Sarly goes to Switzerland

I'm on a Swiss train eating Swiss chocolate and admiring Swiss Alps. We are now departing this land of paradox: independent yet structured, wild yet manicured, fierce yet serene. The people, the culture, the government, the infrastructure - all of it binds my fascination to these mountains. Highways are stuck to the side of mountains as if with super glue; mere ledges against sheer rock faces. Cable cars float up at impossible angles, ferrying tourists (and cows) to niche villages built into alpine slopes. Helicopters double as supply wagons and construction vehicles while trains glide between every city with impossible punctuality. I could go on and on about this fascinating culture where apprenticeships abound and managers are home-grown from the ranks of everyday workers, where you are fined 15% of your annual income for a speeding ticket but are paid 80% of your income in unemployment benefits if you quit your job. Rarely is the system abused, though; the Swiss just work. Hard.

Our tour began in Basel, north of the Alps against the Rhine where it cuts between Germany and Switzerland. David, an old family friend from the States and our next host, met us at the train station and took us to his trim apartment near Barfussaplatz. Roughly translated, Barfussaplatz means "barefoot plaza," and is named after the barefoot monks that once resided in the nearby Münster Cathedral, now transformed into a Reformed church. David took us through old town, with its bright wooden shutters and peaked roofs, and along the Rhine, where we saw the heads of swimmers bobbing alongside tethered  clothing bags as they floated down the swift moving, mineral-clouded waters. If we'd had an extra day, we would have taken the popular plunge ourselves, but as it was, the Alps ended up being wet enough to suffice.

On Monday we raced to the Basel train station and snagged the morning ride to Thun: a small city in the Alps nestled at the end of a long lake named Thunersee (original, I know). But there was a lot to see on Thunersee, so we boarded a steamboat with a real paddle wheel and zigzagged across the lake on our way to Interlaken (literally, between the lakes). For all you boaters out there: my admiration for the Swiss began on this ride as I watched the captain dock the boat by jiggling and reversing the paddle wheels until the whole steamer feathered up beside her pilings.

The clouds were low and obscured the mountain peaks, but the lake shores were clear and we could easily see toy villages nestled on green slopes with toy trains running between them. It was all real, of course, but the sheer size of the surrounding terrain reduced everything to toy-sized caricatures. Once we disembarked in Interlaken, the rain chased us around town as we searched for a bowl of hot soup. If München was full of Turks, Interlaken is full of Indians. Hunger got the best of us and we settled for spicy curry at the Taj Majal, a restaurant decorated with colored Christmas lights and cheap posters. Later, our hotel manager (an Englishman and my informant of Swiss culture) explained that many of the most famous Bollywood films are made in Switzerland, so much so that the Indians rival the Chinese as the number one spenders in Switzerland.

We'd planned on spending a single night at the Mittaghorn hotel in Gimmelwald, a nose-bleed of a village with seventy people that requires a train, a bus, and a cable car to reach. But the quaint scene and our beautifully rustic room stole our hearts and we hastily booked a second night, despite the foggy weather and obscured views. I don't know how to begin describing our hiking exploits. Go watch Heidi and combine it with Lord of the Rings, and you might get the idea. Carly asked, as we tucked into our twin beds with cows bells ringing in the street below us, how I was going to sum up our eight-hour day in the mountains. "Some descriptions, I guess," I said. Ha! Such descriptions have taken books. But...

The near-vertical pastures were alive with wild flowers; small heads of yellow, white, purple, blue, and red  hung heavy with mist and dripped into the tangle of grass beneath. Brooks tumbled down every crease of the earth's mantle; waterfalls launched off every step and dropped from impossible heights. Some streams fell so far that they turned completely to mist before reforming on the rocks below. The cloud cover forced us to notice the details instead of the overwhelming panoramic views seen on postcards, but looking across the valleys we lost all perspective anyway and felt almost a giddy sense of vertigo.  The mists added an ominous air as they swirled to reveal strange new rock faces and jutting, stern shoulders. Carly reviewed several pictures and huffed. "These pictures just look like dumb rocks. There is just no way to capture the perspective." And it's true. You really have to be there to understand.

We followed a river up to its source: a large canyon with no fewer than a dozen waterfalls and slabs of glacial snow. Years of melted avalanches had left piles of black rock behind, so the whole scene felt mysterious and prehistoric. Continuing upwards, we heard the deep tones of cow bells long before we caught up to them in the mist: the locals, taking their small herds up to the high pastures for the summer. Consequently, the trail was slippery, muddy, and loaded with liquified grass. By the time we cleared the tree line and zig-zagged up an endless slope, we were more than ready for the hot meal that awaited us at Rotstokhütte, a solitary cabin manned by a solitary cook. Best. Food. Ever.

We ate dinner back in our village, hiking down trails so steep that at times we seemed to be headed for a precipice. In 'downtown' Gimmelwald (a hundred meters down mountain from our hotel) we snuggled into a basement restaurant and enjoyed food service from Englishmen that reminded us of hobbits. On the way home, we mutually decided that four nights in Switzerland was not nearly enough.

I must come back here. For the sake of my soul.

Sarly goes to Gupf

To be honest, Switzerland jumped upon us before I wrote about our time in Gupf, and although we left nearly a week ago, I don't want to leave out its crucial role in our trip. Frankly, we were so busy relaxing and enjoying the family time we had with Mark and Maria Walker that I neglected my writing! Gupf, a tiny village in the southwestern corner of Germany, is surrounded by rolling farmlands and vineyards. Wheat, barley, rye, strawberries, asparagus, canola, grapes...the variety is endless. The town itself is barely two blocks, but even then, half the buildings are barns for milk cows and yards with chickens. Every morning we woke to the sound of lowing cattle; every evening we went to sleep with the same lullaby in our ears. The Walker's house was built as a barn over a hundred years ago, and the burly, thick stone walls still add their character to the cozy dwelling.

Our time here cannot be understood without first explaining our hosts. Mark is an American who grew up in Germany while his father smuggled bibles into communist Europe. Maria is all German, the daughter of a seminary professor (slash renaissance man) - and she carries his insatiable love of learning onward. I don't think my mind can hold all the things I learned while working at her side. Several days in a row, we pulled up stinging nettles from the property - tall, leafy stalks that burn like acid when you touch them. Even with rubber gloves to my elbows, I was hit - and Maria turned to pluck a ribbed leaf from a plant in the grass. "Ribwort," she said. "Mash and rub until the juice is in your skin." The remedy gave instant relief. I memorized the plant and by the end of the day, my shins and elbows were stained with dirty-looking ribwort juice. Maria, with boundless energy and endless stories, also taught me how to wield a scythe as tall as a man, manage a pasture, make lemon-balm spearmint tea and cook white asparagus. We ate our dinners on solid wooden discs with cheese and bread as ever-present condiments, family-style.

Mark has a burning passion to do Gods work here on earth, and has a lifetime calling of collecting, packing, and driving clothing and other necessities to the poor in Romania. When our activities slowed down enough for us to quiet ourselves, Mark would tell us in his soft, wise manner stories of smuggling bibles before the wall came down, of evading communist authorities, of God-ordained meetings and miraculous provision. I could sit at his feet for hours. He asked Maria if she would make dumpf noodlen (phonetic spelling) for us, and after the dinner of sweet rolls caramelized in sweet milk and covered with rich vanilla sauce, he told us that that particular meal would keep their marriage strong for a lifetime. The Walkers invited us into their life with such open arms I felt as if I could have been their daughter. Besides uprooting nasty nettles, I helped feed horses, muck poop, and carry items during shopping trips. To my delight, the grocery proudly displayed its own, in-house brewery!

We saw the sights too, of course - Maria was extremely gracious about that. Several nights we were treated to a dip in the public pool (more like a mini-waterpark) where men are required to wear speedo-like boy shorts for sanitary purposes. We visited the ruins of Rötteln castle (dating back to 1259), and Maria told us the story of a siege long ago, showing us the high tower window through which a messenger and his faithful horse jumped to fetch help from a neighboring town. The horse died, sparing the rider, and the castle was saved. We also visited the nearby Roman ruins (which were recently discovered and are still being unearthed) and the amphitheater, temple, and coliseum stood as eery monuments in the middle of a modern town.

Our last day in Gupf perfectly summed up our visit. Maria hosted a celebration for two of their girls' summer birthdays, and the scene was so perfect it nearly burst my heart. A tree shaded a picnic table serving coffee and cream, adults chatting across its planks. A hammock-seat spun energetic children in wild circles like a silk cocoon hung from a thread. A baby played with the family dog on a quilt laid out at the foot of the table, sharing a small piece of bread with her inquisitive friend. Sunlight streamed across the wooden steps as guests came out carrying sweet breads, melons, fruit dip, and ice cream. We were introduced to a shepherdess and learned that sheep are wise, in their own way. It didn't matter that we didn't speak the language - love and celebration are universal words to the soul.

Gupf was the perfect mid-trip relaxation we needed. The Walkers and their quaint town rejuvenated us and sent us off to Switzerland with overflowing hearts and full minds, ready to lose the extra pounds we'd gained at Maria's table on the daunting slopes of the Alps.

Sarly goes to München

When we first arrived in München (Munich) I thought we may have made a mistake and taken the train to Istanbul. Veiled women in full burkas floated amongst the tailored Germans like regal mysteries, the rare swish of their hems occasionally revealing platform shoes and tight, patterned pants. Dark-eyed black-haired men clustered in cafés and greeted each other on the streets, wearing nice clothes and driving even nicer cars. München is a modern city and a place of business, and initially we were rather put off by the number of sex shops and office buildings. But the benefit to landing in 'little Turkey' was finding halal food (the Islamic equivalent to kosher) and we ordered up some fantastic salads from Istanbul Buffet. Since we aren't actually planning a trip to Turkey, I figured cheating on the German palate with a Turkish one was acceptable in the interest of cultural diversity.

The funny thing about München is that the greatest threat to pedestrians are the hundreds of bicyclists zooming alongside the streets. Cars are easy to avoid, since everyone obeys the lights, but the bicyclists have their own system entirely. In some places they have their own sidewalk alongside the road, but since it isn't really marked when we share sidewalks and when it is a bike-only lane, we often heard the tiny trill of a bell moments before a blur of spokes and handlebars shaved the sleeves off our elbows. Once we figured out how to stay out of the death lanes, we navigated our way to the Arthotel Munich and checked in behind an Asian family and an American couple.

Our hotel room was the price of a hostel and we had booked it hoping to find other travelers to mix things up a bit. Yet despite a fantastic room (complete with mood lighting and a free bottle of wine), ours was the only finished room on the floor. Turkish workers painted hand railings in our stairwell, installed windows next door, and stacked headboards in the hall during our stay. But the construction put me right at ease as it took all the hoity-toity out of our upscale room, giving it an apologetic, welcoming air. Still; finding friendly neighbors was now out of the question.

Our initial plans for the next morning were to take a twelve-hour bus tour of the Romantic Road for castle-spotting, but they were thwarted by full seats and outlandish ticket prices. We tried to come up with plan B before pillow time, but discussion was frustrated by the fact that Carly's a morning lark and her brain is off by eleven whether she's asleep or not. Fortunately, by the time I rolled out of bed the following morning (I'm a night owl and my brain isn't up until nine) Carly had it all figured out (can I say how much I love traveling with her?) and we set off on a pilgrimage to Andechs Monastery near Herrsching. Lo and behold, at the beginning of our hour-long trek up the large hill, we joined up with two fellow backpackers: Danny and Casey, a brother and sister from Michigan finishing up a two week sprint through Europe.

After viewing an ornate, frescoed, and almost gaudy sanctuary, the four of us headed to the cafe and biergarten (beer garden) for refreshment. The monastery is known for brewing their own beer, and after a plate of raw radishes and a liter (or two) of the latest brew, we had become solid friends with our new companions. I even stopped talking in my imitation German accent! Of course, we also ate pretzels and sausages, and Danny endeared himself to me when he replied "It is the wurst" to my query of how he liked his sausage. Needless to say, we found abundant opportunities throughout the rest of the day to practice our punches. (!)

The four of us returned to München and strolled the English gardens, famous for public bathing in the nude along the shores of its picturesque, carefully engineered streams. Fortunately, the water was a bit cold for such heathen activities, but we did get to see Germans in wetsuits literally surfing a tumultuous section of water. We hardly covered half of the gardens in an hour: I'd never seen a city park so large and so ornate, so clean and so spacious. In one field hundreds picnicked while playing badminton, soccer, and frisbee; others just lounged about with a hookah or a joint nearby. The sun dropped below the horizon, setting fire to the surrounding hills and cooling the sweeping tresses of the willows - and I thought if I had a park like this, I would really love living in the city.

My stomach led us to a shack under some giant trees for dinner, and each of us ordered some unknown item from the menu along with, of course, a good half liter of beer. My item ended up being a hoagie roll with three naked sausages inside - no sauce, no toppings. And it tasted amazing. We settled into the hammocks slung up for customers to chow down and somehow picked up Wolfgang, a young guy with limited English that wouldn't tell us his real name at first because Wolfgang doesn't sound like Wolfgang when said in German. We called him Carl instead. Several ice breakers later, during which we determined Carly needed to marry a finch and I a horse (don't ask), we set ourselves back on the crowded path to find München's famous Marianplatz, an historic square with an ornate city hall. At some point I admitted I really wanted to call the citizens munchkins; but they don't really fit the profile.

Danny and Casey made our München trip incredibly fun and extremely worthwhile: we were sad to bid them good-bye the next morning as we headed for Gupf, Germany, only twenty minutes from Basel, Switzerland. The rolling plains have turned into slightly steeper hills, and the large, covered platforms at train stops into quiet, open air boardwalks. The style is changing - less snap and more knapp. The clothes are looser, the hair is plainer, and the faces kinder, softer, lighter. Gupf is a tiny village tucked into the farmlands of Baden-Wurttemburg; and waiting for us in their ancient farmhouse are our next hosts, Mark and Maria, full of Godly wisdom gleaned from years spent smuggling bibles into countries behind the Iron Curtain.

Sarly goes to Praha

Carly and I wore skirts and sandals to church today, and with no time to change before hauling our packs to the train station, we made quite a picture of Sunday-school backpacking. But what a sweet fellowship of believers! Members from at least 5 continents: Dubai, Swaziland, Fiji, Poland, Holland, Ohio, Brazil, Ghana, east Asia - and those are just the few I met.

It's been a few days because the only time I have for blogging is during our beautiful train rides...and even then, I am distracted by the passing rivers, villages, fields, villas, and often random eccentricities of the countryside. It's late spring and everything is green and blooming. Poppies and periwinkles dot the track side, interspersed by bursts of small white or yellow flowers. We're leaving the Czech Republic on our way back to Germany, this time to stay a few nights at the Arthotel in München (Munich) while we tour German castles and partake of more sauerkraut and beer (I can't wait for Italy).

Praha (Prague) is beautiful in a powerful way. Even though we are only a week into our trip, I think my number one recommendation for all you readers is that you plan a trip to this historic city, and soon. It is the only major city in Europe to escape the bombings, and so the old twelfth-century buildings from the Holy Roman empire still exist, restored and maintained. A giant monument in Old Town Square memorializes Jon Hus, burned at the stake for challenging the Roman Catholic Church long before Luther or Calvin. Hus is such a presence in Praha's culture that the Communists used his words for their propaganda: "Truth will prevail" (they censored it from "God's truth"). The struggle between Protestants and Catholics is woven into the ornamental fibers of the city; a memorial for a Protestant martyr here, a statue for a Catholic martyr there. In one story, the invading Catholic Austrian lords were thrown from a window (an act so common it has its own name: defrestration), but landed in a pile of manure and survived. The Catholics erected a monument and called it a miracle; the Czechs laughed and noted the lords landed where they deserved.

Czech humor is an entire post of its own - but I'll indulge. A famous king mounted on an upside-down horse; statues missing a hand or foot (or both); giant plastic cars nailed to the side of a building and seeming to melt down the side. No one really has an interpretation of them except that the joke's on you. In place of the pre-cold war, twelve-ton concrete statue of Stalin stands a strange, upside-down pendulum that looks like a giant orange needle tracing back-and-forth across the city's skyline. Interpretation? Up to you. We saw so many bizarre things that we just started saying "Czech humor!" at anything that seemed quirky, odd, or indecipherable. Adventuring through the city became somewhat of a "Where's Waldo" experience: I doubt Germany will continue the game. :-)

What is missing?

Praha, compared to Germany, is a little dirtier and a lot less fashionable, but comfortably unrestricted and artistic! Germans don't dream of crossing the street if the little man is red, even if there isn't a car in sight. But in Praha, we were glad to find it is culturally acceptable to occasionally cross against the light. I have a passion for the wildness of third-world countries, but Praha seems to strike the perfect balance between development and earthy flair. Safe, efficient, and nice when you want nice, it also has holes in the cobblestone sidewalks, dirt in the corners, and Roma (gypsies) performing in the squares. Large dogs wear cagey muzzles; young lovers seem to particularly enjoy making out on escalators and in metro stations. Czech food consists of bread, meat, potatoes and beer...although I did eat half a duck with cabbage and white wine. Carly and I cheated last night and had some really delicious Italian...not that the sauerkraut and sausages aren't good, but I think we have enough weight in our packs without packing it on. We're having a great time getting to know each other: Carly points out that I speak English in weird and improper accents to the locals, and I've learned not wait too long between meals. 

I won't try to describe the beauty of the buildings: you will have to look at my pictures on Google+ for that. All I can say is that I felt as if I was walking through an ornate doll-house town, what with all the differently painted facades and sculpted roof ornaments. Czech it out, I'm telling you! You won't regret the thousand dollars you spend getting here. But do it soon: it won't be long before this European secret is discovered and as overrun with tourism as Venice and Paris. Prague is better.

Our hosts in this city were Kelly and Fred Prudek, and they MADE our trip. Fred took us on a tour of the city, and Kelly allowed me to come with her as she ministered to the women of Praha. Seeing the body of Christ work in front of my eyes was humbling; our group consisted of a Texas woman, a Czech lady, a Slovak girl about my age, and a Catholic nun all working together to bring hope to women in desperate situations. Oh, that God would give me the faith of these Godly women!! Kelly and Fred made our experience three-dimensional: I was impacted mentally, emotionally, and spiritually by their guidance through our visit to Praha.

Already the train is filling with Germans as we travel closer to München. We have little six-seater compartments, but the walls aren't thick enough to cut out the sound of the German boys drinking beer, carrying a boom box, and linking hand to shoulder as they  do a train on a train (haha). I will say this; I am glad to be seeing well-dressed and fashionable people again. Taken as a whole, Czechs aren't really my type. But that's a personal stereotype, I suppose. Hehe - if I'm looking forward to seeing Germans, I'm really looking forward to seeing Italians. :-) 

I miss you all. Sorta. Not really. Europe is awesome. :-P

Sarly goes to Köln

We're on the train to Praha (Prague) now, winding along the Rhine and passing through steep hills with rows and rows of hand-cultivated vineyards surrounding quaint, beautiful villages.

Our taste of Köln (Cologne) was brief but satisfying. We checked into our small bed-and-breakfast near Barbarossaplatz around nine Wednesday morning, ready to sleep but still having the entire day ahead of us. The sun had never set during our flight from New York to Düsseldorf...the horizon glowed red as the sun dipped down and the sky darkened, but it burned that same brilliant red until we landed and the sun rose again. It was weird. I'm not sure how the Alaskans handle it.

The German train system seemed relatively simple to navigate until we discovered that there were multiple stations with similar names and we had jumped off three stops too early. After waylaying some poor locals and testing their English, we managed to figure out the proper train and clamber aboard, but the exit door was broken and we were forced to switch cars. I pushed into the next car and found it quite overcrowded: turning back, I saw the first hilarious incident of our trip - Carly, stuck with the car's doors trying to shut between her and her backpack. I don't think I'll forget that face.

"You're stuck," I said, dumbly.

"I know,"  she said, not breaking eye contact, unable to budge or even twist to asses the situation.

I grabbed her straps and with a few solid yanks she was clear and we were off to explore Köln, meeting our host Dieter on the way to drop off our packs. The first thing that struck us about this region of Germany was how orderly everything is, how efficient, and how clean. The architecture is pleasant, matching the landscape, and many of the buildings displayed window boxes to compliment the trees interspersed around and amongst the towns. The large amount of greenery gave the air a clear crispness that instantly refreshed us. 

Köln is nestled stoutly against the Rhine, with some of its old architecture still remaining. Much of the city was destroyed during the bombings of World War II, and much of the new developments are flat-fronted, pastel-colored buildings lacking personality. It appeared to me to be a rather fashionable place (but what do I know); the people wore tight, tailored shirts with long skinny pants and dramatic hairstyles: flat tops and pompadours for the guys and pixie cuts and tight ponytails for the gals.

As we neared the Rhine river towards the center of the city, the tall retail stores lining the old cobblestone path broke away to reveal a giant cobbled square. On the river side of the square, an incomprehensible cathedral rose from the bricks like a disproportionate hallucination. I had been looking the other way when we first entered the square, so that when I turned at Carly's exclamation I was hit with the entirety of its massiveness all at once. Everything about it stood in stark contrast to the modern stores beneath it: the burnt, blackened stones; the staggered, ornate spires; the wise and sympathetic saints, watching over their city with stony vigilance.

To describe the intensity and MASSIVENESS of the cathedral would be impossible. Nothing about it was to scale with the rest of the city - it seemed to have been dropped in from ancient space, burnt and scorched by the heat of the atmosphere and forever stretching upwards towards the eternal sky. Gargoyles barked from its parapets and beggars crouched at its doors. The tops of the city's buildings barely reached the arc of its doorways, and its broad width and depth was disguised by the incredible upward sweep of its spires; up, up, up, and when you think you should see the top, more spires appeared and continued to draw the entire structure farther and farther from earth until the whole building seemed tall and narrow and impossibly airy amongst the heavy, broken clouds. Inside, the expanse of its stained windows, the delicate detail of its sculpted relics, and the solemnity of old saints' tombs are not really explicable - it was more of an emotional experience evicted by the devotion of a past age.

After that experience the rest of the tour seemed a bit trite - but we finished out the day beside the Rhine with fine dining: sausage, sauerkraut, and beer.

Sarly goes to New York

Well, we're in Europe!

On the seven-hour flight over, I typed up a summation of our last two days in New York. Six hours in, I realized it had turned into the first draft of a book and promptly scolded my overly ambitious side before cutting it down to bloggable size.

So, in a nutshell, this is what's up:

Carly and I just arrived in Europe, and we'll be here for the next month. We booked our flights out of New York City to save money and were kindly given buddy passes to fly standby from Cincinnati to  JFK. Those of you who use buddy passes know the dangers: full flights, delayed flights, overbooked flights, and busy ticket agents can all leave you stranded on the wrong side of the shaky little wind tunnel that acts as a red carpet for the more privileged passengers boarding the plane. Okay, so they aren't exactly more privileged, but they aren't the cheap kids hitchhiking their way to the edge of the big pond. At one point I joked about climbing into the wheel wells as we sat waiting to win the seat lottery, and Carly laughed. Flying standby makes you wish crazy things.

Everything went smoothly, and we ended up arriving in the Big Apple on Sunday night, two days ahead of time. With all that time to kill, we took a walking tour of Manhattan on Monday through a torrential downpour with raincoats that funneled all liquid onto our pants and only partially kept it off our shirts. The locals all used umbrellas, and had dry pants and dry shirts. Huh - note to self. Buy an umbrella.

But even in the rain, New York is big, bright, and delicious. Superman and Ironman watch over the city from massive billboards amongst the various advertisements and random video screens. Cafe Habana near SoHo served us roasted corn on the cob slathered in mayonnaise and topped with cotija cheese and a streak of chili powder  - an explosion of taste set off by lime and definitely the best corn I've ever had! We saw a few very eccentric persons (one man in six-inch platforms and diamond-slashed tights), but for the most part the city is filled with everyday people from every ethnicity wearing everything from suits to sweats. In Times Square, the Late Show with David Letterman offered us free seats in the audience, and despite the fact Carly's curls were going adorably wild, we decided the sodden look was not quite what we had imagined for our national television debut and politely declined. We found a shop with thirty-dollar mechanical pencils and two-thousand dollar rings: we found another shop with reasonable prices and simple journals that found new homes with us.

Sonya and Franz graciously hosted us during our two-night stay - the first of many such saints on this trip. She is from the mountains of Kentucky and he is a native to New York City: the story of how God brought them together kept us fascinated for hours. Their apartment is adorable and their hospitality humbling! They let us sleep in their living room and kept us well-fed and watered; both physically and spiritually. Eventually, they will be planting a church in the Bronx: their steadfast commitment to the Light is encouraging to see in such a difficult place.

I don't fully know what to expect from this foray through Europe. As of now, I'd say I'm anticipating a fantastic cultural experience filled with history and adventure, marked by realizations of how spiritually dark Europe has become juxtaposed with flashes of light from our multiple missionary hosts. Seeing as we just met last fall, I know I will be learning a lot more about Carly and the blessing she is as a friend (she's already saved my sandwiches from being left behind and started the process of teaching me to really understand the delicate discipline of taste).

We landed in Dusseldorf early this morning: we took the train to Cologne (Köln) and are staying the night here before embarking on the nine-hour trip to Prague (Praha). Hopefully I can stay disciplined enough to post every few days...but don't hold your breath. ;-)