Travel Tip Tuesdays: Safety Tips for Travel Abroad

Do you think you could give me some traveling tips, especially on being safe in Europe/abroad?

A friend asked this question last week, and as I was writing my answer to her, I realized that this would be a good blog for anyone who’s thinking of going to Europe. I’ve written about women’s safety and safety in hostels, but here’s the intercontinental version. 

Let me put in a disclaimer that I am very inexperienced when it comes to international travel, so I am by no means an authority. However, I did spend six weeks in Europe solo, and before I even set out, I gleaned a lot of good advice from my friends who have traveled worldwide, everywhere from China to Jordan to Peru. 

That said, here are some tips that were most helpful to me when traveling abroad:

Pictured: appearance of absolute confidence, and German disguise.
(I think it was the hat that cancelled out my American-ness.)

Do your homework before you leave. I felt a bit unprepared going to Europe: study up on Eurail passes, learn that free toilets are not a “thing,” figure out which cities are worth the trip and which are just big tourist traps. Rick Steve’s Europe Through the Back Door was massively useful to me, and there are several other guidebooks to help out as well. If you’re a woman traveling solo, I suggest a delightful (and helpful) book by Beth Whitman called Wanderlust and Lipstick.

Pack light. Fit everything into one backpack. This gives you so much more freedom and mobility, and keeps you from worrying about your luggage stowed at the back of the train. This is a big part of safety: keep your luggage with you, and you won’t have to worry so much.

Look like a local. When you don’t have a giant “I AM AMERICAN” sign hovering around you, you’ll be a lot safer from pickpockets. In Europe, blending in is easier than you think. Even though I wore a huge backpack, walked around in tennis shoes, and had a camera bulging in my pocket, people often approached me speaking in their native language. (I can’t tell you how many social activists in Salzburg tried to get me to sign their petitions until I stuttered out that I didn’t speak German!) Learn the basic dress code (for instance, no shorts, no loud t-shirts), and you’ll blend in a lot better. 

Always seem absolutely confident. Don’t unfold your massive tourist map and look at it confused (that’s how I got guilted into giving a homeless man a euro in Amsterdam). Don’t look around nervously. If someone on the street approaches asking if they can help you, try to gauge their motives. If you’re unsure, babble something in gibberish or simply say “No,” firmly, and walk away. Always walk and carry yourself as if you know exactly where you’re going. 

Practice the same safety you practice at home. I joked (but it was true) that the most dangerous place I visited on my trip was the Greyhound station in St. Louis. There are no special safety rules for traveling in Europe. Keep your wallet close (preferably in a money belt). Don’t walk down deserted alleys at night (well, I am guilty of this one). Don’t make yourself vulnerable, and watch out for pickpockets, which will be a much greater problem than any other kind of crime.

I'm naturally really good at the "a little
 stupid, but strangely endearing" thing.

Be respectful and endearing. People are much likelier to go out of their way to help you if you seem to respect their culture— it makes your ignorance of their language and customs endearing rather than annoying. Whenever I made an (awful) attempt to speak to someone in their native language (“Deutschland ist schön,” I’d say in my terrible American accent), they almost always responded warmly. You’d be shocked at how many Americans never even try to reach out to the people around them.

Follow your intuition. I say this a lot, but it’s because I believe so strongly in it. Your body often knows what’s going on before your mind does. If you have a bad feeling about walking down a perfectly innocent-looking street, don’t walk down the street. If a kindly-looking woman gives you an uneasy vibe, then stay away from her. Never chide yourself for being paranoid. Take calculated risks— after all, that is what travel is all about— but listen to those internal alarm bells. 

In short, be smart, be confident, and listen to that intuition. With just a bit of preparation, you’ll be able to relax and focus on having a great time!

~~~

Travel Tip Tuesdays: European Travel: Six Beginner's Mistakes to Avoid

“Learn from your mistakes, but if possible, learn from others’ mistakes.”

"Dublin has water fountains, but only in
Terminal 1? CRAZY! Let's take a photo!"

My first (and only) trip to Europe was a haphazard experience, filled with lots of drama, stress, joy, adventure, memories, and goats. It is a trip I will never forget, one that gave me a lot of new perspective and a lot of great stories. However, the trip was much harder than it should have been, and most of that was due to beginners’ mistakes. I will now share them with you, so that all you first-time European travelers will arrive better prepared than I was!

Mistake #1: Not bringing enough water. I soon found out that there are no water fountains in Europe. (Okay, maybe there are a few, but they are few and far between!) Whether stranded in Terminal 2 of the Dublin airport or wandering downtown Hamburg, I found myself dehydrated to the point of delirium more than once. Bring two or more water bottles, and when you find a water source, chug as much as you can. 

Mistake #2: Not carrying any coins. Basically every toilet in Europe requires payment, and they often demand exact change. The moment you get into Europe, buy something small and start accumulating coins as fast as you can.

Mistake #3: Assuming your American credit card will work. Trying to buy my first train ticket, I was informed that my card was invalid. Fortunately I had enough cash, but it completely drained my supply of euros. Always carry enough bills to get you where you need to go, or else leave yourself extra time to find an ATM.

Mistake #4: Not bringing a phrase book. Learn to say both forms of, “Excuse me” (getting someone’s attention and apologizing for bumping into someone), followed by “Do you speak English?” in the native language. And then bring a phrase book for everything else. It’s a horrible thing to be stranded in the middle of Germany with no idea what the words for “ticket counter,” “ATM” and “departing trains” are.

Day one in Europe: jet-lagged Lisa who is, believe it
or not, attempting a smile in front of the Amsterdam
train station. Jet lag makes you feel the way my face
looks in this picture. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Mistake #5: Not preparing enough for jet lag. I assumed that jet lag would involve me feeling exhausted for a few days and getting hungry at weird hours. Instead, my body went into an all-out revolt, turning me into a drugged-out panic-attack-waiting-to-happen with no appetite and lots of nausea. It took me a solid week before I felt that I had a grasp on reality again. Have all the details worked out for your first week so that you don’t have to worry about thinking on your feet when your brain is back in America. Which brings me to my final point…

Mistake #6: Thinking that planning will stifle your freedom. If you’re a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of traveler, as I generally am, you may cringe at the thought of planning an itinerary. Take a deep breath, and then plan, plan, plan. If you want some freedom, give yourself some gaps in your schedule, and/or make sure your reservations are refundable— but for the love of cheesecake, don’t just go where the wind blows you unless, a) you are a hardcore nomad, b) you have unlimited money, or c) you just got engaged right before the trip and suddenly found your whole world flipped upside down and you just couldn’t focus enough to get your act together but still wanted to have the adventure (okay, never mind; the last point gives you no excuse to stress yourself out by not planning). 

The balance to this final point is that even in the craziness of on-the-fly planning, amazing things can happen— such as an incredible unplanned week in the Netherlands. That’s the beauty of travel, and life, and anything worth doing: no matter how many things go wrong, something wonderful can still emerge.

Still, it never hurts to learn from others’ mistakes.

~~~

Phase One, in which Lisa Obtains a Ticket to Europe

I stared at the computer screen, trembling all over, and pressed “Complete Transaction.” My debit card was charged more money than I’ve ever spent on anything at one time, and the website sent me an email— a single, abstract e-mail that embodied the dream that I have been actively pursuing since February of 2011. I had done it.

I had booked my flight to Europe.

My travels in the past year alone have taken me 14,279 miles (that’s a very conservative number, by the way). A little over 2,000 have been in the air; the rest have been bus, car, and tour van. In short, I have traveled a distance equivalent to well over half the circumference of the earth— but I still haven’t been outside the United States.

Now that’s going to change.

On July 31st, barring any of those nasty unforeseen circumstances, I’ll be catching a flight out of Chicago, ending up in Amsterdam on the following day. I still haven’t made any plans after that, but I’ll have almost six solid weeks to explore before returning to Amsterdam and catching a flight back to Chicago. 

"Crazy Lisa Face with Ticket to Europe"
(Maybe I should have applied some makeup or
 even combed my hair before taking this shot…)

A few notes about booking my flight:

• I used Aer Lingus, which had been recommending to me by a friend after I found it on a student travel website. When I actually fly with them, you’ll get a complete review.

• I’m flying in after the London Summer Olympics begin, and returning on September 11th, when the fares are much cheaper (can’t imagine why…).

• Although there are flights to Europe that leave from St. Louis, Chicago has a much bigger airport with cheaper fares, so I thought it was worth the bit of effort it takes to get up there.

Now that’s out of the way, and here comes the fun part: actually planning! This is where you come in. Many of you have been to Europe before. Any recommendations?

~~~

Europe: An Excursion to Hamburg

Just another run-of-the-mill building in Hamburg...

I feel like today was my first real day in Europe. This was for several reasons, the biggest one being that I finally feel recovered from jet lag. The second reason is that Anna decided to take me on a whirlwind tour of the city of Hamburg. We hopped in the car and drove through the countryside toward Germany’s second-largest city.

It was beautiful in every way. From the Gothic and modern church spires towering above the skyline (some without churches attached, silent reminders of the last world war) to lace curtains in cottage windows, there was always something to catch my fascination. We walked around the downtown, ate lunch at an outdoor restaurant, and Anna pointed out the old and new buildings: which ones had survived, which ones had been bombed and rebuilt. “Americans do not understand what war is like,” Anna told me. We know what it means to send our soldiers overseas— we don’t have any concept of what it’s like to be civilians in the midst of a battle.

From the city center we drove to the harbor, which is massive. On one side, cranes make 40-foot cargo crates look like matchboxes as they stack them onto barges. We took the ferry through the harbor, hopped out and strolled past rows of little cottages. I saw what Beverly Hills (and just about every other fancy American neighborhood) tries to capture: quaint brick and stonework, lattices, glossy windows, tile roofs, and mix of modern and Old World sensibility. 

The whole city was… pick an adjective. Pretty. Beautiful. Inspiring. European. What struck me most were a row of warehouses that we passed. Compared to the other buildings, they weren’t particularly special, but they were made with care and good aesthetic. The windows had arches and little decorative edges. The brickwork was artistically laid, arching and peaking into intricate patterns at the top. It was delicate and wonderful to explore with my eyes. And it was just a row of warehouses. I remarked on this to Anna, and with a smile she said, “It has always been a merchant city. We take pride in our trade.”

I felt inspired and energized after being infused with that much amazing architecture. It was distinct, creative, each building unique. It took all of two seconds to look around and realize, This is not America. This is Europe. This is the Old World charm that is so amazing to behold. I’m in Europe. And today, for the first time, it really hit me.

Who builds warehouses this pretty? Hamburg, that's who.

~~~

Europe: Greetings from Neumünster

I find it incredibly difficult to write when I’m in the thick of things. The craziness of the past few days is still sinking in, even now that I’m at my Uncle Steve’s house in Neumünster, Germany, looking out at rain pattering picturesquely on the lawn. (I had forgotten what green looks like: the drought in the Midwest this year has made everything so brown…) The short story I’ll give you for now is this: I did not adjust to Europe smoothly. It wasn’t language barrier, culture shock, or homesickness— it was jet lag, unfamiliar pay phones, and just plain sickness. I’ve felt horrible the past few days, like my body has to keep running when there is no battery to charge it. I’ve had muscle aches and allergic reactions and bouts of nausea. Dehydration has been my constant companion. On my first two days in Europe I only ate one actual meal, filling in the rest with Clif bars. Things like pay toilets and currency exchange rates drain my wallet faster than I can blink. I’ve been working so hard on logistics and staying awake and finding places that I haven’t really enjoyed anywhere I’ve been. Until today.

Today, I sat in a lawn chair at Uncle Steve’s house and looked out at his backyard, surrounded by wheat fields, and I fell asleep for about an hour. When I woke up, I felt worlds better. Uncle Steve brought out a bicycle for me. I hopped on, shaky and out of practice, then gave it a run on the path near his house. I pedaled quickly, watching the corn and wheat fields zoom by, speckled by crows. A spotty rain began to fall, marked with patches of sunlight. Wildflowers— purple, white, and of course, yellow— sprinkled color by the side of the path. My clothes were speckled with water, and the cool drops felt good on my skin. My hair flew out behind me, the breeze caressing it. For the first time in Europe, I felt really awake for the first time.

After a short run, I returned, and then Uncle Steve and I biked to the market, past fields and trees and village houses, to buy some snacks. 

Now it’s pouring rain and I’m indoors looking out at it and not wanting to write. It’s too much to take in. I feel like I have to step back and let my mind sort out the things it wants to keep, the things it wants to delve into. In the meantime, I quietly plan the next stage of my journey, and pray that it works out.

~~~

Europe: Some Thoughts from the Halfway Point

Today marks the exact center of my trip to Europe: three weeks behind me, three weeks ahead. I can’t believe that 22 days have passed since I said farewell to Zachary at the Greyhound station. Much of it is a blur, lost in the meditation of bike riding and trip-planning and Skyping with family and snapping beans. Much of it is vivid, soaked in northern sunlight, resting on my tongue as cold soups and cheese on bread, curling into Gothic buttresses and red-roofed villages spattered among the hills like wildflowers. 

This is my last day at the Laubmüehle farm. I’ve had a really great time picking up skills and soaking in Bavaria, but I’m also excited to be headed to Salzburg, Austria tomorrow.  It’s the Sound of Music town, Mozart’s birthplace. I hope to spend two full days, then head to the next farm, in France. This is assuming all my travel plans will come together, which is never guaranteed. Life is always an adventure.

Despite the Europe snobbery of many world travelers I have met (“Oh dude, Europe is so mainstream— you should go to Thailand instead”), I think it’s a great place to branch out to from the States. I feel like my perspective has gained another dimension and like I’ve connected with my roots a bit more.

Tonight I baked chocolate chip cookies for everyone. They turned out a bit different than I make them at home, but I am pleased. Goodbye, Laubmüehle. Hello, rest of my trip.

~~~

Europe, in Conclusion: Thank You, John Lennon

Two nights into my trip, I laid on a hostel bed in Hamburg, Germany, and sobbed into my pillow until I realized that I was having an allergic reaction to the fabric. It had been a stressful day of train delays, miscommunication, jet-lag-induced disorientation, and finally a flu that left me cowering in the hostel bathroom wanting to die. It was the first, but certainly not the last, time that I asked myself (mentally screaming to the heavens with arms outstretched), “What on earth am I doing here?” 

The rest of the world loses its luster when the man you’re going to marry in two months is four thousand miles away. I couldn’t have the sorrowful satisfaction of blaming him; of course it was my fault for deciding to take the trip, my decision to continue with my plans, my yearning for one last solo trip that brought me here. No one to blame but me.

The next day, I hopped a train from Hamburg to Neumunster, where Uncle Steve was going to pick me up. I forced myself to eat a Clif bar, then plugged in my headphones and leaned my head against the window and stared out in a daze at the old buildings rolling by. Why am I here? I kept asking myself. Why on earth did I come here?

I was listening to Love, a Beatles remix album created for the Cirque de Soleil show. This lulled me into a place of dull consciousness, where everything looked close and far away, and my insides felt empty and my head felt detached from my body. (Jet lag is awful.) The last song on the album is All You Need Is Love. Of course, I’ve heard the song a hundred times. But this time, a single line hit me, a gong-note of pure clarity when all the rest of the world was a blur.

There’s nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be.

This line echoed in the back of my thoughts for the entire rest of the trip. I don’t know where John Lennon’s head was when he wrote the song, and I doubt that he believed in the concept of providence. But the words struck right to the middle of the thorn that pierces my heart. It was useless to think what I should be doing or rather be doing or might have been doing. I was here, now, in Europe, jet-lagged and homesick and lonely and scared, and that meant that this moment, this place in time, was where I was meant to be. God’s plan always works out, and I am part of that plan.

Thanks to John Lennon, God showed me that everything was going to be okay.

It wasn’t the last time that I felt homesick or stressed out or ill. But every time I get worried or miss Zachary or wish I was going home sooner, I stopped to think of the words. I learned to accept what was happening and enjoy it for what it was. Getting sick in Salzburg was the last time that I felt like I wanted to be home instead of Europe. After that, I floated along in the moment. I embraced the homesickness but enjoyed what I was experiencing at that time. I didn’t wish to be anywhere than where I was right now, because it was useless to do so. And the last three weeks were incredible in so many ways.

By the end of my trip, I looked back on everything— even the first couple of horrible jet-lagged days— with a warm glow. The trip had been stressful, a little traumatizing at points, but ultimately satisfying. I spent six weeks in Europe, navigating trains, figuring out logistics, avoiding pickpockets, speaking broken German and Dutch and French, meeting people, connecting with people, gaining new perspective on culture, beholding the beauty in nature and in architecture, and all this by myself (with a lot of help from my new friends).

Then I returned home, content with the time I had been away, and content with the time I now have at home. The new chapter of my life is opening, and I couldn’t be more excited.

Time to spend the rest of my life with this man. I think my smile says it all.

~~~

Europe: Thoughts from a 4am Hostel

Orcas Island, Washington, 2009

Outside Neuenrade, Germany, 2012

I spent my last day in Europe speed-walking around Amsterdam (as I am apt to do), with long breaks for the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh Museum. Both were more than worth the admission price, although seeing both in one day was mentally exhausting. You’ll get an extensive blog about those later.

My hostel for the night was Shelter City, the same hostel I stayed at on my first day in Europe. This stay was much more pleasant because, 1) I am not jet-lagged, 2) the hostel is not completely packed out, and 3) I got a better room for cheaper. I met some of the staff here (one gave me free orange juice!) and attended a Bible discussion that the hostel holds. It was good to just relax after my day hoofing it around Amsterdam. 

As I write this, it’s 4:51am. I have been awake for nearly three hours now. Last night when I was drifting off to sleep, I was determined that I wouldn’t miss my alarm. My body took my mind seriously, and woke me up at 2. I wasn’t able to get back to sleep. So here I am, sitting in a deserted hallway of the hostel, preparing for a day full of 16 hours of travel. 

Last night as I laid in bed, I began thinking of Shelter City’s “theme Bible verse.” It’s printed on their t-shirts. “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.” (Psalm 91:1) I began reciting this psalm to myself, and I remembered something.

When I took my first solo trip, to Bellingham, Washington, I spent a bit of time each night memorizing this psalm. It comforted me when I was alone in my hotel room (I hadn’t yet stayed in a hostel, and had never heard of couchsurfing or HelpExchange). That first trip drew me closer to God because every day was a Northwestern burst of pure joy, and I shared every glorious moment with him. On this trip, my travels have often been tinged with melancholy, and I have never been this stressed about train connections and trip plans before. But in both joy or stress, God is God, and he is always there for me.

As I recited the words to myself last night, I thought about how beautiful it was that the psalm should come to mind. The first night of my first solo trip, I fell asleep reciting it. The last night of my last solo trip, I did the same.

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High

will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,

my God, in whom I trust.”

Surely he will save you from the fowler’s snare

and from the deadly pestilence.

He will cover you with his feathers,

and under his wings you will find refuge;

his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

You will not fear the terror of night, 

nor the arrow that flies by day,

nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,

nor the plague that destroys at midday.

A thousand may fall at your side,

ten thousand at your right hand,

but it will not come near you.

You will only observe with your eyes 

and see the punishment of the wicked.

If you make the Most High your dwelling— even the Lord, who is my refuge— 

then no harm will befall you, 

no disaster will come near your tent.

For he will command his angels concerning you, to guard you in all your ways;

they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against the stone.

You will tread upon the lion and the cobra,

you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

“Because he loves me,” sayd the Lord, “I will rescue him;

I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.

He will call upon me, and I will answer him;

I will be with him in trouble,

I will deliver him and honor him.

With long life will I satisfy him and show him my salvation.”

Farewell, Europe. Farewell, solo travel. And thank you, God, for opening the door to my new life.

~~~

Travel Tip Tuesdays: How to Take a Volunteer Vacation

The hostel kitchen in Florida City, where I spent a lot of time.
I later couchsurfed at Amey's house in Nashville.

My idea of “vacation” is largely shaped by the trips my family used to take to see my grandparents. Although the trip there and back consisted of hotel visits, swimming pools, camping and beach walks, a large chunk of it was spent at my grandparents’ house, where we worked our butts off in the garden or in the field. I soon learned the joy of enjoying an icy pink lemonade after spending a couple hours weeding tomato plants. “Hard work” and “vacation” just go together in my head. So when I discovered that I could take a trip and volunteer in exchange for room and board, I was ecstatic.

Two years later, I have traveled the American west and Europe, saving myself literally thousands of dollars by focusing on volunteer situations. Along the way, I’ve gotten the chance to camp in the Olympic rainforest, kayak in the Florida Keys, hike in Zion National Park, spend a day the city of Nürnberg, and have dinner with a local family in a tiny French town— all for free.

The two resources I’ve used for volunteer vacations are Help Exchange and World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms, and there are many more resources (do a Google search for “volunteer vacations”). Each of the sites has a helpful tutorial for setting up an account, finding hosts, and planning your trip. Here are some other general tips to get you started.

I learned how to take care of llamas when
WWOOFing in Port Townsend, Washington.

Dream about a destination. The first time I took a volunteer trip, it was because I wanted to spend more time in Washington. Two organic farms with WWOOF helped that dream come true, and I spent a month in the great Northwest for almost free. The same was true of my trip to Colorado and all of the Help Exchange I did in Europe.

Seek out an experience. Since I love hostels so much, one winter I searched for one that accepted volunteers. Help Exchange showed me the way to a hostel in Florida, and I spent a fantastic three weeks making beds, cleaning bathrooms, cooking meals, and avoiding the Midwestern “snowpocalypse” while meeting people from all over the world.

Carefully read the profiles and reviews. Especially in WWOOF, many of the farmers are looking for serious, knowledgable, long-term helpers who can give useful input about permaculture techniques. If you’re a city kid (like me), steer clear of these. Look for profiles that seem more relaxed and don’t have long minimum stays. Also take the time to read people’s reviews, which can help you get a feel for things. 

I tutored Aaron and was adopted as part of the family.
They took me sightseeing all over Utah!

Email or call about five different places to start off. Start several weeks in advance so you give the hosts plenty of time to write back about details. Make a running list of places that look interesting, and then write your top five. When I first began Help Exchange, I wrote exactly one place, and was accepted immediately. In Europe, trying to find someplace last minute, I wrote about 20 people before I finally landed a job. 

Know what to expect. When you write your hosts, be specific and honest in your letters, and ask a lot of questions about hours expected, food situation, lodgings, wi-fi, etc. In WWOOF, here’s a typical situation: you get your own room or camping site and all food in exchange for six to eight hours of work, five to seven days a week. In Help Exchange, this is more typical: your own room, one or two meals a day (with access to a kitchen), in exchange for four hours a day, six to seven days a week. Either of these varies a lot, so be sure to ask.

Look for something close to home. If you don’t have a lot of money or time, do a search for volunteer opportunities close to home. A town two hours away might feel like a different world if you’re milking cows and making homemade cheese!

Be open-minded and flexible. No matter how many reviews you read, a situation just might not be what you expect. Maybe the work is harder than you wanted, your volunteer boss is neurotic, or the expected middle-aged French woman with a quaint homestead turns out to be a young German guy running a hippie farm swarming with goats. Most of the time, it all works out. Make the best of the situation, ask yourself what you can learn from it, and enjoy the ride. However, if you feel uncomfortable or in danger, don’t hesitate. You’re a volunteer, and you have the right to leave at any time.

If you don’t mind getting your hands a little dirty, volunteer vacations are one of the best ways to travel cheaply, learn new skills, make friends, and experience a slice of culture that the tourists miss. The volunteer travel I’ve done has given me some of the most rewarding and beautiful experiences of my life.

My WWOOFing family in Chehalis, Washington, standing in front of the fence we all helped build.
(Ethan, Sara, Carl, Lorna, Z, Eliot, me, Ben, and Becci)

~~~

Five Photos of a 'Merican in Europe

One of my proudest achievements in Europe was getting the locals to think I was one of them. Usually this occurred when I kept my mouth closed (although the cashier at the gift shop in the Kröller-Müller Museum definitely thought I spoke Dutch), and I got good at saying, “Ich spreche kein Deutsch,” trying to hide my proud smile that they hadn’t labeled me as an American right away.

Still, there were times when my American-ity showed pretty blatantly, as you can see in the following photos:

I found this "American sandwich bread" in a tiny corner store in the rural village of Faucogney, France.

"Local cuisine in Salzburg? Nah, I'll just nom on this Clif bar I bought at a Wal-Mart in Missouri."
(Also, I bear an uncanny resemblance to my oldest brother in this picture.)

I'm sure Europeans get on the wrong train sometimes, too. But they wouldn't stay on the wrong train when
the conductor tells them in German to hop off at the next stop and backtrack. That's an American thing.

Okay, so it's a European food. But WHY DON'T WE SPREAD THIS ON EVERYTHING?

This was my face in Europe a lot. I hope some of the people thought it was cute instead of idiotic.

100-Word Memoir: War in Europe

WAR IN EUROPE!

Trembling, I stared at the newspaper. War? Now? In Europe? I thought of Great Uncle Norman, who died in WWII. Poppi served in the navy during Korea. If Vietnam had continued one more month, Dad would have been drafted.

Almost in tears, I ran to find Mom. “Mom, there’s a war going on!”

She looked at me with sad but resigned eyes. “Lisa, there’s a war going on somewhere in the world every day.”

Stunned, I silently turned away. I crept into my bedroom and played with blocks— conscious for the first time of losing childish innocence.

~~~

Europe: Bad Start, Good Couchsurfer

Right now, I’m sitting in the apartment of my couchsurfing host, Aimee. I’m in Chicago; my flight leaves in less than ten hours. Also, I have a fever, a complete lack of energy, and a sneaking suspicion that I’m on the verge of a very bad cold.

Yesterday, when I arrived at the Chicago Greyhound station, I was feeling perky. In my usual fashion, I decided to ditch this sissy "take the subway" stuff and just hoof it over to Aimee's apartment (we had agreed to meet at 7:00). 

3.3 miles later, I was feeling a little hot and feverish, so I stopped and got frozen yogurt at a little shop just a block away from Aimee's. The yogurt was expensive but refreshing and delicious. I savored every last bite, then suddenly realized that I was feeling completely awful.

For a few minutes I just hunched over the table feeling nauseated, praying that God would make it go away. I had a few seconds of respite, and then the nausea kicked in, this time with a blinding fever and that dry feeling in my mouth just before I throw up. I wanted to ask if the restaurant had a restroom, but I was too dizzy to stand up. My hearing went away, and I could only hear sounds as if through water.

Om nom salad!

I prayed and I prayed and I promised God that I wouldn't try to walk with a backpack in the heat when I was sick anymore. I felt another brief respite, then stumbled out the door, where I sat down on a bench outside, near a trashcan in case I had to throw up. With a slight breeze on my face, I perked up almost immediately. Within a couple minutes, I was feeling well enough to walk down the block and up a flight of stairs to Aimee's house, where I met her with a cheerful smile. 

She was, as I suspected, a cool gal. She gave me a lot of helpful advice about Europe (she’s traveled a good portion of the world), not to mention fixing me a kale-beet-tomato-cucumber-pea-sprout-some-other-kind-of-super-green salad that gave me more nutrients in one serving than I’ve eaten all week.

Today, I woke up with a fever. Aimee fed me again, then headed off to work, leaving me with a spare key. I took a cool shower and now I’m trying to rest and let the fever run its course a bit before I head to the airport. Am I nervous? Yes, quite a lot. But I’m still determined to see this through. Europe, here I come!

~~~

Europe: Rambling in Salzburg

I've been without wifi for a couple of days, so here's a blog to start catching up!

Wednesday, 22 August, 2012

On Wednesday morning, Michaela drove me to the Amberg Hauptbahnhof, my jumping-off point from Germany. We said a warm goodbye, I bought a (surprisingly cheap) ticket, I wished Zack luck, and then I stood by myself once more on the station platform, ready to head out into the great unknown. Three weeks of Germany were behind me, and I felt ready to experience another culture, although I guessed that Salzburg wouldn’t be different from a tourist’s perspective.

You read about my day in Salzburg in my previous blog. But I wrote that before I got sick. Yes, I got sick in a hostel— for the second time in my trip to Europe. I think it was food poisoning of some kind, and it wasn’t too severe, but I got very well acquainted with the hostel’s toilet. At last, dizzy with nausea but exhausted, I was able to fall asleep. 

Thursday, 23 August, 2012

Fortunately, I woke up feeling washed out, but much better. A kind couchsurfing host had written me, so I spent my second day knowing that I had a place to sleep (a fact that had been doubtful the night before, since most of the hostels were booked Thursday and Friday). 

For most of the morning, I sat by a modern sculpture in front of an impressive-looking domed building and read “The Secret Garden,” a book I had enjoyed immensely as a child and still rather like. Then I ate some lunch (a self-serve salad for less than a euro!) at a place called My Indigo and contemplated what to do. What should one do when one is lugging a heavy backpack all day and is still a bit weak from vomiting the night before?

The answer was abundantly clear: go on a hike! (Hey, at least I didn’t try to rent a bike or something silly like that.)

The hike route I found was labeled on the map as “Easy Hiking Tour.” I forgot to translate that into Missouri speech: “Strenuous climb up extremely steep angles and/or ancient steps.” As I slogged up paths that should never occur on a hike labeled “easy,” I was glad that I hadn’t attempted a trail considered “difficult.” To top it off, the weather was unseasonably hot— somewhere in the 90’s. I haven’t been that completely soaked in sweat like that since Cornerstone. Still, my legs will obey me when I ask them to, and although I was nearly faint with heat, I floated along on happy memories about a day when I was similarly drenched in sweat: the day I became a fiancée.

The views were worth it, of course, but, like any hike, it was more about the journey. I appreciated the tall, thin trees and the little birds darting through them (although I’m driven crazy that I don’t know any of their names). At one point, two antelope bounded across my path, and I was so excited I nearly hyperventilated. Glimpses of the city kept me looking for the next break in the trees.

By the time I was done with the hike, I realized that sitting down was probably a good idea. I found a nice place to sit and relax…

Or, alternately, be completely overwhelmed with Baroque architecture. The Salzburg Cathedral is a marvel of engineering, even though it was built in the 1600’s (yeesh, Europe and their newbie buildings). Every inch is decorated, and the art on the walls, contrary to many cathedrals I’ve seen, are museum-piece quality. I spent a good two hours sitting in a pew, just taking everything in, then slowly walking down the side hallways staring at the masterful oil paintings of the Stations of the Cross and stories from the Bible and from saints’ lives. 

I finished off the day by sitting in the Mirabell Gardens, a manicured park with decorative lines of red and yellow flowers swirling into patterns between statues and well-clipped grass. I blew a whopping 1,20 euros on a strawberry ice cream cone, which I savored while watching the tourists pose like the statues for photos. Then I read more of The Secret Garden, which just seemed appropriate. Aside from my daily Bible readings, I haven’t actually read anything since I left home. I get lost in books, and when I want to be awake to my surroundings, I keep my head up and my eyes open, preferring to listen to music. But today, washed out from the hike, it was good to read about gardens while sitting in a garden.

Now it was time to hop the bus and find my way to my couchsurfing host’s house. Georgi said he would be home by 8:30, so it was getting dark as I boarded the bus and took my seat. Soon I noticed large raindrops splattering against the windshield, and streetlights glowing glossily. 

A few seats away from me, a woman offered candy to a mother and her toddler. The toddler grabbed the piece with a hearty high-pitched “Danke!” The woman proceeded to dig around in her purse, offering every piece of candy she had. The mother tried to get her to stop with no luck, and by the time she and her son stepped off the bus, his fists were stuffed with paper-wrapped sweets.

Fortunately, the correct bus stop was well-marked, so I felt confident hopping off to a stop with the airport behind me, residential complexes in front of me, and a vast stretch of farmland to my left. I pulled out my umbrella and noticed lightning flashing off in the distance to my right. 

Slowly I walked in the direction of Georgi’s apartment, but I found myself distracted: I stared at the nearest mountain, which jutted up into a jagged polygon of stone, black against the almost-black sky, tipped with two tiny points of light. As I watched, thunderclouds rolled onto it, shrouding the top from sight. In the distance, I saw the mountain’s brothers, indistinct in the darkness. I glanced back to my right just in time to see a crack of lightning illuminate the Alpine peaks for an instant. The rain spattered down and thunder roared in the clouds above me. I hurried to find the apartment.

Georgi welcome me in, let me dry out, and fixed supper. We ate tomato-cucumber-white-cheese salad (a staple from his home country of Bulgaria), tortellini, and big bowls of ice cream. He showed me how to fold an origami rose, suggested some places to see in Salzburg tomorrow, and then let me crash on his couch. I shut my eyes at 11:00 and didn’t wake up again until 9 the next morning.

~~~

10 Photos of Cute Animals I Saw in Europe

I spent the majority of my time overseas in rural Europe, so I saw a lot of animals. From the red deer fawn grazing by the train tracks, to the bunnies the size of groundhogs nibbling clover near the cornfields, animals abound. I didn’t get many photos of the wild ones, but here are some that I encountered personally.

This dog snarled and barked at me nonstop until I sat down. Then I guess I was okay. (Eerbeek, Netherlands)

It's a baby horse! (Countryside near Tasdorf, Germany)

For some reason, I found these Austrian cows to be unreasonably cute. I just want to hug them. (Near Salzburg, Austria)

Some of the many bunnies at this house. (Tasdorf, Germany)

This duck always looked bedraggled and unhappy, which was kind of adorable. (Jean le Moine, France)

Kaya loves her tennis ball! (Eerbeek, Netherlands)

I posted this picture before, but… good grief, look at this cute goat! (Jean le Moine, France)

Doggie in its bed. (Near Eerbeek, Netherlands.)

This excellent pony pulled our cart! (Near Eerbeek, Netherlands)

One more time, folks… BABY PEACOCKS!