32 more days

Can I survive them?

I believe so.

As I have told other people--particularly some distressed friends during the semester here--life is no better on one side of the ocean or the other. Now I have to walk the talk and take my own advice.

People are people and there is definitely nothing new under the sun.

Not even under this amazingly hot, sevillian sun.

There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven—

A time to give birth and a time to die;
A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted. 

A time to kill and a time to heal;
A time to tear down and a time to build up.
A time to weep and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn and a time to dance.
A time to throw stones and a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace and a time to shun embracing.
A time to search and a time to give up as lost;
A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time to tear apart and a time to sew together;
A time to be silent and a time to speak.
A time to love and a time to hate;
A time for war and a time for peace.

 He has made everything appropriate in its time. 

He has also set eternity in their heart, yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end. 

 I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to do good in one’s lifetime; moreover, that every man who eats and drinks sees good in all his labor—it is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will remain forever; there is nothing to add to it and there is nothing to take from it, for God has so worked that men should fear Him. That which is has been already and that which will be has already been, for God seeks what has passed by.

It's only 38 degrees

SEVILLA, España-- You know you're Spanish when: you leave the house at about 18:30, appreciating the cooler weather. I was sitting at a café chatting on Skype, enjoying the breeze and tolerable warmth, when to my surprise, I checked the temperature--100 degrees Fahrenheit! I will never again be able to complain of heat in Michigan.

Another Spanish test passed: I finally succeeded in eating pipas, sunflower seeds, the Spanish way. They don't have them shelled usually, so there's a certain trick to eating them in one swift move. Yesterday I finally conquered that talent as well.

What day is it?: I travel inefficiently sometimes

PARIS, France-- Again.

Left Grimstad, Norway yesterday at about 19:00. My bus arrived at the Oslo Bus Terminal at 23:00 and there I waited until my bus to the airport left, at 4:00 AM. (I was amused and appalled by the utter sketchiness I witnessed there. How did I survive?) I took the bus to the airport, flew to Paris Beauvais on my 6:30 flight (on which there were not one, but two crying babies) then took the two-hour bus ride to the city. I took the metro to the Eiffel Tower, which feels like home to me now, sat there, dazed and confused, eating part of a sandwich which I was not allowed to finish on the bus to the city earlier. Then I walked to the 15th arrondisement, grabbing some jam and a baguette on the way. I need gentle foods. My sleep deprived stomach disliked the coffee I gave it earlier today.
And now, here I am at Natalie's dorm again, debating whether or not to nap. I may wake up feeling worse and hating myself for ever falling asleep. To sleep, or not to sleep; that is the question.

In other news: Sevilla tomorrow for five more weeks--still working on plans during that time--and then HOME HOME HOME.

Continuing the trek across Norge

MOI, Norway-- Quick update: Marta and I stopped by Haugesund today and saw Christina! From Bergen to Moi we had to take two ferries, we passed by fields upon fields of grazing sheep, and a stopped by a  rocky, blustery seashore.

Tomorrow to Snig* and finally Grimstad. Then I take a bus to Oslo, then a bus from Oslo center to Rygge airport, a flight to Paris, and the next day I finally return to mi querida Sevilla, arriving on the 24th.


I love brown goat cheese and homemade plum jam on hearty whole grain bread.

*Snig, sometimes spelled Snik, is definitely not spelled Sinig: my misspelling on what I thought I heard the Norwegians say.

A, e, i, o, u, å, æ and ø

BERGEN, Norway--I have almost conquered Norwegian vowel sounds, but I cannot accustom myself to Norwegian daylight. At 1:00 last night it was rather light, and I awoke at 8:00 to the same cloudy, gray brightness.

Last night, Marta, Karen and I had a delicious dinner, watched Coco Before Chanel and Inception. We could not have chosen two more dissimilar movies. The first was, as Karen described, very calm. The second was anything but calm. It stressed me out but I enjoyed it. It is rather like the comparison between Norwegian and Spanish culture. Norwegians are very, very calm. And Spaniards are not. Both the passionate warmth of Spanish people and the pleasant calm of their northern neighbors have positive and negative aspects. I like both countries and their cultures. People are people.

Another huge difference? Organization here in Norway and the lack thereof in Spain. Websites here contain easily navigable pages of information and are fairly dependable as far as I can tell. I cannot say the same for my beloved Spain and its Internet capabilities. I have learned there that the best way to get information is to ask someone personally. And if he does not know the answer to your question, his aunt, grandfather or cousin will.

Greetings: No kisses here in Norway. Hand-shakes or hugs allowed. I am perfectly alright with any of the above, though oddly enough, I am beginning to see how the hug is more an invasion of personal space than the double beso. Many Spaniards say the hug is a more personal and close show of affection while kisses are less: the Americans with whom I spoke on the subject here both agree and disagree. To each his own, I suppose. I do not hug my Spanish friends and cannot exactly imagine hugging everyone there, but then again it is the reverse when I think about my life in the States: I think you all would be rather shocked if I walked up and kissed you on the cheek, but a hug is, in general, welcome. I believe I will just continue traveling the globe so I can greet people in a variety of ways.
The coolest (as in least friendly) greeting I have yet experienced was in Guatemala last summer, when I went with Wycliffe Bible Translators to visit the K´anjobal (a Mayan people group). Theirs is more distant than a hand-shake: you merely place your hand next to the hand of the other person for a moment and then take back your own. This does not imply any less emotion within the people though: in fact, the mother of the family with whom I stayed for three days cried when we left, though we could hardly converse with her and had done no more than touch our hands together briefly. Again I find that people are people too, even though we express affection in such different ways.

By the way, what is a holy kiss? Thessalonians and other books of the New Testament instruct us to greet each other in that way. I cannot imagine any sort of kissing going on in the sanctuary at Bethel on Sunday mornings. I mean, those Baptists will not even dance, for goodness´ sake. (Mostly kidding here, people.)

My Norwegian vocabulary is up to about 20 words, maybe more, including the numbers one through ten. And today I translated the back of the milk carton with moderate success. TineMelk and my translation of the message from Mr. Melk entertained my new Norwegian friends over our delicious breakfast of quiche made by Karen.

Meet Mr. Melk here.
And hear some hilariously accented Norwegian and see some crazy stunts here.

In other news, what on earth was I thinking when I schemed up train travel all summer in Europe, alone, without a job etc etc etc? What a silly, romantic, American notion. Utterly nonsensical. I cannot even keep myself afloat on this single trip to Paris and Norway. And now that I am out of a steady job in Sevilla, what shall I do? Keep me in your prayers, friends.
A fresh and painfully true quote from my dad, ´You are going to be enslaved for a long while...I will save plenty of projects for you here, girl.´ Oh, I know Dad, I know.

I am ready to work hard those three weeks I get in the UP in August: these incredible 6 months will have been worth every penny spent and borrowed.

It´s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas: June in Norway

GJENDESHEIM and BERGEN, Norway-- Marta and I went on twelve hour hike yesterday! We traversed one of the most famous climbing spots in Norway, Besseggen. We arrived in Gjendesheim from Oslo on Wednesday night at about 22:00 and began to pitch the tent, and the rain started simultaneously. We managed to get the tent set up fairly easily, started heating up some water for some much-needed hot chocolate and realized, though the sky was still light, it was well after midnight! After a short six-hour sleep, we got up and hiked and hiked and hiked. Our route left Gjendesheim, went over mountains, crossed Besseggen and then around a lake, finally (to our surprise) to again cross a mountain or two before reaching camp. Besseggen was the trickiest part of our route: it is the part of the path between two lakes, on a narrow ledge--two meters wide at its most narrow--and the lakes are at two completely different levels, about a 400 meter drop on one side and maybe 100 on the other.

The ferry we had planned to take in order to hike a different route was not running on yesterday--the season started today--so we were informed of the route around the lake which was a circle rather than having to walk to Besseggen and back-tracking the same route home. When I found breath to spare, I was inspired to sing various songs, among them were Singin in the Rain and Climb Every Mountain.


I also had some encounters with local wildlife. I saw a cute, patterned Norwegian mouse, a lemming! (disclaimer: it may have just been an over-size, chubby brown mouse, but I am pretty sure it was a lemming), something that appeared to be a seagull, mosquitoes and...a herd of wild reindeer! The reindeer were amazing: large, powerful and white with enormous antlers. We first saw a small pack of five and then as we continued walking, came across a large herd of about thirty! The only thing that would have surprised me more would be if Santa had shown up and given me a gift.

The first half was rocky, uphill, cloudy, rainy and awesome. The second six-hour stretch of the hike was incredibly beautiful and that is where we spotted most of the new creatures. We spent the latter half, after the breath-taking descent at Besseggen, walking around a never-ending lake. It was beautiful, snowy, mossy and extremely painful. My ankle, after years of sprains, decided to hurt. A lot. But what is that I have seen on football t-shirts? ´Pain is weakness leaving the body?´ I am strong now. Today, Marta and I are both rather stiff and my knees hurt from compensating for my lame ankle but it was totally worth it. During the hike, when we had an hour or two left, I remember dreaming up ways to be rescued: perhaps a helicopter? perhaps I could hobble down to the nearest road and hitchhike to Gjendesheim? In the end, we made it back to camp and then decided to make some headway to Bergen, so we hopped in the car, I mean limped, and drove for a little while before pulling over to sleep. In the Golf.

Yes, on a country road in Norway, we pulled over, fought mosquitoes over our dinner of Lapskaus heated on an open (fake) flame, and then reclined the seats, bundled in sleeping bags and awoke to the same clouds and rain as the night before and hit the road by 8:00.

Now here we are in Bergen, in a classy loft apartment of Marta´s sister. It is raining, as apparently it always is in Bergen. I suppose it is the Seattle of Norway.

I enjoy the fact that everyone here addresses me in Norwegian. Except on the trail, where Germans addressed both Marta and I in English, which seems to be the common language among the people in northern Europe. And it seems that everyone in Norway can speak English! Apparently they begin learning it in second grade. I cannot get used to the fact they all know it. It makes sense that they learn it, but it is such a foreign concept to an American. I cannot believe the world is learning my language, I would like to learn theirs. And I am learning some Norwegian. My pronunciation is improving and some words are becoming familiar. But after three and a half days here, what am I expecting?

I just wish I could say something, because I would like to at least be able to respond when people take a glance at me and assume I am Norwegian. I have the opposite problem in Spain. People take one look at me and address me in English, though our conversation would almost always function better in Spanish. And here, I make a quizzical face and they smoothly transition to their excellent English. I have to constantly remind myself I am not in the States.

I am really enjoying the cultural contrasts I find between the warm and sunny south and the cool, beautiful north: more to come on my observations.

The land of my forefathers

...well, at least the land of my great-grandfather, Ulrick Ulrickson.

OSLO, Norway-- I am surrounded by people that look like me! This is unbelievable. They do not have the ojos chinitos like I do, for the most part we have a resemblance. What a fascinating change this is compared to Spain.

Today in Norway`s biggest city I saw the Opera house, a fortress way older than the States, the American Embassy and...the Crown Prince!

Norwegian lessons have begun, and the sounds are completely foreign to me. First thing to realize is that I shall speak with an Eastern Norwegian accent, using a friendly and familiar Spanish r rather than a gutteral, more challenging one.

More adventures to come in the land of the vikings and fjords...

If the circle-braid comes back into popularity

I'm taking full credit.

PARIS, France: I rocked the braid all day here in Paris: stopping by the Latin quarter, Notre Dame, the Luxemborg Garden and spent a few hours roaming the Parisian streets. I bought a book of Rilke's poetry in German and English at Shakespeare and Company. I could have spent hours in that book store, nestled in the Poet's Corner, but then I probably would have bought too many books and had to pay RyanAir's heinous over-weight baggage fees.

I just want the world to know that I started this trend--or brought it back from a century ago--in October 2010. Someday soon, someone will be featured on the real Sartorialist with hair like this...someday.

At Notre Dame, I ran into a classmate from Hillsdale! This world can be so cozy and small sometimes. We stopped and chatted in front of the cathedral, only minutes later to be swarmed by pigeons. A woman near us was feeding them and even putting seed on the hat on her head, allowing the filthy animals to perch there. I wasn't too keen on the idea, but Sarah had a hat on and went for it. I snapped pictures, risking my braided-head to do so--whilst unprepared, a bird swooped on my head too! I shouted at it and it let me be. I literally had just started singing "feed the birds, tuppence a bag..." when I had to begin frantically waving my arms because feeding the birds was actually the last thing I wanted to do. The song was just rather fitting at the moment.

The Luxemborg Gardens were lovely but overpopulated. I don't know why I imagine I can find a garden all to myself in Paris or Madrid or any city, but it appears to be my subconscious hope as I approach a garden. The green spot I've hunted on the map is to be my haven for a few hours...then I enter only to be disappointed by the myriad others looking for a reprise from the busy city sidewalks. I enjoyed the stroll, a few solitary-ish moments beneath a tree and then walked back to my friend's apartment, being ever-so-French by picking up a warm baguette for our supper.

I'm creating a splendid soundtrack to my life here in France, begun by listening to Carla Bruni's "Quelqu'un m'a dit" on the flight in--French countryside is absolutely gorgeous and inspired me to listen to the only French song on my iPod--then singing Les Miserables songs to myself as I view the Eiffel Tower and then today, of course "feed the birds." Jon Foreman has been delightful company as well: he and I enjoyed sunset at the Eiffel Tower together. And King David's Psalms and songs were good food for meditation and reflection as I sprawled in the grass in front of the Tower. As I paraded down Rue Vaugirard today, in the 15th arrondisement, Sufjan Steven's Chicago made my life feel epic. I am so glad for music. And food--

Pain au chocolat, macarons, crépes with nutella and walnuts, chocolate sable, just-made sandwiches chock full of meat and vegetables on hearty bread, cheeses of all varieties, fresh jams and jellies, baguettes, baguettes and more baguettes...this city is delicious.

And who knew French food was simple? My friend Natalie says it is and I'm starting to realize she's right. My definition of simple might just be too elementary as far as cooking goes... I think four years ago, when I visited France for the first time, I was scared away by the huge amounts of cheese with all sorts of strong flavors. The food may not be too complicated but the cheese and its flavors sure are. I find I am enjoying the simple meals here though now; a fresh baguette, cheese and raspberry jam--nothing could be better! Accompanied by wine and finished off by dark chocolate, this has been a marvelous few days.

I'm not the typical tourist: I would rather sit for an hour in the Luxemborg Gardens or at a café observing life on the Parisian streets than stumble through the Louvre for half a day. Though I would like to go say hello to my friend Mona Lisa--it has been four years after all--I just don't think I can take the time from other things I'd rather be doing.

Note to self and others: Northern France is much cooler than southern Spain, pack appropriately and take up every kilo of the 10 kg RyanAir limit in scarves and warm clothing.

Where I've been for the last three weeks

...basically, just hanging out in Sevilla.

Four days after the end of the semester, my mother finally arrived. (We're talking late May here...I have a lot to catch up on.) She had some flight issues and so I stayed at a friend of mine's house until she got here. My brother flew in a couple days later and I enjoyed showing them around my dear Sevilla.

The good: They enjoyed tapas, a carriage ride, the Cathedral, Itálica and more. I took them to my favorite café multiple times, allowed them the American experience of Starbucks in Spain, and Peter and I biked on Sevici bikes a bit.
The bad: I lost my Canon camera in a taxi our last day in Sevilla. We were hurrying off to Santa Justa to catch the AVE from Sevilla to Madrid and in the midst of bustling luggage in and out, I left my camera on the floor of the taxi. I wonder where it is now.

Madrid was groovy. We went to the Prado, ate good food, stayed in an apartment I hunted down on airbnb.com and went to Toledo for half a day to stroll around. They left, I went back to Sevilla for a work meeting, gathering information about a possible job.

The ugly: That job that I thought I had, I no longer do. Yesterday I went to the Plaza de España at 8:30 AM to try and get a paper necessary to work here. To make a long story short, my student visa isn't the right kind so I can't work the allotted 20 hours per week generally allowed. That leaves me with about five weeks unaccounted for at the end of June and all of July, but at last in the first two, I will be tutoring the same two children as during the semester so it's not a total loss, financially.

Since the beginning of June, when I returned for that meeting, I have been staying at my friend's house, paying my way by working with her to fix up another apartment she plans to rent out. We laugh at the disparity of our ages--she could be my mother, but that doesn't stop us from having fun biking around Sevilla, attempting to make gazpacho, scheming up big plans for the rest of my summer and more. Actually, all of my friends here are older than me: I do not understand how I'm not actually twenty-eight years old, sometimes thirty, instead of a measly twenty-one. I literally cannot believe how old I truly am. Such is life. The struggle against time only shows us we don't belong in it. We're fish out of water.

So, this fish out of water is eager to see what the Lord has planned for July, since I just lost any plan I once had. Vamos a ver.

Paris, je t'aime! Mais tu n'es pas Seville.

PARIS, FRANCE--I arrived in Paris today, somehow safe and sound and I am now, at quarter to two, in a little apartment with a crane-your-neck-out-the-window view of the Eiffel Tower.

I packed today in 20 minutes, not even coming close to reaching the 10 kilo RyanAir weight limit. With my high level intelligence after four hours of sleep, I crammed everything I could into my tiny leather backpack from fake-Morocco in Granada, rather than a larger, more comfortable and decidedly more American backpack.

I hopped onto my RyanAir flight and up in the air, over the lush countryside of France, as I was stuck in my seat--which was unassigned, as apparently is the norm for RyanAir--I debated whether or not to get up and find the bathroom. I hoped that RyanAir hadn't started charging for the bathroom. Thankfully, they hadn't.

My friend Natalie is in Paris for part of the summer and was kind enough to let me come. We both keep lapsing into Spanish instead of attempting French.  So far, it's been a fun experience to be in a country where I don't understand most of what's being said,

I arrived in Paris Beauvais airport: surprise for me. So, to note for other travelers: there was no payphone and a taxi ride would cost 160 Euro into Paris. I hopped on the 15 Euro bus ride, half-slept the hour or so journey and arrived in Paris, unsure what to do.
The French girl ahead of me, talking in broken English to an American Navy woman with the world's cutest baby, was kind enough to show me where the nearest metro station was. I figured she had a phone, mentioned the fact I needed to find a payphone to call a friend and--as I hoped--offered me hers! Her iPhone was sweet, I reached Natalie, gave her ambiguous directions to find me, and waited. For 45 minutes on an ever-darkening, ever-crowding Paris city corner. I nearly resorted to strolling over to a huge line outside of a club to ask a friendly patron for his or her cell phone to call Natalie again, when I saw her!

I literally had no plans for my arrival, hadn't researched where Beauvais was nor had a clue where Natalie lived as far as the metro lines go. But, no need to worry.

I'm here now, happy, full and tired and nursing my wounded nose: I just had the hottest dijon mustard in the planet. I love spicy foods, like jalapeños, but this thing burnt the inside of my nasal cavity. I think the man at the greasy spoon café was trying to kill me. Maybe because I called the salat, lechuga. Lo siento...I mean, je regrete.

*EDIT: Thanks Lucas, for the correction in the title. 

since i found a free second

fyi: i´m in sevilla, helping a friend fix up an apartment in return for a room to stay and food. it´s awesome but i have been so out of touch with communication across the pond, sorry dear friends and family.
i´m getting sucked into the spanish way of life. no one ever does anything alone, i think. it´s interesting and tiring.
tomorrow i go to paris, then the 14th to norway, then i return to lovely sevilla on the 24th to begin work a couple days later!