much time writing about Oxford–only most of one chapter–but he gives such a charming, glowing account of it that it drew me and the stately, learned place didn’t disappoint.

After the fish and chips, we walked across town, stuck our heads into the gate of Christ Church College and saw that Evensong started in 10 min. So we went in! The choir was lovely, and the prayers were beautiful, and I met God in a surprising, comforting way.

Then we went back to Merton and followed the path to the chapel and garden. Rounding a corner, we came upon 2 well-dressed young men playing croquet in the garden. Students on a Sat. night. Did you ever. I couldn’t believe it. It was like a story. Then in the old, wood-ceiled chapel, we saw the Brixi choir from northern England getting ready for their concert. I saw a lot of them had silver/white hair, and thought condesendingly that the choir must be a group of chronies who like to sing. I thought your voice is never as good after you hit 3o, but these 16  people dismantled that theory. I’ve never heard such sound and dynamics and crispness come from any choir. It was Amazing. They sang a lot of old sacred pieces that I knew or have sung, and it was all very delightful to spend an evening in a place where music has been enjoyed since the 1200’s.

I’m inspired to become reaquainted with Lewis and Vanauken and Tolkien. They seem like the kind of friends that are good to keep.

France

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Just back from being gone a week, travelling to France and back by ferry, and attending a conference on the Kingdom of God.

The speaker was David Bercot and the hosting community was close to Brittany, but I forget the name of the village, not being able to pronounce it anyhow.

I learned probably about 2 French words, and loved the old-fashioned houses and flowers, and delighted in the fantabulous fresh crescents from the village bakery. Two mornings, Jenny and I sneaked out of the house, drove to the village, bought crescents, and ate them while sitting on a bench in front of the old church. I was charmed. Life doesn’t get much better than that.

There was lots of time for fellowship, getting acquainted with new friends from France, England, and Holland, discussing with old friends I was travelling with, exploring new places, finding more coffee and crescents.

France is a world all its own. I understand more than before why its people are so proud of their language and identity. It is a proud, ancient place, deserving of respect and delight. I didn’t fall in love with it, but I liked it very much.  Especially the galletes and cheese, and St. Malo, the walled city by the sea. Absolutely delightful!