Double Rainbows

So as some of you already know, on Friday I received wonderful news from UNC-Chapel Hill. They have accepted me into their Philosophy PhD program. One school, that's all I needed. Granted, I could still be accepted into one of the other 4 programs, but for now, one is all I need to have. So law is out, and philosophy is in. I can't convey my excitement. I'm shocked and overjoyed.

Now let me back up. The news came on my mom's birthday, and she had some encouraging words not just about school but for this whole year. Word has it (in the prophetic circles) that this is the year of both new beginnings and double blessings. The proof is supposed to be an abundance of double rainbows this year. Before knowing this, I could tell that this year was going to be a year of change and new beginnings. I've been on the whirlwind of change this year, and it's been great. Going to France has been an experience in itself. I've made wonderful friends here and I've had some time (a lot of time!) to figure out where my true passion lies. Here's how it happened.

Well I've been gung ho about law school since forever, and last year I was accepted to Cornell. But I decided that I needed to spend a year doing something else before I sold my soul to the devil. Cornell is a great school, but it because it wasn't my top choice I didn't feel the need to go right away (had I gotten into Yale or UVA I would be in law school right now, which is a horrifying thought). I was happy to get into Cornell, but slightly disappointed. But now I realize that I had I gotten in elsewhere, I wouldn't be in France this year, and now I'm glad the other schools did turn me down. When I decided to come to France, I remember explaining to Dana that it was good to take a year off and decide if law school is really for me (since I had yet to determine what I wanted to do with a law degree, and it's an expensive decision so one ought to be more sure than I was). She asked me, "If you go to France, would you ever actually decide not to go to law school?" It was a good question, and in my mind then answer was no. Not that I wanted it that badly, but I had no other options. It was law school or the streets (so to speak). But still, it's good to say that you're going to make sure it's what God wants you to do (ha! how little I realized).

When I got here I started working on philosophy independently (thanks to Harry!), and I even got one of my classes to do contemporary moral issues. I loved it, I really did. And I was determined that I would do Cornell's joint MA phil / JD degree, because I didn't want to abandon philosophy completely. And then two things happened that changed everything. The first was a response for Cornell's philo department. I sent them an inquiry into the joint degree program, and they replied by telling me that in fact that program no longer existed. Sorry. Oh... well, um, shoot. What now? (at this point I was doing enough work on my own--and loving it-- and enough to apply to the joint program that my heart was set on it). What a disappointment.

And then the second thing happened. I had sent Harry some comments on something (I can't seem to remember for what) and that prompted a response from Harry saying that I should really consider going to grad school. No, he doesn't usually say this, but yes, he thinks I should go (both because he thought I would like it and would do well there). Really? Had he told me that 3-6 months ago, I would have flat out said not a chance. But now, well now I was in a different place. It was like God was warming me up to that idea all along. I was still a bit skeptical though. Really? I can't do philosophy. I can study it, surely, but I can't contribute anything myself... can I? The seed was planted.

And then the GRE fiasco happened (with the strikes and almost not being able to go). When I almost couldn't get to the test, it became very obvious to me how much I wanted to go to philo grad school. Before I was going to apply, see if I got in, and then decide if maybe I wanted to do it. Now I wanted to go, no need for further contemplation. And just as God kept me out of law school (without freaking me out by shutting me out of all the schools), He got me to the test and helped me pass it (I had a week to study, so for all intensive purposes, I had to wing it). And that's when I started to get my heart set on getting in. It seemed obvious that God was pushing me down that road, a road I would have never dreamed for myself in a million years. I was supposed to go to law school, and I was sure that God wanted me there too. And then all of this happened, and it all made sense. I studied philosophy because I thought it would be good prep for law school, but I had no idea that God wanted me to be doing that all along. Go figure.

Even though I could feel God pushing me in that direction, I was skeptical that it would work out. Sure, I didn't doubt that God could get me in if He really wanted to, but what if He didn't? Do you know how hard it is to get in? It's hard, very hard. And you know what, I wasn't prepared. It be honest, I consider it a miracle that UNC accepted me. Sure they liked my letters and the writing sample, but I'm sure they liked the letters and writing sample of a bunch of the over 300 applicants, and they can only take 7-8. I don't care how qualified you are, it's going to take a miracle (or for the less supernaturally inclined, a good deal of luck). And a miracle it is.

Now something happened over Christmas break that I completely forgot about, and it was something I'd never seen before. When we were driving around Normandy, we saw the most amazing double rainbow. I rarely see rainbows these days, and this one was a perfect double arch. It was beyond cool. What I didn't know was what my mom told me this past Friday. This is the year of the double rainbows, and they will be a sign of God's favor and a new beginning. My mom said that when she saw it she knew immediately that my switch to philosophy was going to work out. She was certain that God was going to get me in to the school He wanted me at, and that would be my new beginning. Looking back on it, it makes sense. Sure, you can call it a coincidence, but I have never seen a double rainbow before, and I may never again, and this is supposed to be the year. I can take a hint. Thank you God. You are too good. Now show me how to use this amazing opportunity to serve you better. I'm ready.

I <3 Valentine's Day

Okay maybe not really <3 (heart). It's feb 14th and you all know what that means. For me, it's just another V-day flying under the radar. I think o and 22 isn't that bad, haha (or as Irene says online... jajaja --and not that's not pronounced jah jah jah like I thought it was). No really, I actually forgot that it was Vday until I went to class. You see, after teaching one of my classes about American high schools one group of students was inspired to organize their own "spirit day" for today. I was so proud. They put posters up and got approval from the principal. They even had a box in the lobby for students to leave love notes that they'd deliver during classes. They went all out. Unfortunately, the French consider it below them to participate in such an uncouth support of anything other than unions or football so it didn't go well. Heck, even I forgot to wear pink or red (oops). I realized my mistake when I saw a group of girls from my class walk up to me in crazy combinations of every red or pink item of clothing they owned. "Lin-say! Where iz yor spirat?" Sorry girls! Of course I didn't get away that easy. One of the girls attacked me with a lip pencil and drew a lovely red heart on my cheek. That works. On the upside, they filled the love note box, even if only their friends actually dressed up.

I'm actually in a good place today, and in general things are fairly calm. My classes have been breezy this week, a combination of the Bac practice tests and a few classes out on internships. The only downfall is the boredom which is starting to take its toll. I need to give this computer a break, but without it I'm not sure what I'd do. I actually have a few books to read, but the ones that are novels are in French and the ones in English are serious reads and I think I'm in the mood for something, I don't know, different than that. Maybe Gone with the Wind meets Pride and Prejudice? I'm not sure what I'm in the mood for. What I should be doing, actually, is delving into some of the philosophy articles/books I have here. I know that once started I'll get into it, but something is holding me back. I think it's this whole waiting to hear back from schools thing. I'm afraid to get back into it only to get shut out from that world. I realize that even if I don't go to philo grad school I can still do philosophy on my own, but for right now it's hard to get into it knowing that I'll love it and may be setting myself up for more heartache if I don't get accepted anywhere. So we'll see. I think I just need to do it anyways. After all, I'm applying because I love it, so why not do what I love to help with this waiting game. But that would make too much sense.

In other news, tomorrow is momma's birthday! The big 5-0.... yes it's online, there's no denying it. I'm sorry I'm not there for it, but I love you!!! Watch some of that OC for me.

Oh and before I forget, this week I went to the circus with Irene. It was crazy. We were also the only people over 5 feet tall not accompanied by someone under 3 feet tall. Oh well. The ringmaster was frighteningly similar to Sarkozy in both appearance and demeanor. I wonder if that says something? The highlight was the lions and the tiger. Yes I realize they should be in the wild, but I would be lying if I said it wasn't neat to see them. Sarkozy doubled as the lion tamer as well, and his routine reminded me of how I play with Lexi (our dog at home). I think he called one of the lions Nala (my alt name for Lexi). Sigh. Also, the circus was run by one family who all changed costumes and pretended to be different people. It was rather funny, though the clowns weren't. One of the kid from the circus family was running about everyone and even ran across the ring. Good times. Being surrounded by some many little cute kids almost stirred some maternal instincts in me. Almost.

One last story for you all. I've realized this year that living in a foreign country has generally decreased my coolness (if ever I had any). By this I mean, every single day I embarrass myself. Not that that didn't happen in the States, but the frequency here is astonishing. Part of it is the dangerous mix of a new language and culture, but another part is that I just seem to be the biggest dork ever when placed in a country that is renowned for grace and poise and culture, etc. I have none of those. Things just don't go smoothly for me. Let's take today for example. I went to swim practice and got my butt kicked by the workout, which is generally a good thing. Normally when I finish I'm the last person to realize that practice time is up and we have to get out. The coach usually laughs and says, "Lin-say a la douche (to the shower)." So today I thought I'd be on top of things before being told to go home. I finished everything that was on the board, and the last bit was a 200 easy. The obvious conclusion to be drawn is that practice is done. So I take off my cap and start to gather my stuff. The coach looks and me and says, "Il reste 5 min Lin-say"...ugh. I thought he was joking, but then I realized that he was totally serious, and he went onto to tell me to do a 200 kick (pointless really). So all the lil kids waiting for their practice laugh as I put my cap back on and start the kick set. The problem was that the last 25 of the 200 was supposed to be all out kick. For me, it was all out flutter kick, and that, naturally, produces quite a bit of splash. Now because I was kicking on my back, I was unable to see the swimmers who had to swim around me. As it turns out, the one cute guy my age that's on the team (is sometimes a coach for the little tykes) passed me while doing backstroke (not kicking, so obviously was going much faster). That would be fine except that I was apparently kicking up quite a storm. When I finished I looked over at him on the wall and he was coughing pretty badly. Not just one or two coughs, but was seriously dieing. I thought to myself, "Wow, I wonder what happened to him." That's when he looked over and laughed through his coughs saying something to the effect of, "You were kicking pretty hard." Zut alors! I was the cause of his lungs full of pool water. I replied with a look of shame coupled with a smile. Oh well. Happy Valentine's day cute guy on the team. I hope you liked your present.... (sigh)

Downtime

I can't bring myself to blog about teaching just yet, because I only have one week until Feburary break (2 weeks long!), and I'm trying make this week feel like the start of vacation even if I still have a few days to go. Now before all the naysayers complain that I don't need a vacation because I only work 12 hours a week as it is, let me tell you that the past few weeks have been anything but relaxing. Work has been rough, mainly because I'm at a loss with some of my classes. Even the classes I like are getting tricky because of the teachers I work with. Add on top of that some assistant drama and waiting anxiously everyday to hear back from schools... and, well, I need this break to keep my sanity in tact.

Thankfully God is doing what He can to keep me from going nuts. Not only do I have some amazing friends here, but recently I've had some downtime to chill me out. Last Friday the rainy/windy/miserable weather changed from to warm/sunny/amazing. It was perfect outside, about 50F and more sun than I thought possible for Avranches. I was upset that such a lovely day had to fall on a Friday, the day I work almost half of my hours for the week (5-6). Luckily during my hour break in the afternoon I ran into some of the other assistants preparing for a picnic, so I was able to join them for some sun-basking, bagette with bourson and salmon-eating goodness before it was back to the yearbook projects. It may be Feburary, but for a bit it really felt like summer.

Yesterday Rachel and I had another picnic, this time in the parc sportif. We popped into a boulangerie and got some jambon fromage sandwiches and few pastries. The parc sportif is a 5 min walk from the lycee, but you wouldn't know it from looking around the parc. The parc is literally surrounded by farms, and on the way to the parc you pass a good number of cows and sheep. It's like walking into the past. The houses and farms look just as I would imagine they did over a hundred years ago. For all of our complaints that Avranches is too small, there is an advantage to living in the country. It really is lovely to be in such a calm, green space. Rach and I spread out a blanket and laid in the sun, secretly hoping to get a slight tan. The sun's warmth put us to sleep and we soaked in the moment of peace. We ate and chatted and stared at the Mont St Michel in the distance. Then we busted out some books and read for a bit (I'm reading my second Irene Nemirovsky book, the first being Suite Francaise which I highly recommend, for this book I have the french version because I'm feeling ambitious). I've never felt more relaxed.

The weather is gorgeous, and the landscape is even better. It's days like this that I will miss the most when I leave. Sigh.

It gets harder and harder to think of a title for these things...

As much as I know you've all enjoyed my lovely travel posts, I'm afraid to inform you that the next few will be quite mundane. This one is about the obnoxiousness that is France and the French. The next will be about why they shouldn't allow me to teach. So here it goes.

First, let me say that I still haven't figured out how to hand wash my clothes. It seemed relatively self-explanatory: fill tub, add soap, add clothes, rinse clothes, dry clothes. Right? No, this simple procedure does not, surprisingly, clean a bloody thing. This time I was doing a massive load of darks, and I thought to myself, "Well, I'll just pretend like this is a washing machine and I'll do whatever a washing machine would do." So I filled the tub with warm water and added soap. Then I threw the clothes in and (quite ridiculously) tried to make my own agitation (and then spin) cycle. I looked funny, and I got tired, but my clean my clothes were not. Ugh. Spin cycle number two, add the shower head sprayer for good measure. No good? Drain the soapy water out, refill with clean water, and spin some more. Drain for the final time and .... failure. The clothes were kind of sort of clean, but secretly I knew that the alcohol spilled on me at the Cuban/Brazilian club(s) in Rennes was not coming out of my shirts (this is a whole story in itself, let's just say that Irene wanted to dance --latin style-- and old french men in latin clubs are even more creepy than regular creepy french men in regular bars...sigh). Whatever, I suck at life. Just hang them up and forget it. In a few months, when I come home to the land of decent washing machines, my clothes will get cleaned up nicely. Perhaps I just need to invest in an old school washboard until then?

After washing my clothes, it was time to give our bathroom a scrub down. Washing darks leaves some nasty dye in the tub. So I sprayed some bleach and started scrubbing. Within seconds of spraying the cleaner, I suddenly had the urge to go swimming. Why was that? I haven't gone in over 2 weeks (oops). Bleach. The smell of bleach reminds me of chlorine, and chlorine reminds me of pools, and pools make me want to get my butt kicked at swim practice. Well needless to say I went to practice today, and the coach told me that he thought I'd left or something. Nooo I was just busy, so much work, you understand... Anyway, we swam 4000 meters, wow. It felt so good. It was a long practice, we usually only do around 2500, so this kicked my butt, in a good way!

Speaking of domestic chores, I am learning to cook. Slowly but surely, I am learning the culinary arts from the master, Miss Rachel. If you know me, then you know how inept I am at such a simple task. Part of my inadequacy stems from my extreme pickiness when it comes to food. If it's green, I probably don't like it. There are reasons I could never be a vegetarian. Anyway, Rachel always makes stuff that smells amazing, even if it is veggies, so we've decided that I must learn. My first lesson came when Dana was here. We made salmon (lemon flavored, yum) and my new favorite dish-- fried potatoes and onions. Okay it's not that hard, you boil some chopped potatoes, fry them, add some onions and garlic, and voila! But here's the funny part: I used to think I hated onions. Not so my friends, I love them now, at least I love them fried with potatoes and garlic. While cooking this stuff I cut an onion for the very first time in my life (probably a first on the potatoes as well). Isn't that a tad bit sad? Well, progress is progress. Rachel also bought me a french cookbook and we're going to pick a meal out before Saturday so we can get all the ingredients at the farmers market. I vote for something with spinach (a green plant I happen to like). I'll keep you posted.

So hand-washing clothes and cooking may not be my strong suits, but I'm young and I have time to learn. What I won't ever learn, however, is how to be polite to stupid french handymen that let themselves into my apartment. So the other day I was in bed and I heard the doorbell ring. Nope, not getting up. I don't care who it is, I want a lie-in. Cue the noise of keys and the door opening. That's strange, Rach is supposed to be in Sartilly all day. Cue man's voice. Crap. Scramble out of bed. What to do? I have time to either throw on some jeans and pull my hair in a pony tail OR throw the clothes piled high around my room into the wardrobe. Umm. Oh well, you hesitated too long, and now you have time for neither. Crap, okay go confront man with pjs on and bedhair. It's too early for french (before 10am when I don't have class until 2pm, much too early), and I don't understand a word. Ummm what? Can you repetay that see voo play? Yeah thanks, okay, so you want some shelves do you? Let's see here, oh you want these weird half table things that you stored in my room and that we turned into storage units in the living room. Here let me move that garbage bag and half dead plant, there you go. Take it, we didn't want it anyway. Oh you don't want it? You want it on the wall of my bedroom...um okay. Why? No reason, I didn't think so. Fine hang it... um (kick some clothes aside, pull a 1664 poster down) here. Okay where are the other shelves? Um I have no bloody clue. You tell me. Fine go look in Rach's room, but I warn you, she won't be happy about it (her's being in a sorrier state than my own). There they are, full of stuff no less. Puzzled look from man. Well what did you expect? You come early in the morning with no warning (a note earlier would have been nice). Yes I realize this is not your choice, you march to orders from on high, we're all victims in this crazy game, but could you just come back later, yeah? Thanks. Rach comes back, aghast that she must now figure out where in her room the unwanted shelves can hang (after cleaning them off of course). We hear a door open and heavy footsteps. No knocking this time? No bell? Just come right in, we weren't naked or anything. Not that you'd care. Grrr. Whatever, just hang the bloody shelves and go away. Why must you bother us?? Yes I'm being dramatic, but in the dull city of Avranches, even the smallest events seem quite important. Don't judge me.

Speaking of not being informed ahead of time, you'll never guess what happened to Rach and Kate at the elementary school. The other day a woman came by with a young gendarme (police man, but sort of in the army branch). She announced to the surprised girls that he was actually moving in, right now. Oh, lovely. That's not strange or anything. We don't mind finding out, well, the day of. Not a problem. As it turns out, Cedric, the already balding but still nice chap of 26, is not that bad, though he's developed quite the crush on Irish Rach. She brings it on herself though (she made him bring out his hats for her to try on, if that doesn't make a man swoon, I don't know what will). He hangs out with us now, and it's only a little awkward (mainly when Rach has had a bit too much to boire and he goes all gaga over her --awkward but really funny, you can't buy entertainment like this). And yesterday a new gendarme showed up. I guess he's moving in too (quite the party). He's younger (22), but like Cedric he's prematurely balding. Maybe it's a hazard of the profession? Pierre-Yves, the newbie, is nice but shyer than Cedric. Unfortunately neither turned out to be potential french petit-amis for any of us (for various reasons), but oh well. We're not into the law enforcement types anyway. At least they're under 40 and over 18. That works for now, we can hang out at the Liberties now and not get approached by freaks or my students (yeah, I've been running into my students and they either want me to buy them drinks or want me to give them my flatmate's number, get a life folks, you're in high school). But still, a little warning would have been nice. The guys could have been psychos or something. I guess a gendarme is better than a regular bloke (as far as safety goes). Whatever. The French could care less. We are, after all, mere assistants.

What am I doing right now? Eating nutella from the jar to curve a chocolate craving, and trying to not freak out about schools. I just finished watching mtv's True Life: I'm having an arranged marriage. I'm not going to lie, some days, I don't think that's a bad idea. Ha! Just kidding. I think. Eventually I need to file my taxes, but I'd rather watch True Life: I'm in anger management. Maybe I should read a book....

Okay that's all for now. Must get back to the new dart board (I'm going to get good at this, I swear). Enjoy the snow Wisconsinites.

Next up: teaching issues. Get ready for it.

Tartan what?

The epic continues, this time in Edinburgh Scotland. Dana and I were tired, and it was rather late, when our bus pulled into the city. Thankfully, a nice couple on the bus were kind enough to all but take us to our hostel (up and over this gigantic hill). They were a bit surprised that we arrived literally a few days after the biggest party Edinburgh has all year (New Years-- prices hiked too high for our meager savings), but the guy assured us that the party is overrated and much too overrun with tourists to be any good these days. First impression of the city: gorgeous. Dark and old, but really beautiful.

The hostel we stayed in wasn't too bad, but our roommates weren't the most considerate. The asians were up early and took hours to get ready. The italiens talked and talked and talked, even though other people were trying to sleep. So much for common courtesy. Usually it's the Americans who are obnoxious...but it was a hostel, so you can't really be surprised.

The first day of our stay in Scotland was blessed with a lovely blizzard. The snow was falling in clumps to the ground, and it didn't all melt right away. SNOW! Don't get me wrong, I've seen snow many times in my life, but I haven't seen it all year, and this was my first snowfall since last winter. It was wonderful. On the tour bus the guide (a lovely man of about 70) said that Edinburgh hadn't seen snow like that in over 10 years, so it was quick the treat. The only bad part about the change of weather was the cold which I do not miss.

The next day we continued our aimless walking, this time poking into the Childhood museum (pretty much toy blast from the past) and the Scotland museum (with audioguides!). It was there that we learned what this mysterious "tartan" was (a word found all over the city). Apparently tartan is plaid. name of the material used to make kilts and the like. It was a big discovery nonetheless. I would have felt rather silly if we'd gone toThat's it. It's just the Scotland and returned still unaware of what that was. This was also the day of utter exhaustion, so we decided to chill for the night at a little pub around the corner from our hostel. It was cheekily named "Half Hanggit Maggie," after Maggie Dickson who was hanged but didn't actually die (I guess that's the note by her name found in the official documents way back when). We also had the most delicious curly fries this world has to offer. It was magical, almost as magical as our game of MASH (in which I am married to Colin Firth--not bad-- but am housewife with 6 kids....).

Okay well that wasn't as informative as I had planned. I loved Edinburgh, really I did, but it was over a month ago and my memory is a bit rusty. It's also sad to write about adventures with Dana when Dana is gone. I miss you chica. Thanks for the fabulous trip!

Adventures with Dana (Ireland)

On the Sunday I left my family over break, I headed back towards Paris to meet Dana at CDG airport. I arrived earlier than I expected, and eagerly checked the arrivals board. I wasn't sure what flight Dana came in on, but I figured it was from Chicago. There was only one flight from Chicago on the board and it was in terminal 1, so I headed that way. I fought for a central spot in the arrivals gate where friends and family wait for their loved ones to exit customs. I waited... and I waited. An hour pasted and I started to worry. I didn't see any more token Americans pass through the gate, and the clock was ticking by. So I found the nearest information desk and asked if there were any other flights arriving from Chi-town that day. Yes, one had landed around 9am (it was already 12), and it was somewhere in terminal 2. Ohhh... so when I checked the board it was so late that her particular flight was no longer on the board. Whoops. Back to the other terminal. When I arrived at the gate I thought the lady had told me to go to, Dana was nowhere to be found. Uh oh. I have a cell phone, but Dana doesn't, and terminal 2, if you've ever been, is rather large. And around Christmas time, there are a lot of people there. So I walked. And I walked. I had everything for the 2 week vacation in a cheap backpack from some dinky souvenir shop in London (my little red suitcase was still broken from the Paris metro, and I thought I'd get a new one), and my back was about to give in. Just when I despaired of ever finding my friend, my phone started to ring, "That's me in the corner, that's me in the spotlight, losing my religion...!" (about the ringtone: it is the only non-dog whistle pitch option on this old clunker, and is in no way a statement about anything in particular...) Dana!! Where are you??? Not sure, sitting by some moving sidewalks. Oh, okay. Well there are a ton of possible places you could be, so just hang tight and I'll keep walking, but if I'm not there in 30 min call again from the payphone. About 30 minutes later and I'm thinking, "Please call..." And thankfully my phone rings again. Hey, that didn't work, I can't find you, do you know where the platform is by the train depot with all the screens?? No? Well follow signs for the trains and you'll see it, I'll meet you there.

Over 2 hours after my arrival at CDG, we were together. It was wonderful, though the poor girl was exhausted. Unfortunately I had bad news for her. It may have been 1pm already, but our flight to Belfast wasn't until close to 9pm. So we chatted, and waited, and found terminal 3 (harder than you'd think), and chatted some more, and sat in a restaurant until they kicked us out, and dosed off, and read, and chatted again. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we left CDG and flew to Ireland. Excitement all around. Oh and right before boarding the plane, my backpack strap broke. My million ton bag was now to be carried with one strap, and that strap was looking strained. Luggage and I don't get along (that's 2 broken bags already). So for the next few days I had to carry it like a baby in front of me with the strap over one shoulder. It was funny, for Dana, but rather awkward for me to lug. Anyway, when we arrived we were interrogated quite thoroughly by the customs department. The lady just kept asking tons and tons of questions, and we started getting flustered. I'm living in France, and no, she lives in the US. We leave in a few days, no not back to France, to Scotland. When are we going back to France (anxious to get rid of us?)? Um I don't know let me check. Okay on this day. You want to see our tickets?? Fine (dig through luggage). Here, are you happy? Ugh. Simmer down lady.

One night of heavy sleep later, and we were ready to see the city! We left our hostel and picked a direction and walked. Fifteen mins later and we were in front of Queen's University, which was rather nice looking, I'll admit. We poked around there and found this lovely little cafe that had the best paninis I have ever had in my life. I'm not exaggerating. Then we tried to visit the Ulster museum, but it was closed for renovation or something. Oh well. I texted Rachel (the one from Ireland) so she could come hang out with us. Despite the rain (lots of rain), we had a blast. Belfast is a lovely city (they have their own "Belfast Eye" now). We stopped in at a pub to get out of the rain and I tried some Magner's cider (not bad), and Ireland's own Harp beer. Again, not bad. It's no Guinness, I realize, but Guinness is an acquired taste that I am not ready for yet. Afterwards we went to her friend Claire's house and met some more Irish people (let me just say that it's so much more fun to travel and know someone in the city, and I love listening to their funny Irish accents). We went out with her and her friends to the club (a bit dodgy, not gonna lie) for New Year's, which was fun but a bit strange. Dana and I headed home before the group (mainly because I'm just not a club person, never have been, and we didn't want to spoil the fun for the group, so we said a quick goodbye and snuck out). Unfortunately we had taken a cab to get to the club, and Dana and I weren't entirely sure how to get back. So we asked everyone we saw how to get back to City Hall (and eventually, KFC which is the best way to get directions back to our hostel, apparently everyone knows where KFC is). It was a long trek, about 40 min or more, but we made, largely thanks to this sweet Irish couple who walked a good part of the way with us and asked us questions about the US and our travels and such. I will say this about Ireland, everyone we met was extremely friendly and welcoming. Perfect strangers were totally willing to help us out whenever needed. It was wonderful. So New Year's was a success, dodgy club and all.

The next day we picked up a sandwich at Tesco's and parked in front of City Hall just to soak it in. It's rather pretty, despite the gloom. It was finally not raining so we decided to head to West Belfast to see the peace wall. Let me begin by saying that although we had heard of the "troubles" in Ireland, we had no idea the role that Belfast had, or what a peace wall was, or anything. We saw in a guidebook that West Belfast had a peace wall and murals and we thought we could check it out. Well an hour later our walk brought us to the shady Shankill road area. It was definitely sketchy, and the murals were kind of disturbing. Lots of guns and soldiers and painted graves and memorials. At the bottom of the post I'll attach all of my mural pictures, they're worth a look. We discovered that Shankill Rd is home to the loyalist crowd, as is evidenced by this lovely picture of the Queen mum (which is now a rather popular joke in Belfast: was the painter drinking too much whiskey or the Queen mum?). Anyway, we turned south in search of this so-called peace wall (not entirely sure what to expect). We headed down a road mentioned in the guide book and ran into a gate. What the heck? How do you get to the other side? Hmm, there's no way around. That's strange, this is a major road. What does the guidebook say? The gate on the road is closed during times of trouble and tension...ohhh. Maybe we shouldn't be here. Well let's walk this way a bit, oh there's a wall. Maybe that's the...

Cue creepy local. This old man (in shorts) comes up to us and asks what we're doing in the neighborhood. Looking for trouble, obviously. Well, if we know what's good for us we won't go on the other side of that wall. Why? Well he informed us, in his almost incomprehensible accent, the other side was fully of dirty Catholics and Muslims and Jews. Not a place for nice young girls like us... Canadians, right? No, American. Look of disappointment (no commonwealth for us, our forefathers weren't thrilled with the monarchy, a bit like southern Ireland actually). Well, the US isn't so bad. After all, we have the KKK (yes he said that, it was a good thing to have them). Great. Well we should be going now. Oh, yes, that's a lovely tattoo on your calf of some coat of arms, I love it I really do, but we really must be on our way. As we walked away he shouted something at us and we turned to see him giving us a hail Hitler. Ahhh, creep-tastic. Run, run away.

Later that day we hung out with Rach and Claire some more. We went into this American themed restaurant (not sure why), and guess what we saw on the wall. We saw a painting of the Confederate flag with lights around it. Well that's just great. What is happening in this city? I asked the barmaid if she knew what it was, and she didn't. Ignorance is no excuse. Oh well.

The next day we went back to the lovely cafe with the paninis. The guy there was quite friendly. When we left Dana said, "Have a nice day" and he responded with a, "I'll try me hardest." Those Irish. We met up again with the girls and this time we decided to take a proper tour. Rach flirted with the driver and got us tickets at the kids price. The tour took us again through West Belfast, but this time we got to see the Falls (the Catholic/republic side). The murals over there were less about Ireland and more about Bush/Iraq, etc. Kind of strange. On the courthouse someone stole Lady Liberty's scales of justice. Oh and every 5 minutes the bus driver told us that here so and so was "shot dead." Lots of shooting going on. It was quite morbid. And actually, the whole situation was very depressing. The British troops didn't leave N'Ireland until last summer! Can you believe that? They've been at each other's throats for so long. Oh and we crossed the only peaceline in the world that you can cross and not get shot (right away, anyway). The wall was not a lovely thing with murals of rainbows and flowers. It was like a prison wall with barbed wire and gloom. The guy who built it said that perhaps if the republicans and loyalists couldn't see each other than couldn't very well shoot each other. Wow. I realize they disagree, but how do you reach that point? How do you go from ideological differences to utter insanity? A cause is one thing, hatred is another. For what it's worth, the Irish people that we actually hung out with (Rach and gang) were lovely and they wish their city had never been so insane. It's really just a few clusters of crazies who ruin it for everyone. And for the most part, the city is safe, it really is. I just wouldn't move to Shankill or the Falls...

Well, that's about it for Ireland. Dana and I loved it. We got to spend some much needed quality time together (it's been so long!), and do what we do best: travel. Even better, we got to hang out with Rach and her friends. It was great. Next up: Edinburgh.

(To the right is the MP who died on a hunger strike)

And the back stories continue...

Okay back to break (again). This time: Caen. Our family traveled via train up to Caen in Normandy (my home region). The first night we rented a car (terrifying), and managed to find our hotel that was situated on the outskirts of the city. Somehow we found our hotel and then found our way back downtown. It was a miracle, I'm pretty sure. Overall not too bad, but I think we were all dragging at this point. Traveling is a tiring business.

Saturday = WWII appreciation day. Did we have a map? No. Did we know how to get anywhere? No. But there was a map on the hotel wall and we figured out what highway we needed, and the rest was cake. I banked on there being those funny brown signs everywhere for the important exits, and to my surprise there were a great deal of signs directing us to our destination. Our first stop was the American Cemetery. The cemetery itself was quite impressive. We checked out the exhibit/movie/museum part first, which was very well done. One quote that I found quite moving was from Sergent John B. Ellery (US 1st Infantry) who said, "You can manufacture weapons and you can purchase ammunition, but you can't buy valor and you can't pull heroes off an assembly line." I don't think this is in any way "romanticizing" war, but rather a reminder that sometimes there are things worth fighting for, and even more often there is a dearth of people willing to fight for those things. I'm just thankful for those who did. For what that's worth, anyway.

When you walk into the actual cemetery part, you are blown away by two things: the size, and the immaculate condition. It's overwhelming to see the rows and rows and rows of crosses and stars of David, and because its so well kept it appears almost new. If I didn't know better I would think the cemetery was only a few years old. It seems almost paradoxical that on the very land where so much blood was shed (the cemetery overlooks Omaha beach) there could be graves standing up neat and at attention, with grass so green and sharp that one would think the land has never seen sadder times. It's all very strange. It's almost impossible for me to picture what actually happened there, but maybe I'm not supposed to be able to. Anyway, we found the grave of my grandfather's uncle, making us the first visitors he's ever had. John D. Mitchell from Alabama, killed a week or so after the initial landing. We hadn't found a florist shop on the way, but we found one later and came back to place some flowers on his grave. As for Omaha beach itself, well it looks like any other coastal scene, with the exception of the bunkers and random aritllery holes that have remainded untouched. I'm not sure what they all were for, truth be told, but it's clear they played an important role during the invasion.

Afterwards we continued northbound towards a small town called St. Mere Eglise. It is a non-descript, typical Normandy town, except for the famous parachuter. The wikipedia version of the story is as follows: "The early landings, at about 0140 directly on the town, resulted in heavy casualties for the paratroopers. Some buildings in town were on fire that night, and they illuminated the sky, making easy targets of the descending men. Some were sucked into the fire. Many hanging from trees and utility poles were shot before they could cut loose. The German defenders were alerted. A famous incident involved paratrooper John Steele of the 505th PIR, whose parachute caught on the spire of the town church. The paratroopers were easy targets and Steele was one of only a few non-casualties. His parachute was caught on the steeple leaving him hanging from its roof-top to witness the carnage. The wounded paratrooper hung there limply for two hours, pretending to be dead, before the Germans took him prisoner. The less fortunate hung from the trees all around the square where they had been shot. Once the last of the paratroopers were killed or captured, the German garrison turned in. Steele was rescued when US troops of the 3rd Battalion attacked the village capturing thirty Germans and killing another eleven..."

And that's about it for Caen, at least all I can remember at this point, and it was also the last stop for my family and where we had to say goodbye. We had our highs and lows, the grumpy tifts and the goofy jokes, but one thing is sure: family is family. No matter what happens, even when we don't get along, and esp when we do, everyone needs family, and I certainly need mine. It was great to see them, because sometimes you need some family insanity to bring you sanity in a foreign land. I'm not sure that made sense... but there you have it. More to come. Maybe today even (no class and I either write, worry about admissions, or clean...).

Paris, again

As promised, the story of Christmas vacation continues. We left off on Christmas day, the day my family flew to Paris (for my second visit of the year). It's hard to describe the feeling I had when we arrived. I realize that I should feel more at home in England, because people speak English everywhere. But for some reason, coming back to France was like coming home. It's not that I'm fully comfortable with the French, or their manners, or their language (though I am making strides, I believe). I think that I've just mentally settled down (it took awhile), so for now, France = home. I never thought I'd say that, but it's true.

Anyways, we arrived in France and hopped on the RER so we could start our sightseeing adventures. Once on the train, I hear an all-too-familiar announcement. There will be perturbations au cause de la greve.... ahhh. There is another strike, on Christmas (it did fall on a Tuesday), and the RER would take us to the very first stop in the city and then we had to get out. Great. Of course they didn't mention whether, once in the city, any other metro trains would be there to take us the rest of the way to our hotel, so we had to ride in suspense, wondering what we'd find downtown. Of course, once we arrived, the regular metro was running just fine (thankfully!), so the day wasn't ruined. We changed onto a different line and continued on towards our hotel, located just shy of the latin quarter. The hotel, as it turned out, was probably the nicest place I've ever stayed in all of France. That's not because the hotel was that grand or anything, it's that all the places I have stayed are that bad. It was nice to stay in a proper hotel with a decent bathroom and without the Holiday Inn style setup.

We spent the rest of the day checking out Montmartre and the Sacre Coeur and Notre Dame. Both were lovely, just as beautiful as I recall. Notre Dame had a wonderful Christmas tree outside of it (much better than the one in Trafalgar Square), and I think I took like 50 pictures trying to capture the beauty of it , but none really did it justice. Apart from these sights, we tried to take it easy on Christmas, if only because it was Christmas. I will say this though: later that night my sisters and I got yelled at by a rather angry Frenchwoman. To be fair, Mindy and KC were being really loud (like, really loud) in our hotel room at night, and the lady was trying to sleep. When I opened the door I saw this irate Frenchwoman in her pjs who proceed to yell at me in French. She was not happy. I apologized as best I could, and politely shut the door on her (if that can be done politely). The French don't like noise, esp after 10 pm (we had this problem with our neighbor at school, though she seems to have disappeared?). Whoops. :)

The next day we trekked out to Versailles. The weather wasn't great, so we figured we could just spend the day checkin' out the Sun Kings crib. While in line I sent a text to my friend Sophie whose parents live in Versailles. To my surprise she was at the palace as well, with her family, so I got to chat with her while we waited in the long queue. It was so random that she was there, and I'm glad we got to chat for a bit. Speaking of random, when we were in the palace this person (who I took to be some random French stranger) grabbed my shoulder. I freaked out and turned around only to see my good Chilian friend Irene! I thought she'd already left Paris by then (she was visiting with another friend from Chili), but I guess she hadn't. Of all the places to meet, Marie Antoinette's salon. Who'd a thought? It was really nice seeing her, passing along the usual Christmas greetings, and introducing her to my family. So yeah, randomness. Oh and the palace was great. The hall of mirrors was done being renovated, and it was superb. And I had an audioguide. What more could do you need?

Later that night we went out the Champs Elysee, which I had never before seen decked out with lights. It was stunning. The best part was the lights on the trees that looked like drops falling. It's hard to explain. So yeah, it was a good day.


Let me begin by saying that I although I rather like the Louvre (despite the crowds, is one of my favorite museums), we had already been to quite a few museums and such, so I'm not sure I (or anyone else in my family) was in the mood for it. We went anyways though, because its just one of the places that you have to see. Within the first 10 minutes Mindy got lost (it took us at least a half hour to regroup). No blame, it's easy to get separated in that place, but it did sour everyone's mood for the rest of the visit. One place we saw that I hadn't before was the Flemish wing, and I'm glad we did because I saw a familiar painting. It was the money changer and his wife, the painting by Massys, which is also the painting I took my art history exam on in France last time, and one of the only paintings I remember from that whole class! It was nice to go, but I think we were all getting kind of tired of statues and paintings and stuff, so I don't think we fully appreciated it.

And of course, no trip to Paris is complete without the Tour Eiffel. We went, despite the fog, and I think everyone was glad we did. Somewhere along the way my mom wiped out on the street, my dad purchased several cheesy Eiffel Towers from sketchy street venders, and I took just about a million pictures. But, how can you not?

During the trip, KC started practicing her French, sort of, and she took pictures for extra credit of almost every meal we ate. She did try new things, which was great (mussels, snails, fois gras, etc). And bathrooms were a nightmare everywhere we went, because you have to be in a restaurant if you want a decent one. This is hard to coordinate with 5 people, but we managed. We didn't do as much cafe-sitting as I would have liked, but that can get expensive for 5 people, esp when hot chocolate can cost upwards of 4 euros a cup. Overall though, I think it was a success.

Next up: Caen. And sorry I don't have any family photos up, those are on the family camera. So, yeah.

Back in action

So this week I returned to good old Avranches, but in good company. Dana is here (you can't even imagine how wonderful it is to have her around), and we had quite the week. We took her to Liberties on Tuesday so she could see our little pub. We were literally the only people there, which was brilliant. The barmaid's (I forget her name, oops) kid was even there, and he kept running around and shooting us with his toy gun. It's so much nicer in there because the smoking ban has been effective since the new year, and I can finally breathe. It's so nice. I know that means all of my compadres have to go outdoors to smoke, but whatever, I can inhale without choking, so I'll take it. I don't miss the smoke. On that topic, my default lesson plan of the week has been doing a debate about the smoking ban. I've actually had a pretty even divide between those who love it and those who hate it. This is the most involved many of them have been (which means they spoke a lot of french, supposedly on accident, because it got pretty heated). Yay for conflict, it makes the hour go by so much faster. Also speaking of classes, I still had a class on Monday afternoon where no one showed, and this morning at 8am only one girl came. I gave her a list and told her to give it to her mates. From now on I'm taking names. At least I was able to join Irene's spanish class and learn some salsa! (I'm not even kidding). Oh and in my class where I gave them a project to do (a 5 min presentation) and they had over 3 weeks to prepare, no one was ready to present. No one remembered. They are 19. I was so angry, and I tried to convey that anger but I don't know enough French to scare them nor do they know enough English to be scared. Grrr.

On a better note, my class of little philosophers went brilliantly today. We only got to the first 3 questions of the questionnaire, but they did a great job. We spent the whole hour discussing what makes something a "person" with moral standing. When I told them to think of an alien or robot or whatever, I think I lost them. They can only think so far out of the box at this point, but they're getting there. Each week we make progress. They hit on a lot of key points, and we even got to something I wrote a paper about once (the potential for life). I mentioned that I wrote about it once, and they all got excited and asked if we could read it. Um, I don't know. We'll see. I'll have to touch it up a bit, but it's not like they'll notice that it sucks. We even talked about souls today. Though not everyone particiapated, they all looked interested and looked like they were thinking. I think some were just scared to put their ideas out there. The class has also got me rethinking some things, and I may repost later with more thoughts on that. Maybe soon.

On Wednesday Dana and I went to Rennes so she could see a bigger city in this area. It was the most beautiful day; we couldn't have asked for better. The sun was shining, it was warm and there wasn't a cloud in sight. We spent the whole day shopping because all the stores have some super sales going on. Dana and I found this fabulous bag shop and bought some cheap (but rather nice) purses. I have a red one now, and it can double as a school bag because it's just big enough to fit my notebooks and folders. I know you're all interested to hear that. Also, I made a rather risky purchase, and I'm not sure yet if it was a good call. I found this light weight jacket in the baby doll style (wide collar, big buttons, bells out). It's also this copper/orange color. Neither Dana or I can figure out if it's cute, but it's definitely French and it was cheap. I thought I should branch out while here, so why not? So anyways, we walked a ton and soaked in the sun and admired the beautiful buildings. It was a great day. There's nothing more I can say.

Last night Dana left me to go to London for the weekend to visit another friend who's over here. Since she left, I thought it'd be a good night to start going back to swim practices. I thought I'd suck because I've been gone for a few weeks, but I did okay. I had to do a timed 400 (meters, not yards) and got a respectable 6:40. Thats only a few seconds off my old 500 yard meet time, so I was feeling pretty good. I think my coach was pleasantly surprised as well (not the fastest, obviously, but not bad just coming back from vacation). He tried to rope me into entering the meet next Saturday. He told me to "profit" from my stay and go to a French swim meet. Um, no. Actually, I have a good reason: I'm taking Dana to Paris next weekend for her flight home. I told him I'd be gone, but I don't think he believed me. Oh well. He was going to put me in the 100 backstroke, and he doesn't know that I still can't do a decent start. He also thinks I like backstroke (laugh) all because I choose that as my "choice" stroke for practice. Little does he know that I was never a backstroker, suck at it, and only choose it because of all the "choice" strokes it happens to be the fastest and it's the easiest way for me to keep up with the faster folks. Little does he know. Though I have to admit, I've done a heck of a lot of backstroke since I started. Maybe it is my new stroke. But again, starts and flip turns are sketchy.

Well I'm done rambling. I'm just killing time before my next class. I will post about Paris soon. I hope everyone's Christmas/New Year went splendidly... tootles.

Pip pip, London!

And here begins the epic tale of Christmas break. It begin one Friday afternoon with 2 canceled classes (courtesy of MF), and a free ride to Caen with Paul. Paul is a student-teacher here, and since he lives in Caen he offered to give Rachel and I a lift. Break was off to a good start. We arrived in Caen and had a night to enjoy the beautiful Christmas lights and peruse the market. We happened to stumble upon the best kebabs ever and that just about made our night. We chatted, we ate, and mostly we were ready to see our families. On Saturday morning we woke up at the crack of dawn to take the ferry boat from Caen to Portsmouth, and the ride itself was quite leisurely. The only event of interest was our run-in with some rather uncouth English blokes. There was 2 guys in their late 20s and what I can only guess was their father in his late 40s or early 50s. We were waiting to disembark when they approached us. Because of our super chic ensembles (well, Rach was in high black boots and a nifty scarf, I was not so chic), they thought we were french. They asked some question in what was, to me, incomprehensible English. Rachel understood and responded (after some thought), and gave away our identity. Alas, we are not french. They were shocked, and proceeded to hit on us while also trying to insult the French (and question why would live there). Well, if that didn't woo me then I don't know what will. After some forced conversation, we gracefully parted ways, and were glad our encounter was at the end of the journey and not the beginning.

I arrived in London around 6pm on Saturday, and waited impatiently for my family at the hotel. They had spent the day at the Tower of London learning about executions and other morbid tales and later visited the Imperial War Museum which was, I am told, a big hit. I was jealous, because I didn't get to go, but hopefully I will be able to return sometime before I leave. It was wonderful seeing my family, especially since it was the holidays. I've never spent a Christmas away from them, and I hope I never have to. Anyway, I was tired, and so were they, but we still trekked out to Oxford Street to see the lights. I'm not gonna lie, they were kind of disappointing (except for these bubble lights that lead to Piccadilly Circus). I'm not sure what I was expecting, I guess more lights. Maybe I'm just hard to please.

Sunday morning was game time. We woke up early and headed over to the British Museum, a place I've wanted to go for some time. It was amazing. I saw the Rosetta Stone, which was brilliant. And I know what you're thinking, that's like saying you like the Mona Lisa when you go to the Louvre, BUT I really do appreciate its importance (languages are hard, I can't imagine deciphering that sucker). We also saw stones from the walls of Ninevah (sp?), among other Biblical towns. Why Jonah didn't want to go there is beyond me... and that reminds me of a price quote from KC (the youngest sister), who after seeing some artifacts from Corinth exclaimed, "So the Corinthians were real?" Yes they were real. The Bible is filled with real places, and some would argue, real people and events. Oh what a laugh. So museums really can teach you things. In all, the museum was overwhelming, because there was just so much stuff. Let me clarify it: there was so much stolen stuff. Yes, the upside of imperialism is a nifty collection of ancient treasures from all over the world. It was almost depressing to imagine all of that stuff getting hauled out of it's proper place. Another member of my family shared this sentiment, and made quite the comment about it. On one of the walls was a picture of stonehenge and they said, "Wow it's a wonder the British didn't steal that... oh wait, they didn't need to, it's already here..." And this happened to be said as some English guys were in earshot. They looked rather offended and made some muffled comments to each other, but my family member graciously added, "Not that the Americans wouldn't have done the very same thing, the British just got there first!" There are no words.

After the museum we headed to the next obvious tourist site, Big Ben. But alas, London weather was true to it's fame, and all we really saw was fog. Lots of fog. We wandered around anyway and saw the usual Westminster and such. Afterwards we decided to go to the Churchill museum, because it's rather close to that area. Not everyone wanted to see another museum, but Mindy and I wanted to see it, and we won. The museum was really cool. First of all, you get an audioguide. You may not be aware, but I have a love affair with audioguides. They make museum experiences much more pleasant, and much more informative. I would never read every plaque posted up on the walls, but I will listen to the wee man (or woman) coming from the guide. It's great when everyone's guides are in sync because you'll see everyone look up or turn around at the same time. I realize that may not sound thrilling for most people, but it delights me. Anyways, I learned things (which I love), and I got to see the actual rooms where Churchill and company directed the war. It's a very moving experience. And as a bonus there's a room full of interactive displays about Churchill and the war. Mindy and I spent about a half hour (at least) listening to different excerpts from Churchill's most memorable speeches. My family liked that room the best, I think, because you could actively learn by playing with these computer things are messing around with other stuff (which differs from most museum's where you have to really want to get into it). All in all, a good experience.

Afterwards we went to some pub for dinner and had the usual pub cuisine. I mention this only because my 23 year old sister got carded at said pub(in a country where you only have to be 18 to drink). Hilarious. Did I get carded? No. I think it's because she hesitated in choosing a drink, like she hadn't done it before, so the lady was suspicious. Mindy was not thrilled about that. Oh and we had treacle sponge for dessert, which was fabulous. For what that's worth.

And then came Monday, Christmas Eve. We knew ahead of time that pretty much everything would be closed, so we decided that Monday would be "wander around" day, so to speak. We took a walk through Hyde Park and saw some palace/house thing. At some point we went to see Buckingham palace, but I'm not quite sure when. We also revisited parliament to get a non-foggy glimpse of Ben. Then we marched on up to Trafalgar Square to check out St Martin in the Fields (a church independently recommended to me by two people, one of whom was a random English lady at a restaurant). The tree in T Square was pitiful, truth be told. It was scrawny and only decorated with vertical lines of lights. Anyway, before service started we wandered some of the back roads past the square and my parents poked around some antique shops (one of which was manned by a man dressed like he himself was a British antique).

St Martin's itself was a beautiful church (well the inside was, we couldn't see the outside because it was being redone). The ceiling and chandeliers were lovely, and overall it had a very friendly atmosphere. The service was quite good too. It was a mix of carols (um, some familiar carols--away in a manger and others-- were sung with different melodies... what the heck?) and a call to action. They talked about Bethlehem today and how we need to be aware of what's going on around the world. Quite right. That's not an Elmbrook service which would have had dancers and a play to make all the Cheasters feel warm and fuzzy. This was much better. The children who read were brilliant. I wish I spoke as well as they did, all articulate and powerful. The best reading was taken from Desmond Tutu (a Nobel peace prize, apartheid fighting, anglican archbishop in South Africa):

"Dear child of God, it is difficult for us to recognize the presence of God in our lives and in our world. In the clamor of the tragedy and the headlines we forget about the majesty that is present all around us. We feel vulnerable and often helpless. It is true that we are vulnerable, for vulnerability is the essence of creaturehood. But we are not helpless and with God's love we are ultimately invincible. During the darkest days of aparthied I used to say to PW Botha, the then president of South Africa, that we had already won and I invited him and other white South Africans to join the winning side. All the objective facts were against us -the pass laws, the imprisonments, the tear-gassing, the massacres, the murder of political activists -but my confidence was not in the present circumstances but in the laws of God's universe. This is a moral universe, which despite all the evidence that seems to be to the contrary there is no way that evil and injustice and oppression and lies can be the last word. God is the God who cares about right and wrong. God cares about justice and injustice. God is in charge. That is what has upheld the morale of my people to know that at the end good will prevail. It was these higher laws that convinced me that our peaceful struggle would topple the immoral laws of apartheid.

God says to you, "I have a dream, please help me realize it." It is a dream of a world whose ugliness and poverty, war and hostility, its greed and hard competitiveness, its alienation and disharmony are changed into its glamorous counterparts... when there will be more joy laughter and peace and my children will know that they are members of one family, the human family, God's family, my family."

The woman who read it made the words come alive. It was very moving. You should have been there... And on a different note, when we left I overheard a cheeky vicar say to someone, "see you next year!" I guess the Cheaster phenomenon (only going to church on Christmas and/or Easter) is world-wide...

And there you have it. That was London. The next installment will be about Paris... I'm sure you can't wait.

(oh and for all you facebook users, pictures will be up shortly...or in a few weeks, whichever comes first)