Luxembourg: Remembering America's fallen heroes

After Germany, the plan was to meet some family friends in France. Their names are Geoff and Jennifer Fournier. My dad met Geoff while Geoff was in the Navy and my dad was in the Marines, and they stayed close afterwards. Geoff eventually moved to France to manage a U.S. cemetery and WWI memorial, and he and his wife generously offered to host us for a week when they heard we were circling through Europe.

Our plan was to catch the train from Germany to France, but it turned out that we needed reservations to do so, which we couldn’t get in time. Luckily, it just so happened that Geoff and Jennifer needed to go to Luxembourg to register their new car, and Faeth and I could easily hop on the train to that country instead. So quite unexpectedly, we ended up adding another country to our “visited” list.

Getting there was an adventure, since our train was an hour late to the first stop, making us miss our connection (so much for that famous German punctuality!). But we were able to take another later train and arrive only an hour late overall, so it wasn’t terrible. Geoff and Jennifer picked us up at the train station and offered to show us the Luxembourg American Cemetery and WWII War Memorial. Their friend Scott runs it, and he gave us a tour around the site.

The cemetery is impressive in its sheer size: 50 acres and 5,076 white grave markers to commemorate the American forces who lost their lives fighting in WWII. Among the dead buried here is General Patton (who did not die in battle but in an automobile accident). Many of these fighters died in the famous Battle of the Bulge, which took place in the Ardennes Forest only miles away from the cemetery. (In fact, the country of Luxemburg is so grateful for the Allies’ support that it offered the cemetery land to the U.S. for free and still pays for the water supply.)

The chapel includes a mosaic inside representing the protection of peace

While we were in the cemetery, we visited the Wall of the Missing, which listed 307 Americans who had died in combat in the area and never been recovered, and saw the chapel, which had a giant angel carved in the front and doors inscribed with the eight virtues of the U.S. soldier.

Rosettes signify a soldier whose body has been recovered

 

Both of these monuments were impressive, but what moved me most was looking out over all those pristine white grave markers. Some of them didn’t even have names carved onto them, only “a comrade-in-arms known only to God.” So many men and women lost their lives fighting a war 70 years ago so that the rest of us could be free and safe. When you see all those graves, it’s hard not to get caught up in cold statistics. But every soldier who died had a family, and friends, and plans, and dreams. Every soldier who went out onto the field under a haze of machine gun fire knew what he was risking—and risked it anyway. It sounds trite, but it’s true: these are American’s true heroes.

The cemetery commemorates more than 5,000 Americans who gave their lives for us

I think the best way to sum it up is to reference the quote carved on the side of the Luxembourg cemetery chapel:

“In proud remembrance of the achievement of her sons and in humble tribute to their sacrifices, this monument has been erected by the United States of America.”

Leer: We’re not so different after all

As our time in Scotland drew to a close, we needed to decide where to go next. We had planned on hopping over to Ireland, but in the end, we decided we’d rather have a longer time to explore Ireland during a later trip, and we caught a plane to Amsterdam to visit our German relatives one last time before moving on to France. Remembering our nearly disastrous flight from Berlin, we arrived at the airport two hours early—but apparently we swung too far in the opposite extreme, since they wouldn’t let us check our bags for another hour. No matter, we eventually were able to board our flight, arrive in Amsterdam, find our hostel (which was right next door to the famous Red Light District) and catch the next morning train to Leer.

Once again, cousin Ralph picked us up from the station. For the next three days, we hung out with family and saw bits of Leer we hadn’t discovered before: a tiny history museum above a wine shop, a boat tour along the river, a restaurant that doubled as a horse stables with full-blown tournaments and everything. We managed to bake our relatives a cake without all the proper ingredients, without German translations for the ingredients we had and without an English measurement system (it wasn’t half bad, either). We went to a neighborhood potluck where I succeeded in communicating by finding someone who spoke Spanish.

 

It was an extremely dense chocolate-mint cake, but everyone seemed to like it

While all three days were a ton of fun, one evening stands out in my memory more distinctly than all the rest. Some of the younger cousins came to tea with us to try the cake we'd baked and afterwards announced that they were taking us bowling with the family. Now, I don’t particularly like to bowl, but I like my German relatives, and I was willing to put up with some lousy games to hang out with them. So Faeth and I climbed into the back of a cousin’s convertible and headed to the bowling alley. The windows were down and the radio was cranked up. The song lyrics were in German, but I could understand the gist of the message, something about young people having fun. And as I sat in the back of that convertible, wind messing up my hair as we took curves far faster than we should have, I felt a kinship with these German cousins of mine that I hadn’t realized before. They had always been family to me, but now I realized just how similar we were: we were doing the same things on a Friday night that American kids would do on a Friday night: grabbing some friends, blasting music and driving out for a night on the town.

Bowling was a lot more fun than I’d feared. The ally was decked out in a Stargate theme, with giant aliens painted on the walls and glowing neon lights casting weird shades on our skin. And, I’m proud to say, I wasn’t the worst bowler there, even with my final score of a whopping 86 points. A few of the cousins played to win, but most of us just played for fun. And between wildly bouncing balls off bumpers and crazy bowling strokes, it was a lot of fun. It was the sort of fun you can have with any group of goofballs who like each other and decide to go bowling.

It helped to know the Stargate references...

People seem to assume that Europe is such a different place than the United States, that everyone overseas is cultured, cool and trendy. But I contend that Europeans are just people like you and me. They have bad days and good days, plans and fears and mistakes and triumphs. They have friends and family, jobs and hobbies. And at the end of the day, they’re far more similar to us than they are different. That’s something I think we should all remember when we’re tempted to lump people into groups based on their backgrounds and where they grew up. People are people. Let’s celebrate our similarities instead of focusing on differences that aren’t so important after all.

Crianlarich: Soaking up the beauty of nature

Scotland’s famous for a few things: Scotch whiskey, haggis, bagpipes, kilts… It’s also famous for its rugged, beautiful scenery, and perhaps one of the best-known and most romanticized regions in the country are the Highlands. The Highlands are named the Highlands for two reasons: the fact they’re in the northern section of the country (to the south are the Lowlands, not surprisingly) and because of all their rolling hills. The hills are what drew us to the Highlands (that and the fact that Faeth enjoys the cheesy ’80s flick Highlander).

At first, we planned on visiting the Isle of Skye, which is far north in the country, but that proved too difficult to plan. Then we found a place south of Edinburgh, but it turned out the hostel had gone out of business. Finally, after surfing the internet the night before we had to leave, we found Crianlarich, a 200-person town three hours north of Edinburgh that billed itself as the “Gateway to the Highlands.” By this time, we were pretty tired of cities and people, so this Podunk town in the middle of nowhere was just what we wanted… and it was amazing!

The "Gateway to the Highlands"

 

We arrived in Crianlarich Monday afternoon. The hostel was nearly deserted, just the way we like it (we even had the room to ourselves one evening). After unpacking our bags, we headed out to explore nature. If you followed the highway through town (blink and you’d miss it), you could circle around a hotel and find a trail that led along a creek through a field of wild flowers. In the background were those famous Scottish hills, rising majestically above the horizon. They filled me with wonder at the God who formed them. Our God is even more awesome than the mountains He created, and if He can speak such majesty into being, surely He can be trusted with my hopes and dreams...

“Ah, Lord God! Behold, thou hast made the heaven and the earth by Thy great power and stretched-out arm, and there is nothing too hard for Thee” (Jeremiah 32:17)

 

Such grandeur makes me think not of my insignificance but of God's great significance

The next day, we set out to hike Mt. Ben More, the highest hill in the area at nearly 4,000 ft. above sea level. We were told to walk two miles along the highway (it was surprising how many cars streamed by) until we found a path up the hill. However, the only path we found led us around the base for two hours before abruptly ending in a dead end. It was only after we backtracked to the beginning that we noticed a tiny dirt trail winding up the steep hill face. It was more of a sheep trail (and indeed, we did see big-horned sheep wandering around) than a real hiking trail, and before we’d made it a quarter of the way up the trail disappeared into mud. I suppose I should have suspected something when I noticed how all the other climbers we’d seen had been dressed in hard-core mountaineering outfits and we were in tank tops and tennis shoes. I didn’t really want to spend the next two hours hiking through mud to reach the top, so I gave up and headed back down the slope. I know Faeth would have continued on to the top, but I didn’t want to ruin my only pair of walking shoes. Instead, we found our way to a small lake and enjoyed the scenery there.

Ben More is the highest of the "Crianlarich Hills"

Our last day was definitely the most exhausting day, but we also saw a lot of beautiful scenery. There’s a trail that runs along Crianlarich called the “West Highland Trail.” We weren’t able to hike it all, since it’s 93 miles long, but we probably hiked at least thirteen. We wove our way through the woods, walked along rivers and through pastures, stumbled onto waterfalls and even came across a Celtic graveyard. Nearby, we found the ruins of a 13^th century church founded by the first Christian missionary to Scotland, St. Ninian. I really enjoyed wandering around and drinking in the beauty of nature. I think sometimes, it doesn’t matter where you’re going exactly as long as you enjoy the walk. It was good to take a few days and recharge without the hustle and bustle of a crowded city.

Maybe someday we'll make it all 96 miles!

That evening, Faeth and I treated ourselves to a Viennetta. If you’ve never had it, imagine lasagna made out of ice cream: layers of crisp chocolate and creamy vanilla. Our family used to have it all the time when we were little, but it stopped being distributed in the U.S. nearly fifteen years ago. We vowed that we’d find it when we were in Europe, and we did.

And it was just as good as we remembered.

 

Afterwards, we played card games with the staff at the hostel. One of the workers, Neil, taught us how to play Whist. We had a really good time—I wish we’d known they liked cards earlier! All in all, it was a very good ending to a great three days. I’ll take nature over the city any time. Sometimes, you need to get off the beaten path to find something truly special.

Edinburgh: How to have fun without draining your bank account

By the time Faeth and I reached Scotland, we were running low on funds, thanks to a poor dollar-to-euro conversion rate and pricey train tickets across the island. In fact, our second day in the city, we only had about $30 between us. This was a Saturday, and we had to make it until Monday before our parents could transfer funds into our account. I was a bit nervous, but it turns out you can really enjoy a city without shelling out a ton of money.

Tip #1: Find free walking tours. Faeth and I have been using the Sandeman New Europe tours, which offer tours in most of Europe’s major cities. Sure enough, there was a free one in Edinburgh. Walking tours are fun because you get to dive into the city and the culture without being trapped in a bus, looking through windows. Our guide was really funny and tried hard to answer all our questions, even if they had nothing to do with the tour. That’s how we learned about Scotland’s unofficial drink, Irn Bru, and how to get to other interesting areas in the city.

Tip #2: Find free attractions. Somewhere along the way as we walked through the city, I heard people mentioning the Royal Botanic Gardens. When we learned they were free, Faeth and I knew we had to check them out. The Royal Botanic Garden is a giant collection of plants from around the world. The garden was founded in 1670 and now houses more than 13,300 plant species (and that’s not even counting the plants found in the herbarium). Technically, there are four sites that share the plants, and we only visited the one in Edinburgh—but that garden alone was enough for us to wander all afternoon. We saw plants from China and plants from Australia, plants from the U.S. and plants from Siberia. When we felt like wandering, we wandered, and when we felt like napping, we lay down next to the path and just relaxed under the shade of the trees. I would definitely recommend the garden to anyone who enjoys nature or wants a few hours of peace and relaxation.

This is one of the waterfalls we discovered as we explored the gardens

Tip #3: Stretch your legs. When we asked our hostel receptionist were the gardens were, she thought we were crazy for wanting to walk instead of catching a cab. But by that time, we only had about $10 left, and we needed money for a cab to the train station the next morning. Besides, it was only about two miles to the gardens, which is nothing on a good day. You can save so much money if you don’t take buses and cabs everywhere. If you do need to use transportation, though, definitely go with the bus option; they’re substantially cheaper than taxis.

Tip #4: Share. One of our biggest goals in Scotland was to try haggis, the country’s most famous dish. (Heck, Scottish poet Robert Burns even wrote a poem about it.) Haggis is made from the heart, liver and lungs of a sheep, mixed in with spices and wrapped in the sheep’s stomach. It typically comes with turnips and potatoes (neeps and tatties in Scottish lingo). Faeth and I pooled our pocket change together and bought a sampler plate to split. While most people shy away from haggis after hearing the description, Faeth and I liked it a lot. It tasted a bit like hamburger, but saltier and richer.

Haggis, neeps and tatties--mmm!

Finally, if you want to have the most fun on your trip, be open to unplanned experiences. We figured we’d go to bed early that night, since we had a flight at 7 a.m. the next morning back into Amsterdam. But then we got back to our hostel and met our three new roommates: Kegan, who was from India, and two young Belgians, Jean and Julian. They were a heck of a lot friendlier than the Brazilian roommates we’d had the last two nights, who insisted on stumbling into our room at 2 a.m. every night, turning on the lights and starting loud conversations. Kegan, Julian and Jean wanted to know if we’d go out pub hopping with them. The responsible part of me said to go to bed, but the youthful part of me said I should make the most of my time here. And that’s how two Americans, two Belgians and an Indian ended up drinking all night in Scotland. (How did we pub hop with 4 euro in our pockets? The boys were gentlemen and insisted on buying every drink.) We ended the night at 1 a.m. in the hostel kitchen, taking shots of Scotch Whiskey (which was amazing) and teaching each other different dances. Our last night in Edinburgh was the most fun we had during our entire visit to the city. Sometimes, you’ve got to miss a few hours of sleep to make the best memories.

Two Americans, two Belgians and an Indian in Scotland

Edinburgh: A city that unites two kingdoms

After exploring England for a week and a half, Faeth and I took a train to its northern neighbor, Scotland. Scotland has technically been a part of the United Kingdom since the 1600s, but it is still distinctly Scotland, with a strong Scottish history, heritage and set of traditions. As soon as we stepped off the train, we felt like we were in Scotland, and it felt good.

The first day, we went on a walking tour of this sprawling city, a city that felt more like a town than the 850,000-person metropolis it is. We started at the Royal Mile, the main street in the Old Town section of the city. The street runs from Edinburgh Castle, home of the old Scottish kings, at the top to Holyrood Palace, the current royal family’s summer home, at the bottom. We couldn’t go into that palace since the queen was there while we were, but we did get to see the lovely gardens. We also saw the Scottish Parliament Building, St. Giles’ Cathedral, the University of Edinburgh and one of only two churches in the world that housed a carving of an angel playing the bagpipes. Along the way, we learned how Robert Louis Stevenson was inspired to write his short horror Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde after hearing of a two-faced Scottish locksmith, and we tried the unofficial drink of Scotland, Irn Bru, a carbonated soft-drink that tastes like bubblegum soda (it’s really good!).

This is one of Edinburgh's many churches. Because Scottish people aren't as religious as they used to be, yet they want to preserve the city's heritage, many churches have been converted for other uses, such as night clubs.

 

That evening, we noticed giant cliffs rising on the edge of the city and decided to go check them out. Edinburgh was built on seven hills: Cartlon Hill, Corstorphine Hill, Craiglockhart Hill, Braid Hill, Blackford Hill, Arthur’s Seat and Castle Rock. I’m not really sure which one we hiked, but I think it was Arthur’s Hill. It took us about two hours to wind our way around the base and scramble to the top, but the view of Edinburgh was worth it: you could see the city stretch out in every direction, the Atlantic Ocean pooling into an estuary and the green land beyond.

Faeth scaled the top of the cliff but I was too nervous to follow!

The next day, we visited Edinburgh Castle. Edinburgh Castle was built in the 12^th century by David I of Scotland. Built on Castle Rock, part of an extinct volcano, the castle is considered one of the most important castles in the Kingdom of Scotland, with a history that includes the Wars of Scottish Independence in the 1300s and the Jacobite Rising of 1745. Perhaps one the castle’s greatest distinctions is that it was the birthplace of King James I of England (also known as King James VI of Scotland), the son of Mary Queen of Scots and eventual unifier of England and Scotland in 1603.

The front gate of Edinburgh Castle

When we arrived at the castle, we couldn’t see the usual striking outline since it was hidden behind a temporary auditorium constructed for Edinburgh’s annual Military Tattoo. The gray sheet metal rising overhead on both sides sort of ruined the sense of ancient majesty I’m sure the castle usually inspires. Yet it was still really fun to explore the old buildings inside. Most of them dated around the 16^th century, but we also visited St. Margaret’s Chapel, the oldest surviving building, which was constructed in the 1100s. We also got to see the Honours of Scotland (their version of the Crown Jewels), which aren’t used anymore since all the British monarchs use England’s Crown Jewels. Overall, the castle was a bit underwhelming, not nearly as fun as Dover Castle or even the Tower of London. The Great Hall wasn’t that great and the royal apartments were just empty rooms. I always imagine castles as gigantic fortresses when really they’re just a cluster of buildings behind a wall.

I think the most interesting part of our tour was learning about Scotland’s rich history, especially its contentious relations with England. For centuries, these two peoples hated each other, or at the very least disliked each other enough to start several wars. Yet in 1603, all that changed when James I united the two kingdoms, and the peoples have lived in (relative) peace for 400 years. Maybe there’s a lesson in there for us: If two different countries with different customs and histories can blend together, maybe other groups of people can, too. There’s so much fighting and contention across the globe, yet at the end of the day, most people value the same things. If the Scots and the Brits can figure out a peaceful solution to their quarrels, maybe the rest of the world can too.

Dover: Our vacation-within-a-vacation

My sister and I are not really city-slickers. In fact, we hate cities: the noise, the crowds, the smog. So, while we were willing to brave London for a few days to see the famous sites like Buckingham Palace, we were pretty excited to leave London behind when the time came. We hopped a train and headed for Dover, a small coastal city in the far southeast of England. From there, we took a bus to our real destination: St. Margaret’s-at-Cliffs, a tiny town clustered on the top of the famous Cliffs of Dover. The town probably had a population of about 10,000 people, and, once you got out of town, you were surrounded as far as the eye could see by fields and forests. You could walk for miles without passing anyone or hearing any cars, and Faeth and I loved it.

We came to Dover to see those famous white cliffs, and it just so happened that you could easily walk to the cliffs from the cheap hotel where we were staying. The receptionist told us Dover Castle was only about two miles away, which is nothing for two farm girls, so we headed out. It turned out that the castle was closer to five miles away, but the walk over the cliff tops was worth it.

We walked on top of that!

 

The white Cliffs of Dover are indescribably majestic. We walked right along the edge of them and could see the Atlantic Ocean stretch out into the horizon. There were no barriers, so we could peer over the edges (pretty nerve-wracking!) and look all the way down to the beaches below. The cliffs are 350 feet tall, giant slabs of pristine white rock that made me feel like a tiny speck of sand. They reminded me of just how awesome and grand their Creator is. The Bible sums it up better than I could in Nehemiah 9:6, “You alone are the Lord. You made the heavens, even the highest heavens, and all their starry host, the earth and all that is on it, the seas and all that is in them. You give life to everything and the multitudes of heaven worship You.”

After walking several hours, we finally crested the last hill and saw Dover Castle in the distance. The castle was constructed in the early 1200s by Henry II, better known as the father of King Richard the Lion Hearted. It’s been used as a fortress ever since until as late as the 1940s, when the British army buried themselves in the medieval tunnels and set up secret hospitals underground for their wounded. We got to walk through these tunnels and see where the soldiers lived, worked and recovered, which was fascinating. Human beings can be darned resourceful when the need arises.

 

The castle has defended England for nearly a thousand years.

 

After exploring the castle until it closed for the night, we caught a bus home, since we really didn’t feel like hiking another five miles back to the hotel. The hotel, by the way, was absolutely wonderful. It cost only a few euro more than a hostel, and we got our own room, our own bathroom, free tea and internet and access to a very refreshing pool. After four weeks sharing hostel rooms with eight other noisy young people, sleeping on squeaky, thin mattresses and hearing people come and go all night every night, the hotel was a real refuge. We even extended our time a day so we could relax longer.

The next day, we had considered catching a bus to Canterbury to see the famous cathedral (you know, the one from Canterbury Tales), but we decided not to. Honestly, we haven’t had much luck with England’s famous churches, and we thought it would be a lot more fun to have a laid-back day wandering the beach. So we hiked down to the foot of the cliffs to get a different vantage point. They were just as breathtaking from below, maybe more so, since we could clearly see how huge they are. We walked the beach and enjoyed the sound of the waves breaking against the sand until we felt like it was time to move on, and then we did.

They are just as lovely from below

There was a little museum in the town, and it was free, so we decided to pop in. I’m glad we did—there’s a lot about Dover I’d never heard of before. Apparently, Ian Fleming (the author of the James Bond series) lived here a while, as did other famous English composers and playwrights. But what really interested me was the WW2 history Dover had to offer. The people living in Dover throughout World War II were an extremely hardy, resourceful lot. Dover was shelled mercilessly by the Germans, and it was actually picked by Hitler as the ideal landing place for an invasion of Great Britain. Yet the British refused to give up. They ignored the shelling to go about their business. Women joined farming crews to boost crop production while almost every man either joined the military or found another way to help the war effort. And it was from Dunkirk, near Dover, that one of the greatest POW rescues in WW2 occurred. Called the Miracle at Dunkirk, this brilliant and gutsy operation involved both the military and area civilians rowing into captured territory to rescue nearly 240,000 Allied soldiers trapped by the enemy over the course of a week. These rescued soldiers were then taken to Dover. Reading these tales of heroism, patriotism and self-sacrifice stirred my heart and made me proud that England was our ally, but more than that—it made me proud of mankind and what it can accomplish.

If you looked hard, you could see France across the English Channel

That evening, we walked to the docks to try those famous fish-n-chips—which were truly delicious. It was a very good end to our two-day vacation-within-our-vacation. We left for Newcastle the next morning. Even though we only spent a little bit of time in Margaret-at-Cliffs, so far it is my favorite place we’ve visited in all of Europe, and I know that someday I will come back to this charming, beautiful little town.

London's churches: Houses of worship without the worship

London’s known for a lot of things: Buckingham Palace, red phone booths, fish-n-chips… It also boasts some pretty famous churches, some of which were built almost a thousand years ago. I love old architecture and I especially love churches, so I was pretty excited to walk through England’s most famous places of worship. Yet, when I visited some of these places, I didn’t see much worship going on.

First example: Westminster Abbey. Westminster Abbey is the most famous church in England, though technically I guess it’s an abbey, not a church . (It was, however, a cathedral from 1540 to 1550). It’s a huge building that dates back to 1245 and most famous for being the site of every royal coronation since William the Conqueror in 1066. When Faeth and I found it, there was a huge line to get in, and, much to our confusion, an entrance fee. (Charging for access to a church seems somewhat paradoxical to me.) But I’d heard the stories and wanted to see for myself, so I shelled out 16 pounds (about $20) and waited to go in.

London's most famous house of worship

And… it was a big disappointment. Sure, there were tombs of a bunch of famous people, such as Queen Elizabeth I and Shakespeare. The architecture was gorgeous. The history was profound. But it felt so empty and pretentious… this wasn’t a place of worship at all, at least not a place to worship God. Everywhere I looked, someone had built a shrine to dead loved ones, and almost none of these shrines even mentioned God. I was standing in one of the world’s most famous sanctuaries, yet I could see nothing sacred or sanctified in it.

It was the same with St. Paul’s Cathedral, London’s other famous place of worship. This cathedral, which was the tallest building in London for nearly 300 years, was built in 1708 and survived blitz attacks during WW2. This is where Wellington was buried and also has references to Churchill and Florence Nightingale. The building is absolutely colossal, so big it could fit probably twenty of my churches. If you climb about 150 steps, you reach the famous Whispering Hall, then another 300 steps take you to the top of the dome, where you can see incredible panoramic views of London. But this church of churches didn’t feel like a church at all; it felt more like a courthouse or assembly room. There were memorials to fallen soldiers, statues for famous dead men and plaques proudly explaining the cathedral’s history, but references to God… not so much. I understand the philosophy behind big, fancy churches: God is awesome, so you try to build Him an awesome dwelling place. But I think sometimes, a line gets crossed, and the church stops being about God and starts being about how great the human builders are: “Look at this church we built for God. Look how much we love God that we could create this incredible building!” Yet the overall affect is actually repulsive to the very sinners who need God the most, because they walk into His house and are overwhelmed with a sense of distance and unapproachability.

I couldn't get a complete picture since the building was so big--this is one I found online.

 

Are all churches in England like this? Thankfully, no! One afternoon, quite by accident, Faeth and I chanced upon Southwark Cathedral. Ever heard of it? Probably not, though it was patronized by such famous figures as William Shakespeare and Geoffrey Chaucer and has been around (in one form or another) since 1000 AD. It’s a small cathedral, relatively speaking; it could probably only fit three or four of my church inside. Yet when I walked in (freely, I might add; this church had no entrance fee), I was instantly overwhelmed with its quiet majesty and subdued beauty. Instead of throngs of people, I saw only a few other visitors, and many of the people inside were actually sitting in the sanctuary praying. Instead of tour guides, there were priests, there to offer counsel and comfort to the needy. Instead of loud speakers, there was a choir practicing songs of love and devotion to the Lord.

Southwark Cathedral was a refuge for my soul after the other churches we saw.

(This is also not my picture.)

 

After the hustle and bustle of London, and after the opulence and pretentiousness of the famous cathedrals I’d already seen, Southwark rejuvenated my soul. Everywhere I looked, I could see a reference to God. This church was not made to glorify itself but its true Creator. I felt a kinship with these believers, like we were all part of the same family. I ended up visiting this church two more times, three days in a row, every day until Faeth and I left London. It was a sanctuary in the middle of London’s noise and confusion. I knew I could go there and find peace and rest.

Southwark Cathedral was my favorite part of London, and I know I will never forget this humble little cathedral, which points towards God instead of pointing back to famous people who once attended its services. That’s what church should be focused on, and what true churches do focus on: not the external appearance, not the eloquence of the pastor, not the beauty of the choir, not the prestige of the members, but the reason for everything we do and everything we are: our Heavenly Father. Without Him, the most opulent cathedral is just a hollow shell; with Him, the lowest church building is a glorious cathedral.

London: Don't take their word for it

After traveling around Germany for about two weeks, it was time for Faeth and me to “hop the pond” and visit England. Just getting there was an adventure, since Berlin subways are deceptively slow and we almost missed our plane. If you’ve ever seen the Home Alone movies, you’ll know the scene where the McCallister family frantically runs down the airport terminals trying to catch their flight. That was us. We really did run to our terminal and board the plane just as they prepared to take off.

Despite the hectic start, we made it to London and even found our hostel without too much trouble. Our hostel, the Globe Trott Inn, was built up above an English tavern and dripped with English hospitality. You couldn’t really get any more English, with double decker buses passing by and red telephone booths on the street corners, despite the line of Indian shops surrounding it and the Bollywood movie theater down the street.

Faeth and I had a long, grand list of things to see in London: Westminster Abbey, Parliament and Big Ben, the Eye in the Sky (a Ferris Wheel), Baker Street, Madam Toussud’s, the Thames, London Bridge… the list goes on. Pretty much, everything I’d heard about London or seen in movies, I wanted to see for myself. I managed to find a free walking tour that covered most of the big-name places in London such as Buckingham Palace and the Globe Theater, so Faeth and I decided to tag along.

The tour started at Wellington’s Arch (Wellington’s the guy who eventually defeated Napoleon, and the British loved him until he became prime minster) and moved on to Buckingham Palace. The palace was a lot smaller and more subdued than I’d thought, which actually makes sense since it’s only been a royal palace for a couple hundred years, ever since King George III saw it at a housewarming party and decided it’d be a good place for his kids to grow up. After that, we caught a bit of the Changing of the Guard (not really so exciting) and our tour guide, Josh, took us to see the guard house. And that’s when things went wrong. There were about 200 people trying to get pictures of these famous British guards, the ones in red with the furry black hats. Faeth and I are far too Minnesota nice; so we politely waited for other people to push forward and get their shots. When our turn finally came, we snapped our pictures only to turn around and discover our tour guide—and the rest of the tour group—was gone. They’d left us, and now we were lost in downtown London.

Needless to say, we weren’t exactly thrilled at losing our tour (which until that point had been very interesting), but we managed to wander around and see most of the sites anyway. And it was during our impromptu sightseeing walk that I started to realize something: it’s more important to see what I wanted to see, not what everyone raved about. There’s more to London than the stories and tourist spots, and more to this city’s history and culture than checking famous sites off your list.

For example: Everyone’s heard of London Bridge. We have a nursery rhyme about and everything (which is actually pretty morbid when you consider the lyrics, but then most nursery rhymes are). Yet when Faeth and I finally found our way over to this famous London Bridge, we were greatly underwhelmed. It was a modern bridge, rebuilt after the old one had broken down years ago. It was nothing like we imagined. The same went for the Globe Theater and Parliament. Big Ben looked really cool, but you had to pay to see Parliament, and we weren’t willing to do that. Ditto for the Eye in the Sky: pricey tickets and a long line. So we skipped that, too.

We wanted to see Big Ben because of the Great Mouse Detective... look it up!

Was London a total bust? Goodness, no! We had a blast discovering it. We explored the Tower of London and saw the gorgeous Crown Jewels. We wandered the huge British Library. We went to Greenwich to see the Prime Meridian (which is pretty arbitrary, especially when you consider that it wasn’t even the first “prime meridian” in England), where we got to stand on two hemispheres...

So close... yet so far!

 

From there, we visited the University of Greenwich, which had a “painted hall” where, you guessed it, everything was painted: walls, ceiling, doors… The mural on the ceiling was breathtaking. Once you walked out of the university, you could climb down onto the bank of the Thames to walk the river. It was very pretty, far prettier than the Thames under the London Bridge, and it was quiet and relaxing in Greenwich. In fact, I think Greenwich was one of my favorite places in London.

It was like this throughout the entire building.

London was a ton of fun… once we stopped trying to see everything everyone told us to see. Jumping for site to site just to snap a picture is no way to travel. Travel is about expanding your horizons, seeing new viewpoints and meeting different people. You can’t chase after some “perfect visit” to London, or any place. If all you’re worried about is seeing the famous places so you can brag about seeing them, you’re really missing out. There is so much more out there! Why let yourself be dictated by other people’s arbitrary standards? Why do other people get to decide what’s cultured and what’s not? If you want to see something, go see it! If you don’t, don’t waste your time. Life is too short to waste part of it molding yourself to other people’s expectations. If you let go of trying to fit into a cookie-cutter mold, your trip will be a hundred times better. I guarantee it.

Berlin: Visiting the (once) walled city

When we landed in Germany, we knew we had two places to visit: Bavaria and Berlin. After exploring the fascinating city of Munich, we headed to our last stop in Germany: Berlin. Berlin was by far the largest city we had visited on our tour yet—it could easily take an hour to get from one side to the other via subway. The subway was not the easiest form of transportation to figure out, nor the most reliable (trains were often late), and we were bested by it twice when we crept out of our hostel to find a free walking tour. We never did get that tour, but we were able to explore the city on our own time and focus on what we wanted to see, so maybe that was a good thing.

The first place we visited was Charlottenburg Palace, a grand palace where Sophie Charlotte, wife of Frederick I of Prussia and mother of King Frederick William I, spent many of her years. The palace was huge. Every room dripped with baroque ornamentation, whether it was floor-to-ceiling porcelain displays or wall-to-wall mirrored ballrooms. Honestly, it was a bit overwhelming; I’m not really that interested in extreme decoration, and Faeth was none too impressed, either. The gardens were very beautiful, though.

The palace was built in the 1600s and expanded in the 1700s

 

What we were really interested in seeing while in Berlin was the Berlin Wall—or what was left of it, anyway. Between 1961 and 1989, a fourth of Berlin was walled off behind a 12-ft tall, 4-ft thick concrete wall, topped with barbed wire and guarded by armed soldiers. But the point of this wall was not to protect the city from invaders; no, this wall had a far more sinister purpose: to keep the citizens of East Berlin trapped inside. Until the wall came down in 1989, any visitors to the city had to pass through highly-secured checkpoints, such as Checkpoint Charlie (which my mother had to pass through as a child when her father was stationed in Germany), and almost no one was allowed out. This didn’t stop brave Germans from trying—sometimes successfully and sometimes fatally. By 1989, 5,000 had managed to escape East Berlin (some successful schemes were driving a race car under a barrier and creating a hot air balloon out of sheets), but another 150 at least lost their lives in their attempts.

A barrier between East and West

Faeth and I had quite a time finding the infamous wall, since there were only parts of it scattered across the city. We managed to find one memorial with a line of wall still mostly intact, big enough that we could start to get a sense of what it was like to live behind it. We also discovered a “Wall Walk,” a line that traced that path of the wall around the city while it had still stood. We followed this line all around the old city barrier, stumbling across other memorials and Checkpoint Charlie in the process.

At Checkpoint Charlie, two reenactors in U.S. army uniforms stood holding American flags. On one side, a sign proclaimed, “You are now leaving the American sector,” while across from that sign another declared, “You are now entering the American sector.” Both signs were in English and Russian. The American reenactors laughed and posed with tourists, while along the road reenactors in Soviet uniforms offered free “East Berlin” passport stamps. It was all very fun, yet I couldn’t help thinking that it must have been a very different sight 25 years ago when people tried to cross those borders.

You could take your picture with the "guards" at Checkpoint Charlie

I also couldn’t help thinking about what sort of government could be so oppressive, could fail so terribly at protecting and nurturing its country, that it had to build a wall around itself to keep its citizens in. What kind of country was so bad that people risked imprisonment and death in crazy schemes to escape? Where people were so desperate to leave that they’d literally flee with the shirts on their backs and leave their lives behind? East Germany was touted as a “workers’ paradise,” yet the workers wanted to be anywhere but there.

Say what you want about the United States and its government, but we don’t need a wall around our borders to trap people inside. If you don’t like America and have the guts to do something about it instead of just whine, you are free to walk away. We won’t stop you. And a few people do leave, but thousands and thousands more arrive every year seeking asylum from oppressive regimes that murder them for their political and religious beliefs.

“There are many people in the world who really don't understand-or say they don't-what is the great issue between the free world and the Communist world. Let them come to Berlin!” –John F. Kennedy

Munich: Don't let history repeat itself

After recuperating with the relatives for a few days, Faeth and I headed to Munich, Germany (second time’s a charm!). This time, we had hostel reservations waiting for us and a clear itinerary of our three-day visit. And I must say, it felt really good to know where we were sleeping at night and when we’d be touring famous landmarks.

The first day, we took a tour to Schloss Neuschwanstein, the famous Swan Castle nestled deep into the Bavarian Alps. It looks like something out of a fairytale. If the picture seems familiar for some reason, it’s because this is the castle that inspired Walt Disney’s logo and also the castles of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella. It was built in the 1800s by King Ludwig of Bavaria, an eccentric art lover trying to recreate the romantic age of King Arthur. This particular castle was never finished, since Ludwig ran far over budget and eventually was forced into an insane asylum by his family, where he eventually died under “mysterious circumstances” that the government has never fully disclosed.

Schloss Neuschwanstein 

When we were planning our trip to Germany, Neuschwanstein was top of our list of sites to see. My mom had visited the castle when she was a little girl and told us stories of its charm and beauty, so it was a given that we’d visit, too. We found a tour that took us there, which was far easier than trying to organize the trip ourselves. After a 2-hr train rain, a bus ride, authentic bratwurst for lunch and a 1-hr hike up the side of the castle’s mountain in pouring rain, we arrived at the gate. It was every bit as gorgeous and ethereal as the pictures I’d seen, yet there was something hollow and fake about it too—probably because it was fake, a pretty bauble constructed by a crazy king and never meant to function properly as a fortress.

Still, the visit was a lot of fun. We walked through corridors painted in glittering gold and hung with giant tapestries of knights and fair maidens. We saw intricate stone carvings and gorgeous era furniture. And, everywhere, there were swans: swan paintings, swan carvings, swan statues, swan doorknobs… The king adored swans and used them as his personal banner, referencing a Norse myth about a magical swan and knights of old. The royal emblem only appeared in one room, since the castle was really created as a love letter to the king’s favorite composer, Richard Wagner (who, incidentally, wrote an opera about that swan myth).

The castle was one man’s testament to everything noble and beautiful in the world, which was a stark contrast to the next place we visited: Dachau Concentration Camp. Faeth is very interested in World War 2 history, so we found a concentration camp near where we were staying (it isn’t difficult to find such camps in Germany, which had more than a hundred camps and sub-camps). Dachau Concentration Camp wasn’t a death camp like Auschwitz, but it was the first concentration camps the Nazis set up in Germany and their template for the camps that came afterwards. During the 12 years it ran, from 1933 to 1945, more than 100,000 prisoners (mostly men) came through the camp, and at least 30,000 of those never left.

Dachau Concentration Camp

 

Walking through the concentration camp was a somber, thought-provoking experience. We saw the yard where prisoners lined up for roll call, a reconstruction of the barracks where they lived, the crematorium, the gas chambers and the infamous front gate with “Arbiet Macht Frei” (“Work sets you free”) written on it. Along the way, we heard tales of inhuman cruelty and unspeakable determination. We spent the whole day at the camp, but, as I stepped back onto the bus to head back to Munich, I felt like my mind still hadn’t absorbed everything I saw and heard. I felt guilty for not feeling more depressed after visiting a site where thousands of people had been murdered. I think, perhaps, the human mind can’t comprehend so much evil and suffering in such abstract terms. Hearing that 30,000 people died is like hearing a statistic; until you witness it with your own eyes, you’ll never be able to understand.

What made me think the most, though, is the statistics I heard regarding life after World War 2. The Allies beat the Axis powers and overpowered Nazism, yet neo-Nazis still try to steal artifacts from Dachau and other prison camps. People still deny the Holocaust, and groups such as the Jews and the Kurds are still discriminated against. Our tour guide talked poetically about the evil of Hitler’s soldiers, yet the same thing is happening today: genocides in Africa, religious persecution in China, and wide-spread racism and discrimination against the Romani (also known as gypsies) throughout Europe—with one prominent British politician going so far as to say gypsies are “scum… [who] do not deserve the same human rights as my decent constituents” (http://hansard.millbanksystems.com/westminster_hall/2002/jan/15/law-of-trespass).

With this kind of attitude blinding people all over the world, this lack of empathy and even outright hatred towards others, this refusal to acknowledge people as human beings, there is little doubt in my mind that another Holocaust is coming. It is our responsibility to teach respect and love, to open people’s eyes and show them how we’re all part of one mankind. Otherwise, the horrors of WW2 will be repeated again, and again, and again.

"Honor the dead, warn the living"

Stumbling into Austria (or: Relatives to the Rescue)

I’m sort of a control freak. I tend to plan out everything, obsessively creating lists and timetables. So when it came to planning my eight-week stint in Europe with Faeth, I decided the best thing to do to preserve my sanity would be to loosen up and take a more relaxed approach. I think I may have swung a little too far towards the “extremely laid-back” side, though, since we didn’t book any hostels or really make any concrete plans after visiting the relatives. This worked out all right in Cologne, a smaller city that’s not quite so touristy, but it ended very badly when we arrived in Munich and couldn’t find a place to stay for the night.

All the hostels were booked, and most of the hotels, too—except the extremely pricey ones. We thought about our position and decided to move on to another, smaller town. We’d wanted to visit the famous Swan Castle—Schloss Neuschwanstein—anyway, so we decided to hop a train closer to that site. The train ride ended up taking about four hours, and we got to view the majestic Alps at sunset—a breathtaking site. It felt like we were riding through a fairytale. But the problem with fairytales is that they’re not real, and we eventually discovered that our idealistic quest was doomed to failure: when we bailed out at 10:00 p.m. in the ritzy tourist town of Lindau, we realized our map was a little off. We were nowhere near Neuschwanstein, and, despite several locals assuring us we could find lodging, there were no hotels available in Lindau, either.

Now we were really in a pickle. We flirted with the idea of taking a night train, just to have a place to stay that wasn’t on the street, but the only night train available was down because of a tree that had fallen on its tracks. The only hotels we could find that were open were way too pricey for two poor college backpackers, and the train station itself closed at 1:30 a.m., so we couldn’t even crash there for the night. It’s a pretty terrible feeling to stand on the road at 10:30 p.m. in a foreign country, where most people don’t even speak your language, and not know where you’re going to sleep.

God was definitely looking out for us when one local suggested walking down the street towards the ritzy hotels. We went into one, desperate enough to pay $100 or more dollars a night just for a bed. This particular hotel was far more expensive than that, but the man at the reception desk was kind enough to call around and find us a hotel that could work—only 126 euro, or roughly $190 dollars. It was way more than the usual $20 we were used to paying for a hostel, but it was a safe place to spend the night for two scared foreign girls. The only catch was that it was across the border in Austria. There wasn’t really anything we could do about it but grab a taxi and add another country to our “have visited” list. We arrived in Austria around 11:00 p.m. and left it the next morning by 10:00… we weren’t even there 12 hours.

The hotel, while very ritzy on the lower level, really wasn’t that luxurious, but we had no complaints as we sank into bed. The next morning, as we used the faulty wi-fi to check out hostels in Munich, we noticed a disheartening pattern: there was nothing available, just like before. We really wanted to visit that city, but we weren’t sure how we could if we still didn’t know where we’d sleep for three days. Instead, we decided the only logical thing to do would be to return to our relatives in Leer. They’d promised us help if we ever needed it, and boy did we need it!

In one day, we managed to go from Austria to northern Germany—12 hours by train roughly. Along the way, we tried to call our relatives, but both our phones stopped working. Luckily, we had Gerda’s business card, so we used train station pay phones to try to get a message through. I was able to leave a voice mail on Ralph’s phone, but I could never connect well with Gerda. We couldn’t find internet access, either, so we started to get a bit nervous: Would anyone be waiting for us at the station? We had their address at least, so we figured if worst came to worst, we’d call a taxi.

We arrived in Leer around 9:00 p.m., later than expected because we’d missed a connection and then the train had been delayed (Germany punctuality, indeed!). To our unspeakable relief, we spotted Frank and Petra, Gerda’s nephew and his girlfriend, waiting for us. As soon as we bailed off the train, I ran into their arms and burst into tears (Faeth was a bit more collected). It turns out they hadn’t really been able to understand my message, so they’d posted relatives in the two stations near Leer and had staked out the area for the past two hours to make sure we wouldn’t be missed. They took us home, fed us our first real meal in the last two days, and calmed us down. I’m still amazed at all their kindness and generosity in rescuing two stranded, clueless and desperate relatives.

Looking back over the whole crazy adventure, I realized two things: first, our family in Germany is unbelievably fantastic. Second, even though it’s good to stay flexible and laid-back, a little bit of planning is probably wiser than just showing up in a foreign city. You’ve got to balance between the two extremes… or you, too, could end up making a 10-hr midnight visit to a unexpected country.