Sunday, 14 August 2011
Wednesday 13th July
We finished at the Oasis really late tonight. And while it's lovely to cycle through the vineyards alone in the day time, I’ve discovered it's less pleasant to do so at night time. Thank you Lord for gangster angels.
Tuesday 12th July
You know, I’m just not sleeping well at the moment. I’m tired when I go to bed, but I can't fall asleep very easily. I think it's because I’m in this big, old house all by myself. Every noise I hear could be a burglar, every shadow a menacing threat and I feel that I have a responsibility to check it out. Normally I sleep fine, figuring that my housemates will deal with any problems, but now I’m it. I’m the last defence. So I lay awake at night waiting to see what that creaking sound was or if those drunken youths are going to hop the fence and try and break in. It probably doesn't help that I’m watching NCIS just before I go to bed. Or that I’m on the wrong side of someone on the wrong side of the law.Or that there's about 100 chickens living just a few metres away from my room.
I mowed the lawn this afternoon and cleaned out the terrapins. It's probably a shameful admission, but before coming here I’d never mowed the lawn before in my life. My folks have a gardener and my uni gardens have always been very insightfully paved over.
I mowed the lawn this afternoon and cleaned out the terrapins. It's probably a shameful admission, but before coming here I’d never mowed the lawn before in my life. My folks have a gardener and my uni gardens have always been very insightfully paved over.
I don't mind mowing the lawn as such, but I hate how loud the lawnmower is and how much attention it draws. I’m on the main road opposite a building site, so there are plenty of people to stare at me. And trying to get the darn thing started in the first place, oh my word! You put the cord, pull the cord, pull the cord, nothing happens! You feel like a complete failure. It's so embarrassing. And how are you meant to get all the bits round the edge? A monkey could do a better job than me!
Monday 11th July
Today was my first men's clothing room. It seems totally strange to me that the women on the team should be present at a men's clothing day because it was so gender separate in Athens, but it's different here. It's a small team so everyone has to muck in where they can.
My job today was to fold and pack clothes into plastic bags, to fit people for flip flops and to make sure no one was taking more items than allowed. While I’m not great at folding clothes with one hand, I’m even worse at telling impoverished refugees that they're only allowed to take one T-shirt, not two and one pair of shorts or trousers, not both. We don't have enough stock to let people take as much as they want, which is what I think all of our hearts is, so we have to be quite strict in enforcing the rules.
I used my Farsi today, and wished I’d spent some time revising the wardrobe section of my book before coming here. But I managed hold my own, and even proved to be quite useful as the other team members don't speak any Farsi. I also used my French. We've had an influx or North African refugees this past week so it's been a good opportunity to get some practice in. Again, I’m the only one on the team who speaks French, so I’m feeling quite useful at the moment. Most of the refugees are Russian speakers, which has left me feeling linguistically redundant. I’m appreciating the change. Not that my Russian hasn't vastly improved since I’ve been here. I know at least three words, not including vodka, and my accent is uncanny.
Since we finished at the Oasis quite early today, Claire and I decided to cycle home together and take some photos in the sunflower fields. On the way, my bike started making a loud clonking sound. Not going very fast and eager to know what it was, I looked down to see if I could see the cause. The next thing I knew, the door of a white Volvo was pressed up against my face and there was a sharp pain shooting through my ego. I had crashed my bike! Into a car I might add. Now before you all get too worried and start flooding my mailbox with Get Well Cards and flowers, I should provide one minor detail. The car I crashed into was stationary.
Now those of you who have seen me ride a bike before, or indeed operate any kind of vehicle or machinery, will no doubt, not be particularly surprised at this announcement. It was pretty much inevitable. Like Agent Smith killing Neo. But as in the Matrix, my story also developed a nail-biting twist. But we'll get to that later. First the story of the detour of my Monday afternoon.
The owner of the car was nowhere to be seen, so I wrote a little note in German and tucked it under the windscreen wiper. It contained an apology and my contact details. Surely this would be enough to discharge my responsibility as a good cyclist? Apparently my moral compass didn't think so, which is why it marched me to the local police station so that I could formally log the accident. In German I might add. That's the test of your language skills, when you spend the afternoon at a foreign police station explaining how rubbish your spatial awareness is. I of course started off by trying the old schoolboy trick, “kanst du English sprechen?”, but was forced to stumble on when the reply came “nein”.
I explained what had happened to the officer at the desk, who apparently found it so funny that he called over one of his mates and made me tell the story again. Stifling laughter, the second officer grabbed his friend and asked me to take them to the car I had crashed into so they could survey the damage. It's worth mentioning that the car was parked right in front of the Lager, and a group of Afghan women whom I’d befriended were sitting outside chatting. “Salam,” I said as I passed by. “Khoubi?” They nodded, eyes wide and eyebrows lifted high. I was so embarrassed. And I didn't know how to explain what had happened in Farsi, so I’m sure a few rumours were started that day.
Two deep scratches and a basket sized dent in the panel were the sum of the damage, and it looked pretty bad. We went back to the station to try and contact the owner, and that's where the twist comes in. We couldn't get hold of him because he's currently in prison doing time. Yes, I crashed into the car of a convicted felon. But don't worry, he gets out in a month, so we'll be able to sort it all out then. That's just super! And he knows where I live because my address in on the police report. Joy, joy, joy, joy, joy.
My job today was to fold and pack clothes into plastic bags, to fit people for flip flops and to make sure no one was taking more items than allowed. While I’m not great at folding clothes with one hand, I’m even worse at telling impoverished refugees that they're only allowed to take one T-shirt, not two and one pair of shorts or trousers, not both. We don't have enough stock to let people take as much as they want, which is what I think all of our hearts is, so we have to be quite strict in enforcing the rules.
I used my Farsi today, and wished I’d spent some time revising the wardrobe section of my book before coming here. But I managed hold my own, and even proved to be quite useful as the other team members don't speak any Farsi. I also used my French. We've had an influx or North African refugees this past week so it's been a good opportunity to get some practice in. Again, I’m the only one on the team who speaks French, so I’m feeling quite useful at the moment. Most of the refugees are Russian speakers, which has left me feeling linguistically redundant. I’m appreciating the change. Not that my Russian hasn't vastly improved since I’ve been here. I know at least three words, not including vodka, and my accent is uncanny.
Since we finished at the Oasis quite early today, Claire and I decided to cycle home together and take some photos in the sunflower fields. On the way, my bike started making a loud clonking sound. Not going very fast and eager to know what it was, I looked down to see if I could see the cause. The next thing I knew, the door of a white Volvo was pressed up against my face and there was a sharp pain shooting through my ego. I had crashed my bike! Into a car I might add. Now before you all get too worried and start flooding my mailbox with Get Well Cards and flowers, I should provide one minor detail. The car I crashed into was stationary.
Now those of you who have seen me ride a bike before, or indeed operate any kind of vehicle or machinery, will no doubt, not be particularly surprised at this announcement. It was pretty much inevitable. Like Agent Smith killing Neo. But as in the Matrix, my story also developed a nail-biting twist. But we'll get to that later. First the story of the detour of my Monday afternoon.
The owner of the car was nowhere to be seen, so I wrote a little note in German and tucked it under the windscreen wiper. It contained an apology and my contact details. Surely this would be enough to discharge my responsibility as a good cyclist? Apparently my moral compass didn't think so, which is why it marched me to the local police station so that I could formally log the accident. In German I might add. That's the test of your language skills, when you spend the afternoon at a foreign police station explaining how rubbish your spatial awareness is. I of course started off by trying the old schoolboy trick, “kanst du English sprechen?”, but was forced to stumble on when the reply came “nein”.
I explained what had happened to the officer at the desk, who apparently found it so funny that he called over one of his mates and made me tell the story again. Stifling laughter, the second officer grabbed his friend and asked me to take them to the car I had crashed into so they could survey the damage. It's worth mentioning that the car was parked right in front of the Lager, and a group of Afghan women whom I’d befriended were sitting outside chatting. “Salam,” I said as I passed by. “Khoubi?” They nodded, eyes wide and eyebrows lifted high. I was so embarrassed. And I didn't know how to explain what had happened in Farsi, so I’m sure a few rumours were started that day.
Two deep scratches and a basket sized dent in the panel were the sum of the damage, and it looked pretty bad. We went back to the station to try and contact the owner, and that's where the twist comes in. We couldn't get hold of him because he's currently in prison doing time. Yes, I crashed into the car of a convicted felon. But don't worry, he gets out in a month, so we'll be able to sort it all out then. That's just super! And he knows where I live because my address in on the police report. Joy, joy, joy, joy, joy.
Sunday 10th July
When I visited Cat last weekend I met Debbie, another Exeter student who I’ll be living with next year. We arranged to meet up again today so that we could get to know each other a bit. We agreed to meet at Karlsplatz, but I got there five minutes early and was absolutely bursting for the toilet. I ran about for ages, tears in my eyes, desperately searching for a loo when Debbie called and suggested I go to the one in the underground station. Oh my word these stations are hard to navigate. It's the most ridiculous signposting system in the world. They'd be better off not putting up any directions and letting us sniff the toilets out ourselves. The signs are so confusing; it's like they're put there to deliberately mess with your mind and challenge your bladder control capabilities. I honestly considered squatting in a corner somewhere in the station. Or maybe they just do it so that by the time you find the toilets you don't care that they're charging 70p to get in; I would have given £70.
Bladder relieved, I went to Karlskirche to meet Debbie. We walked to the canal together and had a picnic of Mc Donalds, lebkuchen and watermelon. First impressions, she's really nice and we'll have fun sharing a house next year.
After the picnic I had to get changed into more modest clothes because I was meeting a couple of Iranian believers that I met at the Oasis on Friday night. They'd invited me to their church and we arranged to meet at a high profile station so that I would be able to find it OK. But somehow I got hideously lost and was thirty minutes late. I was planning to change in the bathroom at Philadelphia Bruke station but because I was so late I had to change in between stops in the platform. Let's just say I’m no Houdini. I ended up ripping the sleeve off the top I was changing out of. Arrgghh! It's so frustrating.
I find the transport system here really confusing. The stations aren't very well marked so it's hard to tell when to get off the train. It was only as I approached the end of the line that I realised I'd gone too far. Then when I finally made back it to Philadelphia Bruke station, I found myself trapped in an underground labyrinth of escalators, kiosks and passageways. I went up here, down there, through that way, past the kiosks, back upstairs, round the pillar and I still couldn't find my friends. In the end they came looking for me and we were on our way.
Going to an Iranian church was really interesting. I recognised some of the songs- they must have been translated from English, but judging by the music most of them were written for the Farsi Church. Singing in Farsi is definitely a challenge for me. I find it hard enough to keep up with the words of a new song in English, so trying to read the lyrics in the Persian script in time with fast music was hard. It should help improve my overall reading speed for when I’m back studying Farsi at uni.
Bladder relieved, I went to Karlskirche to meet Debbie. We walked to the canal together and had a picnic of Mc Donalds, lebkuchen and watermelon. First impressions, she's really nice and we'll have fun sharing a house next year.
After the picnic I had to get changed into more modest clothes because I was meeting a couple of Iranian believers that I met at the Oasis on Friday night. They'd invited me to their church and we arranged to meet at a high profile station so that I would be able to find it OK. But somehow I got hideously lost and was thirty minutes late. I was planning to change in the bathroom at Philadelphia Bruke station but because I was so late I had to change in between stops in the platform. Let's just say I’m no Houdini. I ended up ripping the sleeve off the top I was changing out of. Arrgghh! It's so frustrating.
I find the transport system here really confusing. The stations aren't very well marked so it's hard to tell when to get off the train. It was only as I approached the end of the line that I realised I'd gone too far. Then when I finally made back it to Philadelphia Bruke station, I found myself trapped in an underground labyrinth of escalators, kiosks and passageways. I went up here, down there, through that way, past the kiosks, back upstairs, round the pillar and I still couldn't find my friends. In the end they came looking for me and we were on our way.
Going to an Iranian church was really interesting. I recognised some of the songs- they must have been translated from English, but judging by the music most of them were written for the Farsi Church. Singing in Farsi is definitely a challenge for me. I find it hard enough to keep up with the words of a new song in English, so trying to read the lyrics in the Persian script in time with fast music was hard. It should help improve my overall reading speed for when I’m back studying Farsi at uni.
Saturday, 30 July 2011
Saturday 9th
Something has been bugging me ever since I got here. It's a very important question of a highly curious nature. And I’m not the only one it's had bothered. When I visited Cat last weekend she said I could ask her any questions I had about Austria. When I told her that actually yes, something here had me utterly perplexed, she knew exactly what I was talking about before I’d said a word. “The shelf in the toilet, right?” she said quizzically, eyebrows raised. “Yes!” I yelled. “What's it doing there?” She didn't know.
Yes people, there's a shelf in the toilet bowl. When you do your business, it lands on the shelf, crying out for your attention. You turn round to flush the chain and there it is, staring you in the face. More poignantly, you're staring it in the face too. Did they really put this shelf here just so you can admire your handiwork before you flush it away, or does it serve another purpose? I can't think of one.
I decided it would be inappropriate to put a picture of my faeces in the internet, so I searched the bathroom for an alternative prop to demonstrate my conundrum. That's when I found this rubber duck.
I cut a piece of loo roll tube to balance the duck on so it didn't actually touch the toilet. No rubber ducks were harmed in the making of this blog entry.
Despite my efforts for decorum and propriety, I can't help but feel like this blog entry will come back to haunt me one day in the future, like if I’m running for prime minister or something. All that comforts me is the knowledge that David Cameron did pot in his student days and still got elected, and this is much less worse than that. Although my grammar might still disqualify me...
Yes people, there's a shelf in the toilet bowl. When you do your business, it lands on the shelf, crying out for your attention. You turn round to flush the chain and there it is, staring you in the face. More poignantly, you're staring it in the face too. Did they really put this shelf here just so you can admire your handiwork before you flush it away, or does it serve another purpose? I can't think of one.
I decided it would be inappropriate to put a picture of my faeces in the internet, so I searched the bathroom for an alternative prop to demonstrate my conundrum. That's when I found this rubber duck.
I cut a piece of loo roll tube to balance the duck on so it didn't actually touch the toilet. No rubber ducks were harmed in the making of this blog entry.
Despite my efforts for decorum and propriety, I can't help but feel like this blog entry will come back to haunt me one day in the future, like if I’m running for prime minister or something. All that comforts me is the knowledge that David Cameron did pot in his student days and still got elected, and this is much less worse than that. Although my grammar might still disqualify me...
Friday 8th
This morning I met with some of the refugees to watch a film about Jesus. I’m not too keen on these films myself; I find them a bit cringey, but do you know what? God can use anything and people are getting saved all over the world after watching these films. So who am I to turn my nose up at them?
In the afternoon I had a blessed time with three refugee girls from East Africa. I met them at clothing room on Monday and it's been really soothing to spend time with them. We talk about jackfruit and sunshine, long bus journeys and pineapple Fanta. I thank God that they're here – I really needed this little piece of Africa to keep me going. So I invited them over to cook dinner together and we had a blast. And do you know what they wanted to cook? Chapattis! Yes, I am now a skilled chapatti chef!
I was very clear to the girls that we were working to deadline as I had to be downstairs at six to set up for ladies night. We started cooking at three and I thought 2 hours would be enough time to get everything ready for a 5 o clock dinner. But three and a half hours and two litres of oil later, the food was still not ready. I’d forgotten how long it takes to make African food. We would spend all morning preparing lunch in Rwanda, but I thought it was just because we had no proper equipment. We peeled and chopped the vegetables with blunt knives and we cooked the food outside on open fires. I assumed that in a fully equipped kitchen things would be quicker. How wrong I was! At 5.53 I carried the food to the table and we sat down to eat. Don't even get me started on the state the kitchen was in.
We also cooked curried chicken and spicy meat potato balls, as well as fragrant rice and a vegetable sauce. It was delicious!
In the afternoon I had a blessed time with three refugee girls from East Africa. I met them at clothing room on Monday and it's been really soothing to spend time with them. We talk about jackfruit and sunshine, long bus journeys and pineapple Fanta. I thank God that they're here – I really needed this little piece of Africa to keep me going. So I invited them over to cook dinner together and we had a blast. And do you know what they wanted to cook? Chapattis! Yes, I am now a skilled chapatti chef!
I know how to cook them! Eat your heart out Karyn and Mike.
It's a fairy complicated process that involves considerable risk to your fingers, but it's very fun and totally worth it. Perhaps I’ll give you a demonstration when I get home.
I was very clear to the girls that we were working to deadline as I had to be downstairs at six to set up for ladies night. We started cooking at three and I thought 2 hours would be enough time to get everything ready for a 5 o clock dinner. But three and a half hours and two litres of oil later, the food was still not ready. I’d forgotten how long it takes to make African food. We would spend all morning preparing lunch in Rwanda, but I thought it was just because we had no proper equipment. We peeled and chopped the vegetables with blunt knives and we cooked the food outside on open fires. I assumed that in a fully equipped kitchen things would be quicker. How wrong I was! At 5.53 I carried the food to the table and we sat down to eat. Don't even get me started on the state the kitchen was in.
We also cooked curried chicken and spicy meat potato balls, as well as fragrant rice and a vegetable sauce. It was delicious!
Thursday 7th
Thursday night is Coffee Bar, which is a lot like Tea House in Greece, except that we serve coffee. The team here operates a little bit differently to the team in Greece and I’m finding it hard to adapt. As a young, single women working at the Ark I had to be very careful about my conduct around the male refugees. The rules were strict but simple – do not engage. If a male refugee comes up to you and tries to start a conversation, ignore him and walk away. Keep eye contact to a minimum and be careful where you smile. Our hair always had to be tied up because 'a woman is as loose as her hair' and we had to wear long, high cut, baggy tops to cover our shape. I felt so rude the first few days because it's so different to what I’m used to. Listening to people whom the world rejects and giving them positive attention is an effective way of ministering God's love to them, so in Greece I felt crippled. That is until you begin to understand the culture.
We were working with Muslims from Afghanistan, and in their culture there would be no interaction between non-related men and women. For were a single women to engage in conversation with a man who is not part of her family, it would cast serious aspersions on her character, especially if she's all smiles and eye contact! To behave in this way is synonymous with prostitution. So you feel less rude about walking away from someone knowing that their very approaching you means they think that you're loose. You cannot be too careful about your reputation, especially when witnessing for Jesus. And when your conduct around the male refugees is blameless, it earns you trust and respect from the women, because they don't think you're trying to steal their husbands and they trust you to be a positive moral influence on their children.
So the men in the team work with the male refugees and the women in the team work with the female refugees. And though it's rare, there are enough guys on the team in Athens for this to work. Praise God.
But the approach at the Oasis is different. We can wear our hair down and talk to the guy refugees. In fact, we have to do the latter because there are only three guys on the team, and one of them is away for the summer. I feel very conflicted. Surely if loose hair meant loose woman to the refugees in Athens, it will mean loose woman here as well? And I don't want anyone thinking I’m loose! Happily the team is being very patient and gracious to me as I try and make the adjustments. And I have to remember that here at the Oasis we get refugees from all over the place, not just from Afghanistan. It's a melting pot of cultures, nationalities and languages.
We were working with Muslims from Afghanistan, and in their culture there would be no interaction between non-related men and women. For were a single women to engage in conversation with a man who is not part of her family, it would cast serious aspersions on her character, especially if she's all smiles and eye contact! To behave in this way is synonymous with prostitution. So you feel less rude about walking away from someone knowing that their very approaching you means they think that you're loose. You cannot be too careful about your reputation, especially when witnessing for Jesus. And when your conduct around the male refugees is blameless, it earns you trust and respect from the women, because they don't think you're trying to steal their husbands and they trust you to be a positive moral influence on their children.
So the men in the team work with the male refugees and the women in the team work with the female refugees. And though it's rare, there are enough guys on the team in Athens for this to work. Praise God.
But the approach at the Oasis is different. We can wear our hair down and talk to the guy refugees. In fact, we have to do the latter because there are only three guys on the team, and one of them is away for the summer. I feel very conflicted. Surely if loose hair meant loose woman to the refugees in Athens, it will mean loose woman here as well? And I don't want anyone thinking I’m loose! Happily the team is being very patient and gracious to me as I try and make the adjustments. And I have to remember that here at the Oasis we get refugees from all over the place, not just from Afghanistan. It's a melting pot of cultures, nationalities and languages.
Friday, 29 July 2011
Wednesday 6th
On Monday at clothing room I met an Afghan mother and daughter and we arranged to have some English lessons. As I was preparing some simple vocabulary, I realised something; they won't be able to read in English because their script is different. And I can't transliterate very well because of the whole vowel/no vowel thing in Farsi. I should have gotten someone to write out some basic lessons for me to use when the problem came up in Greece. Classic example of not learning from your mistakes. And when the doorbell rang, things got even more complicated – they'd bought a Kosovan friend with them!
But then came a happy turn of events. Petra, a Czech volunteer came to teach with me and she speaks Russian, as did the Kosovan lady and Afghan daughter. So I taught the English and translated into Farsi and Petra transliterated the words into the Russian script so they could write them down. Perfect! It was the strangest lesson I’ve given so far, but it really blessed me. God is good!
Wednesday is evangelism night and I helped prepare by marking out the passage in the different Bibles and by writing the verse number on the board in Farsi.
I spent the rest of the evening in the kids room with no ability to communicate or control the kids whatsoever. They screamed, they hit, one of them even peeed on the floor. It was nightmarish. But I think I held it together alright. No, you're too kind, I’m not a hero. It's just what we do.
But then came a happy turn of events. Petra, a Czech volunteer came to teach with me and she speaks Russian, as did the Kosovan lady and Afghan daughter. So I taught the English and translated into Farsi and Petra transliterated the words into the Russian script so they could write them down. Perfect! It was the strangest lesson I’ve given so far, but it really blessed me. God is good!
Wednesday is evangelism night and I helped prepare by marking out the passage in the different Bibles and by writing the verse number on the board in Farsi.
It's so cool that the Bible is available in so many languages. I can't imagine what it must be like not having ready access to God's Word and in your mother tongue. We are so privileged in the UK.
I spent the rest of the evening in the kids room with no ability to communicate or control the kids whatsoever. They screamed, they hit, one of them even peeed on the floor. It was nightmarish. But I think I held it together alright. No, you're too kind, I’m not a hero. It's just what we do.
Tuesday 5th
Tuesday morning is team time. Today Cherie the short termer shared her experiences here because she is leaving this week for home. It was really encouraging for me to hear her struggles because already I’m identifying with some of them and to hear her highlights because it gives me hope for my time here.
In the afternoon some of us went on a prayer walk around the refugee camp or Lager as it is known here. Outside it's a beautiful old building; I don't know what it's like on the inside. It currently houses hundreds of refugees, although I’ve heard that in times past it held thousands. It reminds me of the German schloss I stayed in a few summers ago, but I doubt its residents are having as much fun as we did. I cycle through the vineyards and past the lager every day on my way to work. It's a very imposing building that I must believe heavily influences the identity of Traiskirchen. I’ll never go inside, the armed guards see to that, but hopefully over the next few months as I work here, God's love will reach some of those who live there.
In the afternoon some of us went on a prayer walk around the refugee camp or Lager as it is known here. Outside it's a beautiful old building; I don't know what it's like on the inside. It currently houses hundreds of refugees, although I’ve heard that in times past it held thousands. It reminds me of the German schloss I stayed in a few summers ago, but I doubt its residents are having as much fun as we did. I cycle through the vineyards and past the lager every day on my way to work. It's a very imposing building that I must believe heavily influences the identity of Traiskirchen. I’ll never go inside, the armed guards see to that, but hopefully over the next few months as I work here, God's love will reach some of those who live there.
Monday 4th
I had my orientation today at the Oasis. The ministry has four main outlets – clothing room, evangelistic night, coffee bar and personal appointments. Today was clothing room for women and children and I spent the afternoon in the waiting area. Most of the women we get at the Oasis are from the Russian Federation – Chechnya, Dagestan, Armenia etc. I’ve never met anyone from this part of the world before, so this is a real privilege. Sadly I don't speak any Russian, so I’m unable to verbally communicate with the woman, but if I’ve learnt anything this year, it's that hugs and cups of tea go a long way in conveying the love of Christ.
After work we all went to the local Heuriger which I suppose is the Austrian equivalent of a pub. I took the standard schnitzel for dinner then made a mistake that restaurant goers have been making for centuries – I ordered a dessert based on the picture in the menu. ERROR! I know this sort of thing never ends well; Mike's cherry tart experience should have been enough to stop me, but it just looked so darn good. Sadly topfenstrudel turned out to be a cheese based dessert with the texture of omelette. I’m not sure if the custard made it more bearable or worse, but I am sure that I’ll never order it again.
After work we all went to the local Heuriger which I suppose is the Austrian equivalent of a pub. I took the standard schnitzel for dinner then made a mistake that restaurant goers have been making for centuries – I ordered a dessert based on the picture in the menu. ERROR! I know this sort of thing never ends well; Mike's cherry tart experience should have been enough to stop me, but it just looked so darn good. Sadly topfenstrudel turned out to be a cheese based dessert with the texture of omelette. I’m not sure if the custard made it more bearable or worse, but I am sure that I’ll never order it again.
Sunday 3rd
I awoke this morning to a very familiar but dreaded sound. Roaches. It's one of the few sounds in my life that can make me jump right out of my skin at the very same time that my heart is sinking to the pit of my stomach. Fear and knowing coursing through your veins; the adrenaline that forces you to move though you dread what might meet you. I hate cockroaches. Napping is one of the other things that rattles me so, or rather napping interrupted. You're dozing in warm, comfortable bliss when you hear the door handle creak. You have just a split second to decide what to do; either jump up and pretend like you're pacing round the room or grab a book and pretend like you're reading it. Neither of these work to fool the intruder of course. If the pillow creases on your face don't give it away, the bleary eyes and upside down book will. But it's something you feel you ought to do anyway. There's nothing wrong with napping per-say, but when you're only twenty two and should be studying, it's probably not the best use of your time.
Regarding the roaches, further investigation proved me wrong; it was just a beetle in a paper bag. Oh, happy days.
This morning, Cat and I prayed together. I hate to admit it but it was the first time I’ve really sat down and prayed for the people I’ve met on my travels since I’ve left them. But it makes so much sense and a heavy burden was lifted. I guess I’ve been carrying around a lot of stuff lately. As I prayed, I said aloud the things that my friends are going through. It was hard because the reality of their lives is really sad, but it forced me to confront the issue that's bothering me the most; that there's nothing I can do about it. I’ll never forget these dear people, nor should I; but I need to trust them to God and move on. I’ll pray for them and my life will forever be changed by them, but I cannot carry their burdens. I will however let their troubles convict and compel me to be a better advocat.
I hadn't noticed until now, but my goal for this year has been realised. I wanted to be broken by the things that break God's heart. I wanted to be so devastated by poverty and injustice, sickness and oppression, that I couldn't speak of them without tears in my eyes. I wanted such devastating conviction that I wouldn't be able to walk away from someone in need, even if that someone were a stranger on a foreign continent that I’d never met before. If I found it hard before to ignore those charity plea photos of starving children with flies buzzing around weepy eyes on alien heads, of women so sick that they cannot nurse their babies, of amputees laying by the roadside begging, it is almost impossible for me to do so now. It sounds brutal but before they were just nameless, faceless Africans. Now every woman is Mama Brigette, every child is Isabelle, every man is Shumbusho. And I have to act on their behalf because I love them.
Up till now I fought so hard to hide my brokenness because of my pride, but now I know I must not only learn to live with it but also embrace it because it fuels compassion and by God's grace will make my life a greater witness to His love and the glory of his Kingdom. Amen.
Lastly but not leastly the journey home. When I left Cat it was drizzling and the wind was Arctic, but by the time I got to the train stop it was pouring down and I felt miserable.
Regarding the roaches, further investigation proved me wrong; it was just a beetle in a paper bag. Oh, happy days.
This morning, Cat and I prayed together. I hate to admit it but it was the first time I’ve really sat down and prayed for the people I’ve met on my travels since I’ve left them. But it makes so much sense and a heavy burden was lifted. I guess I’ve been carrying around a lot of stuff lately. As I prayed, I said aloud the things that my friends are going through. It was hard because the reality of their lives is really sad, but it forced me to confront the issue that's bothering me the most; that there's nothing I can do about it. I’ll never forget these dear people, nor should I; but I need to trust them to God and move on. I’ll pray for them and my life will forever be changed by them, but I cannot carry their burdens. I will however let their troubles convict and compel me to be a better advocat.
I hadn't noticed until now, but my goal for this year has been realised. I wanted to be broken by the things that break God's heart. I wanted to be so devastated by poverty and injustice, sickness and oppression, that I couldn't speak of them without tears in my eyes. I wanted such devastating conviction that I wouldn't be able to walk away from someone in need, even if that someone were a stranger on a foreign continent that I’d never met before. If I found it hard before to ignore those charity plea photos of starving children with flies buzzing around weepy eyes on alien heads, of women so sick that they cannot nurse their babies, of amputees laying by the roadside begging, it is almost impossible for me to do so now. It sounds brutal but before they were just nameless, faceless Africans. Now every woman is Mama Brigette, every child is Isabelle, every man is Shumbusho. And I have to act on their behalf because I love them.
Up till now I fought so hard to hide my brokenness because of my pride, but now I know I must not only learn to live with it but also embrace it because it fuels compassion and by God's grace will make my life a greater witness to His love and the glory of his Kingdom. Amen.
Lastly but not leastly the journey home. When I left Cat it was drizzling and the wind was Arctic, but by the time I got to the train stop it was pouring down and I felt miserable.
I waited for a while with no sign of the train or much reason at all to believe that I was in the right place. When I saw the train down the road heading off in a different direction, I abandoned my post and began chase. Eventually I lost sight of it but not before finding the station. By the time the next train came, I was sopping wet and very cold. The only shoes I’ve had with me all year have been flip flops, and today my toes were freezing. But being in a country not my own with little fear of bumping into someone I knew, I put my woolly slippers on.
I didn't care any more. My feet were cold and I had a solution. So far I’m not having much fun here, but then again, the rain always makes me feel blue.
Thursday, 28 July 2011
Saturday 2nd
I made my first trip into the big city today. I walked to the local train station and hopped on the first train that came, not wanting to be late for my appointment. As I sat there watching unfamiliar territory and the minutes pass by, I wished I had checked to see where the train was going. Oh well, que sera sera. I’ll arrive somewhere sooner or later. Says the new and relaxed post-Africa Nicola.
I’m visiting my university housemate today. She's been living in Vienna for her year abroad and this is her last weekend here before heading home.
When my train finally landed in Karlsplatz, Cat was standing there waiting for me. I can't explain how nice it is to see a familiar face in an unfamiliar place. It was the same thing when Suzanna arrived in Kigali; I don't think I’d ever been so happy to see anyone in my life. Anyway, Cat and I headed to lunch at an Italian restaurant, and spent the afternoon reminiscing and sharing stories from the past year. Hats off to her, she endured over three hundred of my photos before waving the white flag and calling it a day.
As we walked to find a Starbucks for me to work in while she had her debrief, I came across a fruit stall. I love fresh fruit, so I picked up a bag of about 10 cherries and a nectarine to enjoy as we walked. But when I took them to the vendor, he tried to charge me over 9 euros, 7 for the cherries and 2 for the nectarine. I’ve had my fill of greedy street vendors this year, so instead of giving him the money, I handed back the fruit and said snidely 'Wot, is it gold plated?' and walked away. Yes greedy. No, not just trying to make a living. He could have easily charged me 3 or 4 euros without causing me to bat an eyelid and gotton off with a lot of profit. But he just had to get that extra penny, or cent in this case, to fill his coffer, and it was enough to make me cross. Grrr.
Anyway, after ordering a hefty slice of chocolate truffle cake at Starbucks, the fruit incident was all but forgotten. By the time Cat got back, all the shops were shut and we couldn't find any supplies for dinner. Stuff closes at 6pm on a Saturday in preparation of the Sabbath. So we did what any reasonable, hungry student would do - we bought more pizza.
Back at Cat's place we were joined by some of her friends for an evening of politics, linguistics and ligretto. These Austrians sure know how to have fun. Note to self, never engage in a debate about the real English language with non-native speakers. Americans for example. It always gets ugly and you don't care enough to see it through. Yeah, I’m an arrogant, pompous Brit. Get over it Yank. I left the party just after 3am and went to sleep in Cat's spare room.
I’m visiting my university housemate today. She's been living in Vienna for her year abroad and this is her last weekend here before heading home.
When my train finally landed in Karlsplatz, Cat was standing there waiting for me. I can't explain how nice it is to see a familiar face in an unfamiliar place. It was the same thing when Suzanna arrived in Kigali; I don't think I’d ever been so happy to see anyone in my life. Anyway, Cat and I headed to lunch at an Italian restaurant, and spent the afternoon reminiscing and sharing stories from the past year. Hats off to her, she endured over three hundred of my photos before waving the white flag and calling it a day.
As we walked to find a Starbucks for me to work in while she had her debrief, I came across a fruit stall. I love fresh fruit, so I picked up a bag of about 10 cherries and a nectarine to enjoy as we walked. But when I took them to the vendor, he tried to charge me over 9 euros, 7 for the cherries and 2 for the nectarine. I’ve had my fill of greedy street vendors this year, so instead of giving him the money, I handed back the fruit and said snidely 'Wot, is it gold plated?' and walked away. Yes greedy. No, not just trying to make a living. He could have easily charged me 3 or 4 euros without causing me to bat an eyelid and gotton off with a lot of profit. But he just had to get that extra penny, or cent in this case, to fill his coffer, and it was enough to make me cross. Grrr.
Anyway, after ordering a hefty slice of chocolate truffle cake at Starbucks, the fruit incident was all but forgotten. By the time Cat got back, all the shops were shut and we couldn't find any supplies for dinner. Stuff closes at 6pm on a Saturday in preparation of the Sabbath. So we did what any reasonable, hungry student would do - we bought more pizza.
Back at Cat's place we were joined by some of her friends for an evening of politics, linguistics and ligretto. These Austrians sure know how to have fun. Note to self, never engage in a debate about the real English language with non-native speakers. Americans for example. It always gets ugly and you don't care enough to see it through. Yeah, I’m an arrogant, pompous Brit. Get over it Yank. I left the party just after 3am and went to sleep in Cat's spare room.
Saturday, 23 July 2011
Friday 1st July
Today was another day of rest. This evening one of my team mates and a short termer came round for a film. While I was battling to overcome the technical difficulties characteristic of an Englishman trying to operate a German DVD on an American computer, we got to talking. It helped me realise how sad I am that I’m not in Rwanda any more. I was really happy there. It felt more like home than England ever has. Don't get me wrong, I’m grateful to have been born in England. I thank God for all the opportunities I’ve had and for all the privileges I’ve enjoyed – freedom, safety, education. And my family lives there, and I’ve realised this year how important family is. But honestly I’ve never felt very comfortable in England. It was different in Rwanda. I felt at ease with myself and with others; I felt that people treated me like an equal, that I could be myself. I fell in love with the people and could imagine my life spent with them, serving them, poured out for them. So in a manner I’m grieving the loss of a place I loved. I’m sad because I don't think God is calling me there long term and I need to be reconciled with this reality.
At the same time, I’m determined to make the most of the opportunity God has given me here. It's a privilege to be in Austria working with refugees and I want to give it everything I’ve got. That's why it's so important that I can process all the experiences I’ve had and be honest about the emotions I’m feeling. Admitting to myself that I’m struggling is a big deal for me. It makes me feel weak; that I’m letting the side down. I’ve been telling myself to man up, to pretend everything's alright, to fight back the tears at all costs. But I’m learning how unhealthy that can be. After all, it is in our weakness that God shows himself strong. Yes, I feel weak and broken, but I get the feeling that that's all part of God's greater plan. And all I can do is put my trust in him.
At the same time, I’m determined to make the most of the opportunity God has given me here. It's a privilege to be in Austria working with refugees and I want to give it everything I’ve got. That's why it's so important that I can process all the experiences I’ve had and be honest about the emotions I’m feeling. Admitting to myself that I’m struggling is a big deal for me. It makes me feel weak; that I’m letting the side down. I’ve been telling myself to man up, to pretend everything's alright, to fight back the tears at all costs. But I’m learning how unhealthy that can be. After all, it is in our weakness that God shows himself strong. Yes, I feel weak and broken, but I get the feeling that that's all part of God's greater plan. And all I can do is put my trust in him.
Thursday 30th
After my debrief in Athens, they recommended that I take a few days off to rest. This has given me time to familiarise myself with my new home and my new duties. I have to mow the lawn, grow the grass seed, water the flowers and look after the terrapins.
What's less fun than having one terrapin? Having two terrapins. But for the next two months they'll be my only company, so I’d better befriend them or I venture things will get pretty lonely around here.
This is the first time I’ve really had a chance to think about all the things I’ve experienced this past year, and it's getting pretty ugly. My first few days in Rwanda I made a decision – not to let any of the things I saw bother me in case it broke me; I’d deal with it when I got home. Only I never made it that far. Getting the bad news about Denise and Isabelle, as well as seeing the abuse in Greece was enough to break through my defence system and bring all the hurt and questions back up to the surface, forcing me to deal with it earlier than I had originally planned.
When I was in Rwanda, the people I lived with had been through unimaginable hurt and most lived in unmentionable poverty. But that's not what defined them. They were so full of love and joy and hope and faith that you could barely see the scars of their past or the difficulty of their present; all you could see was the glory of their future. I came to understand in part verses that have previously eluded me.
Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied.
Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh (Luke 20).
They have nothing, and yet they have everything. They have Jesus. And when I was with them, all I could see was Jesus. So I didn't feel sad or pity people; I rejoiced with them and praised God with them because of the hope they have. Faced with all the troubles of life my friends didn't complain, they looked to the hope they have in Jesus.
But now I’m not with them any more. I’m not standing alongside them in their sufferring; I am living in a lush house in Europe with enough money to pay the rent and a loan to pay my school fees, I have food on the table, and my family is close by.
But where is Isabelle's family?
Where are Jean Claude's school fees?
Where is Yvette's lush house?
And where is the food for the Maitresse's table?
I can't see their smiling faces any more. I can't hear their sweet praises in my ears. I can't remember the prayers we prayed together in faith for God's provision. I just see the lack. I see a girl who's been horribly abused and abandoned. I see a boy robbed of his father and a chance to be educated. I see a young women living in a shack in the middle of a slum with a leaky tin roof, no water, no electricity, no sanitation. I see a mother who can't feed her children.
I want to be with them, I want to be in Yvette's leaky shack singing God's praises because here all I can hear is sadness. I want to be with my friends in their hardship because otherwise it feels like I’ve abandoned them. It feels like I’ve just left them there to suffer alone.
Has God not chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the Kingdom he promised those who love him?
James 2:5
What's less fun than having one terrapin? Having two terrapins. But for the next two months they'll be my only company, so I’d better befriend them or I venture things will get pretty lonely around here.
This is the first time I’ve really had a chance to think about all the things I’ve experienced this past year, and it's getting pretty ugly. My first few days in Rwanda I made a decision – not to let any of the things I saw bother me in case it broke me; I’d deal with it when I got home. Only I never made it that far. Getting the bad news about Denise and Isabelle, as well as seeing the abuse in Greece was enough to break through my defence system and bring all the hurt and questions back up to the surface, forcing me to deal with it earlier than I had originally planned.
When I was in Rwanda, the people I lived with had been through unimaginable hurt and most lived in unmentionable poverty. But that's not what defined them. They were so full of love and joy and hope and faith that you could barely see the scars of their past or the difficulty of their present; all you could see was the glory of their future. I came to understand in part verses that have previously eluded me.
Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied.
Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh (Luke 20).
They have nothing, and yet they have everything. They have Jesus. And when I was with them, all I could see was Jesus. So I didn't feel sad or pity people; I rejoiced with them and praised God with them because of the hope they have. Faced with all the troubles of life my friends didn't complain, they looked to the hope they have in Jesus.
But now I’m not with them any more. I’m not standing alongside them in their sufferring; I am living in a lush house in Europe with enough money to pay the rent and a loan to pay my school fees, I have food on the table, and my family is close by.
But where is Isabelle's family?
Where are Jean Claude's school fees?
Where is Yvette's lush house?
And where is the food for the Maitresse's table?
I can't see their smiling faces any more. I can't hear their sweet praises in my ears. I can't remember the prayers we prayed together in faith for God's provision. I just see the lack. I see a girl who's been horribly abused and abandoned. I see a boy robbed of his father and a chance to be educated. I see a young women living in a shack in the middle of a slum with a leaky tin roof, no water, no electricity, no sanitation. I see a mother who can't feed her children.
I want to be with them, I want to be in Yvette's leaky shack singing God's praises because here all I can hear is sadness. I want to be with my friends in their hardship because otherwise it feels like I’ve abandoned them. It feels like I’ve just left them there to suffer alone.
Has God not chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the Kingdom he promised those who love him?
James 2:5
Wednesday 29th June
Today was my first day in Traiskirchen Austria. It's smaller than I expected. A lot smaller. And it's rural, more rural than Kabeza. Where the heck am I?
The house I’m staying in is massive, but it's not in Traiskirchen, it's just outside in a little hamlet. My way to work is cycling through vineyards and sunflower fields, past the foothills and churches that this part of Austria is famous for. But I can't see any beauty in it. My heart is sad and my eyes are spoilt. Rwanda was so beautiful. Every hill cultivated right to its peak, every banana tree swaying in the calm, balmy breeze, every white light flickering on the hilltops like stars fallen from the sky. I’ve never seen anything like it. Nor do I imagine I’ll see anything like it again. And now everything else pales in comparison. The flower fields and foothills of Austria do not look beautiful to me. The rocky Greek coastline with its ancient white temples and azure blue seas did not strike a chord in my heart. My eyes are sad, for the land of a thousand hills is not set before them any more and they have no beauty to feast on.
But we get on with our lives.
I went to meet the team today at the Oasis. There are about 6 people that I’ll be working with on a regular basis. It's a much smaller team than -wot- I became accustomed to in Athens (I tried something slightly more grammatically elegant but became confused by all the thats, whiches, withs and bys, so went with the sure Maidstonian wot, a happy conjunction for use in all circumstances. If in doubt, use 'wot'). Then I made the 7 minute journey home on my new set of wheels. I’ve traded a taxi moto for a dutch style ladies bicyle, a decision my buttocks have rued ever since. But it's better for the environment and will help to burn off some of those dreaded calories, plus I don't really have much choice in the matter.
The house I’m staying in is massive, but it's not in Traiskirchen, it's just outside in a little hamlet. My way to work is cycling through vineyards and sunflower fields, past the foothills and churches that this part of Austria is famous for. But I can't see any beauty in it. My heart is sad and my eyes are spoilt. Rwanda was so beautiful. Every hill cultivated right to its peak, every banana tree swaying in the calm, balmy breeze, every white light flickering on the hilltops like stars fallen from the sky. I’ve never seen anything like it. Nor do I imagine I’ll see anything like it again. And now everything else pales in comparison. The flower fields and foothills of Austria do not look beautiful to me. The rocky Greek coastline with its ancient white temples and azure blue seas did not strike a chord in my heart. My eyes are sad, for the land of a thousand hills is not set before them any more and they have no beauty to feast on.
But we get on with our lives.
I went to meet the team today at the Oasis. There are about 6 people that I’ll be working with on a regular basis. It's a much smaller team than -wot- I became accustomed to in Athens (I tried something slightly more grammatically elegant but became confused by all the thats, whiches, withs and bys, so went with the sure Maidstonian wot, a happy conjunction for use in all circumstances. If in doubt, use 'wot'). Then I made the 7 minute journey home on my new set of wheels. I’ve traded a taxi moto for a dutch style ladies bicyle, a decision my buttocks have rued ever since. But it's better for the environment and will help to burn off some of those dreaded calories, plus I don't really have much choice in the matter.
Thursday, 21 July 2011
Suzanna's commentary on the latest leg of my journey
[00:42:49] Suzanna Darling : It's 1,700km from Athens to vienna. 20 hour drive
[00:43:13] Suzanna Darling : Don't think you could walk it in 14 hours...
[00:45:36] Suzanna Darling : I've just some calculations, and I think it would take about 2months to walk that far
[00:48:14] Suzanna Darling : That's walking at a steady pace, but only for 12 hours a day.
[00:48:44] Suzanna Darling : German wings was still a bit quicker.
[00:49:24] Suzanna Darling : Hope that makes you feel a bit better about Stuttgart anyway xxx
[00:43:13] Suzanna Darling : Don't think you could walk it in 14 hours...
[00:45:36] Suzanna Darling : I've just some calculations, and I think it would take about 2months to walk that far
[00:48:14] Suzanna Darling : That's walking at a steady pace, but only for 12 hours a day.
[00:48:44] Suzanna Darling : German wings was still a bit quicker.
[00:49:24] Suzanna Darling : Hope that makes you feel a bit better about Stuttgart anyway xxx
Tuesday, 19 July 2011
Tuesday 28th
So I called the airline last night to try and get some info and they said that my flight will leave but fives hours late. And they assured me that I would not miss my connecting flight in Stuttgart. We'll see.
So I got to the airport at 8.30 – they insisted that I get there early because of all the strikes. And I see the departure boards, CANCELLED, CANCELLED, CANCELLED, DELAYED, CANCELLED. My flight was the delayed one. When I got to the check in counter, they looked at me like an idiot when I told them what time my connecting flight was. 'Go to Swissport and change your ticket.' When I got to Swissport I saw that there were three desks, one with a massive queue, two with none. So which one did I choose? The one with the long queue of course. Not knowing which queue I should be in and not willing to ask for help, as this would would be demonstrative of weakness and inadequacy, I stood stoically behind 10 or 15 other disgruntled passengers, mistakenly thinking that because they looked as agitated as I felt, our problem and therefore solution must be cut from the same cloth which led me to believe that this queue was in fact the right place for me to be. How wrong I was. Forty minutes later without moving an inch – not a single person had got through the queue, I realised that now would be the opportune moment to re-evaluate my situation. I asked the girl behind me and she told me that I was in the Easyjet queue. Uh oh. I was flying with GermanWings.
I hate flying. All types of travel really. Especially when I’m alone. In Rwanda I could only take the bus if Karyn or Dora was with me. I just didn't have the patience for it otherwise. All that standing around waiting. Sitting in a crammed vehicle squashed in between two people with streaming colds, coughing and spluttering their germs all over me (oh my word, would it kill you to cover your mouth?), a screaming baby behind me pulling my hair and projectile vomiting on me (which everyone thinks is adorable except me), and NO WAY OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That last one being even more significant when on a plane than on a bus. I get claustrophobic when I’m squished in a crowd and there's no escape. It gets so bad that I have to resort to the 'just breathe, just breathe, take deep breaths' tactic. Yes, I’m waiting for 'beam me up' technology to arrive on the market before I commit to my next big trip. (I’ve been wondering about the negative effects of eating too much watermelon these past few days but as I write this I fear that I’m starting to feel them).
Anyway, I got booked on another flight, bought a phone card to call ahead and warn of my late departure and made my way towards the gate, where I sat down and ate pizza while watching The West Wing. I guess travelling is not so bad. It was cold. I’m used to waiting long hours in Nairobi airport where it's so hot that you drip with sweat, where you roll up your trousers as far as they'll go and strip down to the least amount of clothes that is decently possible, and as you're leaving the country shortly a little bit of indecency is fine. And it's not cold outside in Athens so as to give the hint to take a jumper with you to the airport, so I sat there in the freezing cold longing for the warmer climes of Africa.
When I arrived in Stuttgart, I was tired, hungry and thirsty which made for a very grumpy and short tempered girl. Add to that vending machines charging 3 euros for water and restaurants charging 6, I was a bit crazed. Then I bought a bottle labelled 'Still' and took a swig, only to have to spit it out again because it was fizzy. What sort of a country charges me 3 euros for an undrinkable beverage when I’m faint with thirst and half collapsed under the weight of my rucksack? And I couldn't afford to buy dinner in any of the restaurants/ I didn't want any of that weird German wurst, so I resorted to a dinner of Pringles and Ritter Sport. I didn't much enjoy my time in Germany.
I arrived in Vienna at 8.30pm, 14 hours after I left my apartment in Athens. It took me 14 hours to travel about 70 miles. I could have walked further in less time. That's flipping ridiculous. Oh, how I hate to travel!
So I got to the airport at 8.30 – they insisted that I get there early because of all the strikes. And I see the departure boards, CANCELLED, CANCELLED, CANCELLED, DELAYED, CANCELLED. My flight was the delayed one. When I got to the check in counter, they looked at me like an idiot when I told them what time my connecting flight was. 'Go to Swissport and change your ticket.' When I got to Swissport I saw that there were three desks, one with a massive queue, two with none. So which one did I choose? The one with the long queue of course. Not knowing which queue I should be in and not willing to ask for help, as this would would be demonstrative of weakness and inadequacy, I stood stoically behind 10 or 15 other disgruntled passengers, mistakenly thinking that because they looked as agitated as I felt, our problem and therefore solution must be cut from the same cloth which led me to believe that this queue was in fact the right place for me to be. How wrong I was. Forty minutes later without moving an inch – not a single person had got through the queue, I realised that now would be the opportune moment to re-evaluate my situation. I asked the girl behind me and she told me that I was in the Easyjet queue. Uh oh. I was flying with GermanWings.
I hate flying. All types of travel really. Especially when I’m alone. In Rwanda I could only take the bus if Karyn or Dora was with me. I just didn't have the patience for it otherwise. All that standing around waiting. Sitting in a crammed vehicle squashed in between two people with streaming colds, coughing and spluttering their germs all over me (oh my word, would it kill you to cover your mouth?), a screaming baby behind me pulling my hair and projectile vomiting on me (which everyone thinks is adorable except me), and NO WAY OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That last one being even more significant when on a plane than on a bus. I get claustrophobic when I’m squished in a crowd and there's no escape. It gets so bad that I have to resort to the 'just breathe, just breathe, take deep breaths' tactic. Yes, I’m waiting for 'beam me up' technology to arrive on the market before I commit to my next big trip. (I’ve been wondering about the negative effects of eating too much watermelon these past few days but as I write this I fear that I’m starting to feel them).
Anyway, I got booked on another flight, bought a phone card to call ahead and warn of my late departure and made my way towards the gate, where I sat down and ate pizza while watching The West Wing. I guess travelling is not so bad. It was cold. I’m used to waiting long hours in Nairobi airport where it's so hot that you drip with sweat, where you roll up your trousers as far as they'll go and strip down to the least amount of clothes that is decently possible, and as you're leaving the country shortly a little bit of indecency is fine. And it's not cold outside in Athens so as to give the hint to take a jumper with you to the airport, so I sat there in the freezing cold longing for the warmer climes of Africa.
When I arrived in Stuttgart, I was tired, hungry and thirsty which made for a very grumpy and short tempered girl. Add to that vending machines charging 3 euros for water and restaurants charging 6, I was a bit crazed. Then I bought a bottle labelled 'Still' and took a swig, only to have to spit it out again because it was fizzy. What sort of a country charges me 3 euros for an undrinkable beverage when I’m faint with thirst and half collapsed under the weight of my rucksack? And I couldn't afford to buy dinner in any of the restaurants/ I didn't want any of that weird German wurst, so I resorted to a dinner of Pringles and Ritter Sport. I didn't much enjoy my time in Germany.
I arrived in Vienna at 8.30pm, 14 hours after I left my apartment in Athens. It took me 14 hours to travel about 70 miles. I could have walked further in less time. That's flipping ridiculous. Oh, how I hate to travel!
Saturday, 16 July 2011
Monday 27th
Today might be my last day in Greece and we've decided to spend it in Sounio, the site of Poseidon's Temple. We stopped en route to do some snorkelling, but after my less than successful experiences in Zanzibar I decided to sit it out.
Instead I sat on the rocks and let the beauty around me inspire a time of worship.
We also stopped to check out an old church.
We also stopped to check out an old church.
While we were there, I felt the call of nature but sadly there were no loos in sight. Plenty of bushes though. But, alas! I could not pee. Last time I tried to pee in the great outdoors I got caught up in a thorn tree in the Kenyan bush. Probably won't try that again anytime soon.
Then we headed up to the temple.
Then we headed up to the temple.
It was very pretty but not very awe inspiring. But why make a great temple for a false God?
And we tried to do a cool jump photo on the edge of the cliff, but one of my flip flops flew off almost into oblivion. Why does stuff like this always happen to me?
(I'm the fat one in the middle that didn't get very far off the ground).
It was a great day though and I got some nice photos.
It was a great day though and I got some nice photos.
Sunday 26th
Oh my word I hate packing. I’ve filled my rucksack with books, rocks and Greek Delight, also toiletries a laptop accessories. It weighs about 15kgs. It's gonna be a pain in the arse to carry round at the airport but it means I have more give with my checked luggage.
Both bags are full and very heavy.
Of course, this might not be a problem. I’m sure you've all heard about the riots and protests across the city. Well there's a two day strike starting Tuesday on all public transport, planes included. My airline insists there won't be a problem, but I’ve been travelling for nine months now and experience tells me that if something can go wrong it well. Let's just say that I’ve got enough food in my handbag to last me two or three days.
I guess I’ll find out soon enough what my fate will be.
Both bags are full and very heavy.
Of course, this might not be a problem. I’m sure you've all heard about the riots and protests across the city. Well there's a two day strike starting Tuesday on all public transport, planes included. My airline insists there won't be a problem, but I’ve been travelling for nine months now and experience tells me that if something can go wrong it well. Let's just say that I’ve got enough food in my handbag to last me two or three days.
I guess I’ll find out soon enough what my fate will be.
Saturday 25th
I was debriefed today during my last Tea House. I spent most of my time talking about Rwanda. My experiences there have affected me more than I realised, and I need to process them before I have a teeny tiny breakdown. My debriefer has recommended that I take some time off when I get to Austria. Lets hope it helps.
After work we went to Wendy's for dinner. It was a really nice way to say goodbye.
After work we went to Wendy's for dinner. It was a really nice way to say goodbye.
Friday 24th
We took some of the refugees to the beach today. It was hilarious. One of the women has twin girls, probably three years old, terrified of the water. But we had to be in the water because there were other kids to supervise. So we carried them in, but had to keep them above the waterline or else they screamed. They were like little monkeys with strong spindly arms. When they got heavy in our arms, you just had to let go and they'd hang on to you for dear life. And they did get heavy. Funny.
Oh, it's a tough life this missionary business. Days at the beach, afternoons in coffee shops, pizza parties. How do we cope?
And I got really burnt. I didn't sleep for days afterwards because my back hurt so much. Super ouchy.
Oh, it's a tough life this missionary business. Days at the beach, afternoons in coffee shops, pizza parties. How do we cope?
And I got really burnt. I didn't sleep for days afterwards because my back hurt so much. Super ouchy.
Thursday 23rd
We had a team fellowship time tonight and I had opportunity to say thank you to everyone and encourage them in their good works here. I’ve loved working with the team here; they're great. It's a big team, about twenty folks and they're all wonderful. I’m amazed at how well they work together, especially considering the stressful nature of missionary work. They've made me feel so welcome which has enabled me to fit in and become a useful part of the team. It's been a privilege to get to know them and I’m very happy to call them my friends.
And I’ve loved working here. It's so nice doing something useful with my time. And Athens is a lovely city, especially if you live in the suburbs. All in all a very positive experience.
And I’ve loved working here. It's so nice doing something useful with my time. And Athens is a lovely city, especially if you live in the suburbs. All in all a very positive experience.
Wednesday 22nd
I’ve had some bad news lately. Isabelle's little brother was caught sexually assaulting a three year old girl. He himself is only about 14 years old. I feel really bad for Isabelle. Her life was finally back on track; she and her brothers had all been fostered and were all going to school. They were free to be kids again. And then this happens. I’m not surprised he did it, growing up seeing the things he saw, so its hard to feel angry. But I do feel sad for them. And I feel like I’ve let Isabelle down because I’m not there to comfort her. I know it's silly but I love her and I wish I was there to give her a hug and reassure her that everything is going to be alright.
I also found out today that one of the women we ministered to at Ubuzima died at the weekend. A few months ago I was sitting with her and Alice at her house drinking Fanta. And now she's gone, leaving 5 HIV positive kids behind with no father.
I also found out today that one of the women we ministered to at Ubuzima died at the weekend. A few months ago I was sitting with her and Alice at her house drinking Fanta. And now she's gone, leaving 5 HIV positive kids behind with no father.
(Denise and I at her home before she died)
I’ve never had much experience with the hardships of life before, but I guess that will only increase with the amount of people with crappy lives I meet. It's just kind of hard to deal with when you're so far away from the people who are suffering. When I was in Rwanda I didn't notice it so much, the poor conditions in which people live. I think this is for three reasons. One, I made a decision not to deal with the poverty while I was there in case it became overwhelming. Two, the people I worked with were so full of joy that it made the hardship easy to dismiss. And three, you're there living with them in the hardship, showing solidarity and love.
Now that I’m not there any more, the rubbish is all the more obvious and I’m finding it hard to deal with.
Monday 20th
The strangest thing, my feet are peeling. This has never happened to me before. The entire soles of my feet are peeling of in great sheaves. And do you know what the really strange part is? So are Tasha's and Christy's. I reckon there must have been something in the water when we were at camp. We were in the sea everyday so it might have been that. I know it's weird but I took a photo of it.
Sunday 19th
Today we visited the city of ancient Corinth. It was really cool. Unless of course you're talking about the weather, in which case it was very un-cool. Today was a scorcher, about 38 degrees. This fact is reflected in the colour of my back and shoulders, and nose. Ouch. You'd think I'd learn but noooo, 'I don't need suncream, I’m part African, your weak, measly European sun can't hurt me.' Well apparently I was wrong.
My first discovery of the day was that I’m a bit of a geek.
My first discovery of the day was that I’m a bit of a geek.
I got all excited when I found out that the hilltop castle behind me was King Philip of Macedon's strategic base when uniting the two parts of Greece. Or something like that. And that the mountains all around us are the Peloponnese, made famous by the Peloponesian War of 431 – 404 BC, which itself was made so significant by Thucydides commentary of it; that 'the strong do what they will and the weak suffer what they must'. And that's exciting because it is foundational to Machiavellian thought, and everybody loves Machiavelli. He could probably have his own hit sitcom.
OK, now that that's out my system... our first stop of the day was the Acrocorinth, site to Aphrodite's temple. Where I got something else out my system. I threw up in it. You see, it was really hot, and we legged it up this extremely large hill at midday a lot quicker than I would have liked to. What, the founders of modern civilisation couldn't invent an escalator? So I got to the top vomited everywhere. Now I’m not proud of this, but it's something to tell the grandkids.
OK, now that that's out my system... our first stop of the day was the Acrocorinth, site to Aphrodite's temple. Where I got something else out my system. I threw up in it. You see, it was really hot, and we legged it up this extremely large hill at midday a lot quicker than I would have liked to. What, the founders of modern civilisation couldn't invent an escalator? So I got to the top vomited everywhere. Now I’m not proud of this, but it's something to tell the grandkids.
Then we went into the ancient city. As we were going to buy our tickets, I had a thought. I found out the other day that I can travel for half price in Athens because I’m a student. Perhaps I could get a discount at historical sights too? Now some of you might be shocked at what transpired next. I can't say I’m proud, but it did the job. “I'm a European student”, I whispered to the attendant. And she let me in for free. Now in 99.9% of circumstances I would staunchly argue that as an Englishman, I’m not European. England is my country and Great Britain is my continent. Europe is what happens the other side of the channel. God knew this, which is why he effectively installed a large moat around our great and glorious homeland. But the other 0.01% of the time I’m willing to make an exception, especially if it means I’ll save 6 Euros, or if there's a castle involved.
It was cool to catch a glimpse of what Paul would have seen, to walk where he would have walked. We sat in the shade and read Acts 18 together.
We also had time to visit the museum.
This was my favourite part of the day. Not because the museum was anything special but because of one of their rules. It really made me chuckle quite a lot. Most of the old stuff on display were replicas, but they'd been cordoned off so that we couldn't touch or damage them. There were all these headless statues laying around from a few years back, put there so that tourists could stand behind them and get their picture taken. But now that had been banned too. I can understand someone getting arsey about breaking something that is thousands of years old, and I see why they use replicas but the charade has got to end somewhere. I mean come on. It's like putting up signs that say, DON'T TOUCH MY FAKE ARTEFACTS!
Why, in case I break it and you have to make a new one? Seriously.
Why, in case I break it and you have to make a new one? Seriously.
We also saw the port from which Paul sailed when he left Corinth and spent some time at the beach.
It was a lovely day and it contributed nicely to my suntan. Check it out, I’m the arm on the right.
Saturday 18th
I slept till 11.30, watched a film, had a nap, watched another film and went to bed.
Chocolate may have made an appearance. And possibly ice cream.
The perfect day!
Chocolate may have made an appearance. And possibly ice cream.
The perfect day!
Thursday 16th
Serving food for 130 hungry refugees and staff is very stressful. My job appeared to be simple; give everyone a piece of bread, a napkin, a fork and a spoon. Within minutes my stress levels had hit the roof. I was panicked and confused, anxious, sweating profusely, caught like a rabbit in headlights. But I still managed to pose for a photo. Now that's what I call skill.
I've really enjoyed the food at camp, when I’m not serving it. I’m only in Greece for a month, so I decided not to bother with cooking. I’ve got enough sandwiches, cereal and cereal type products to last me, and every now and then I eat out. By the way, in case you're wondering, Ryvitta is gross. They want you to think that it's not and try to disguise it with salty or cheesy flavourings but let me tell you that I am not easily fooled when it comes to food and I know cardboard when I see it. Or in this case, eat it.
We have three Iranian chefs at camp and their food is amazing! It's been a very welcome break for me.
I've really enjoyed the food at camp, when I’m not serving it. I’m only in Greece for a month, so I decided not to bother with cooking. I’ve got enough sandwiches, cereal and cereal type products to last me, and every now and then I eat out. By the way, in case you're wondering, Ryvitta is gross. They want you to think that it's not and try to disguise it with salty or cheesy flavourings but let me tell you that I am not easily fooled when it comes to food and I know cardboard when I see it. Or in this case, eat it.
We have three Iranian chefs at camp and their food is amazing! It's been a very welcome break for me.
Monday, 20 June 2011
Tuesday 14th
If two hours sleep is enough, then three certainly is.
Although I was feeling a little bit tired when I was still awake in my tent at three o' clock this morning...
Now some of you might question the sanity of putting such a hideous photo on the internet but I want you all to see and understand the 'joy of camping' at it's finest hour. Oh my word, just stay in a hotel!
We take the women and children swimming everyday in the sea, which is a lot less relaxing than it sounds.
You see, none of them know how to swim, so you have to be constantly on your guard to make sure that no one is drowning or being drowned. 'Being drowned?' you ask.
Yes. The women, who were all wearing life jackets by the way, had a tendency of panicking in the water and using the small children as buoyancy aids. (You know a women has lost all maternal instinct when she pushes her own children underwater so that she can stay afloat). We tried explaining to the women that the water was only three feet deep and that they could simply stand up should they start feeling uncomfortable, but they just didn't get it.
Although I was feeling a little bit tired when I was still awake in my tent at three o' clock this morning...
Now some of you might question the sanity of putting such a hideous photo on the internet but I want you all to see and understand the 'joy of camping' at it's finest hour. Oh my word, just stay in a hotel!
We take the women and children swimming everyday in the sea, which is a lot less relaxing than it sounds.
You see, none of them know how to swim, so you have to be constantly on your guard to make sure that no one is drowning or being drowned. 'Being drowned?' you ask.
Yes. The women, who were all wearing life jackets by the way, had a tendency of panicking in the water and using the small children as buoyancy aids. (You know a women has lost all maternal instinct when she pushes her own children underwater so that she can stay afloat). We tried explaining to the women that the water was only three feet deep and that they could simply stand up should they start feeling uncomfortable, but they just didn't get it.
Monday 13th
2 hours sleep is totally enough to get through the day on.
I’m not sure how much I can tell you about the camp, except that it gives the refugees a chance to get out of the city for a week. Many of them are homeless so it must be a really nice break to know that for the next five nights you and your family has somewhere to sleep and that you'll each get three meals a day.
I'm with the kids all week, which is great because I love kids. Everyone gets me and Corinne confused. They think that she's great with kids and loves looking after them and that I’m some Scrooge that thinks all kids are dirty, smelly and gross, should be kept at least ten metres away from me at all costs and that in fact, one of my first statutes should I indeed become Queen of the World would be to banish all children from my sight.
So I’m really looking forward to watching these kids from 8am to 11pm this whole week. Yay!
Got back to the tent this afternoon to find out that someone had used the tree by the tent as a toilet. There was diarrhoea everywhere. Oh, how I love camping!
I’m not sure how much I can tell you about the camp, except that it gives the refugees a chance to get out of the city for a week. Many of them are homeless so it must be a really nice break to know that for the next five nights you and your family has somewhere to sleep and that you'll each get three meals a day.
I'm with the kids all week, which is great because I love kids. Everyone gets me and Corinne confused. They think that she's great with kids and loves looking after them and that I’m some Scrooge that thinks all kids are dirty, smelly and gross, should be kept at least ten metres away from me at all costs and that in fact, one of my first statutes should I indeed become Queen of the World would be to banish all children from my sight.
So I’m really looking forward to watching these kids from 8am to 11pm this whole week. Yay!
But even I have to admit that some of these kids are pretty cute.
Got back to the tent this afternoon to find out that someone had used the tree by the tent as a toilet. There was diarrhoea everywhere. Oh, how I love camping!
Sunday 12th
This week we're heading off to a remote location called Porto Astro for a five day camp with a few of the refugee families. Just as we were loading up the cars, the heavens opened and it started to pour with rain. “Let me just run back upstairs and get my rain coat.” Upstairs rummaging through my wardrobe I realise a very sad fact. I don't have my rain coat with me. Why, you ask? Because I’m in Greece! It's not supposed to rain in Greece!
On the way the water was inches deep on the road. As you can see, it was like driving through gushing rivers.
After a couple of hours driving we came to the coast and got a boat to the camp. Although it's not on an island, the camp is so secluded that it can't be reached by road, hence the boat ride.
Needless to say, I didn't sleep well that night.
On the way the water was inches deep on the road. As you can see, it was like driving through gushing rivers.
After a couple of hours driving we came to the coast and got a boat to the camp. Although it's not on an island, the camp is so secluded that it can't be reached by road, hence the boat ride.
Of course, if we were in Africa, the lack of road wouldn't stop anyone. They'd just drive their beat up old Toyota Corollas straight over all the bushes and bumps, through the mountains, perhaps even through the sea, music blaring, big smile on their faces. And my smile would be the biggest of all, because it's really fun. For the first few hours anyway. If anyone says to you, “Let's get the bus from Mombasa to Kigali, it's only 38 hours”, shout as loudly and as clearly as you can, “NO!” and run away from that crazy person in the opposite direction avoiding eye contact at all costs. That's what Mike and Karyn should have said when I suggested it.
Anyway, I’ve been feeling a bit nervous for the last few days about this whole camping thing. In my 22 years I’ve never been camping. I missed out on it in my childhood due to the creature comfort loving nature of one of my parents. Yes, you guessed it. My dad just can't live without his hair-dryer.
And I escaped it as a young adult by being cleverly unavailable whenever friends were going and had invited me. “Sorry, I’m washing my hair. And I’d like to have the option of doing so for the rest of the week.”
So anyway, I show up at camp expecting to be sharing a tent with at least 15 other individuals (I’ve heard rumours about Jubilee camping trips), but it turned out that I had been given a tent to myself. Hallelujah! Absolute luxury.
I climbed in the opening and looked about my new home. The air-conditioning appeared to be broken, and the wardrobe looked remarkably similar to my suitcase, but I decided to remain positive.
That night I went to bed feeling a little insecure. What if it rained and my tent were washed into the sea with me still in it? What if the giant insect I could hear got into my tent and laid its eggs in me? What if I couldn't get I hot shower in the morning?!
Anyway, I’ve been feeling a bit nervous for the last few days about this whole camping thing. In my 22 years I’ve never been camping. I missed out on it in my childhood due to the creature comfort loving nature of one of my parents. Yes, you guessed it. My dad just can't live without his hair-dryer.
And I escaped it as a young adult by being cleverly unavailable whenever friends were going and had invited me. “Sorry, I’m washing my hair. And I’d like to have the option of doing so for the rest of the week.”
So anyway, I show up at camp expecting to be sharing a tent with at least 15 other individuals (I’ve heard rumours about Jubilee camping trips), but it turned out that I had been given a tent to myself. Hallelujah! Absolute luxury.
I climbed in the opening and looked about my new home. The air-conditioning appeared to be broken, and the wardrobe looked remarkably similar to my suitcase, but I decided to remain positive.
That night I went to bed feeling a little insecure. What if it rained and my tent were washed into the sea with me still in it? What if the giant insect I could hear got into my tent and laid its eggs in me? What if I couldn't get I hot shower in the morning?!
Needless to say, I didn't sleep well that night.
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