Quel Choix!

What a choice! If only all of our decisions were as great as deciding to go to Martigny, Switzerland or Chamonix, France.

Deux Mots

Two Words: Mont Blanc.

Une Suite

A Sequel. It is a beautiful morning and everyone else is inside studying their Kierkegaard and Brunner but I've different plans. The great iron latch creaks but reveals no secrets as I slip through the crack and outside, outside of the shelter and into the elements.

Out here it is harsh but far from uninviting. The winter air gives a deep, frigid embrace. Thick flakes tumble down from a heavy sky and gather on the slopes of the chalet roofs. They look like sleep on the heavy lidded eyes of the chalet windows. Inside, weathered armchairs like the elbows of professor's wool sweaters cradle books and the thoughts inspired therein.

But Oh! Outside is glorious! I am breaking the "rules" by coming out here during study time but I don't care. Sometimes the beauty of nature can tell you just as much about God as a theologian. I doubt Schaeffer would care. A fellow student, an Aussie, is shoveling snow* and is startled by my appearance. "Is there a road that way?" I inquire, heedless of his astonishment that I am out during study hours. "Uh, yes." He responds, pausing, leaning on his shovel. I step around him and to the road that quickly diminishes to a footpath. It dips around a corner to the right and rises into the protection of a forest draped in snow.

Soft footfalls. Solitary steps.

As the snowy trail eased into the trees I can envision the late Francis and Edith Schaeffer walking up ahead on such a day as this. Francis would be wearing wool knickers and a loden sweater. Edith would have her dark hair gathered up and a knapsack with slices of her famous brown bread inside. As flakes drift down through the tree limbs above in winter's silence I can almost hear echoes of their conversation from so long ago. I wonder what they talked about when they went out for walks. L'Abri finances and students? Their enfant terrible** of a son Franky? The order of God's will? They had but ordinary voices. Yet their words were extraordinary.

The path angles steeply up through the woods, over a snow camouflaged creek and ends at the gate of a cemetery. That trail is really like a book, you know. The opening line drew me away from our sleepy existence to the exterior, a harsh place but closer to reality. With each step the enjoyment of cold, alpine air was like learning something new. Each thought was so pure that it frosted my insides. The climax came as the path ascended and the conclusion laid solemnly with the tombstones. After a few minutes of contemplation at the graves' gates I shiver and continue walking up the mountain. This story is not over.













*At L'Abri students maintain the facility for half of the day and spend the other half in study. This not only helps keep the place running but also contributes to the practice of living in community. This Aussie was on his work shift - he had a legitimate reason for not studying!
** An enfant terrible is a "child whose inopportune remarks cause embarrassment or a person known for shocking remarks or outrageous behavior" (Merriam-Webster).

Une Balade Matinale à Huémoz

A morning walk in Huémoz, Switzerland.

Les Rêves

Dreams. It all began in that room. The one on the 3rd floor of Arend* with the tree outside the window that burst into magenta blossoms every spring. That day though, the one when it all began, the tree was but a twisted arm under a heavy load of snow.

The day was a dull one entrenched in the middle of winter and the thought of working on a research paper seemed too much to bear. So, I did what all college students do best: procrastinate. In doing so, my web browser stumbled across a most wondrous thing, catapulting me far from dorm rooms and grade point average scales to a world much more appealing. O, cry of rapture! A grin later, the discovery was put on my life goals list.

L'Abri, or The Shelter, as it is known in English, is a center of spiritual exploration begun by Francis and Edith Schaeffer that is housed in several chalets nestled in the Swiss Alps. Francis was a Christian theologian and philosopher and his wife was pretty amazing herself and one of my personal role models. They began L'Abri in order to address the questions of people they met who were searching for answers in the confusing modern world. They set out to give "honest answers to honest questions". The foundation of L'Abri is Christian and welcomes people from all faiths and traditions who seek ultimate truth. L'Abri is about living in community, individual study, group discussion, teaching, and stepping away for a while from societal distractions such as TV, iPods, cell phones, etc.. in order to hear what can be discerned from the quiet after the static is removed. Ultimately, L'Abri was founded in order for people to find out about God and then to know him at continually deeper levels.

Oh! To go! "Perhaps some day." I mused and went back to my paper.

Five years later... Here I am, standing in the dark after having just stumbled off of the bus on the edge of this teetering mountain road. Thick December snowflakes are the only source of light. But I know it is near. Just across the street and up that little driveway. L'Abri. Thank you, Lord!

*Arend was a dorm at my college.

"As Efficient as a ______ Train."

1.) This place is also known as the Confederation Helvetique.
2.) Official languages: Romansch, Italian, French, German
3.) John Calvin, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and Francis Schaeffer produced significant work while residing in this country.
4.) The Red Cross was created by a man from here.
5.) This country is famed for its international neutrality.

C'est Genial!

It's awesome! This packet of kleenex demonstrates just one more reason why Europe is awesome. There are eight translations on this little package and English is at the near bottom (and it's UK English at that!)

Cantillon, C'est Bon

Cantillon, It's Good. If you know anything about Belgians you know that Belgians love Beer. No, not just any beer, but beer with a capital B. That capital B means that they take it very seriously and it is so deep in the Belgian psyche that they probably teach their children that the alphabet begins with "A" for appétit (appetite) and "B" for bière (beer). I cannot tell you how many times I saw people swigging beers in the metro or in the streets like they were cans of soda. "Oh, that isn't real beer" locals would dismissively remark when I commented on this. This "pretend beer" or "training beer", what have you, has a 5.2% alcohol content. That's above the American standard. Imagine what their "real" beer is like then!

Now, before you visualize Belgian drinkers as drunken frat boys or paunchy middle aged men at a backyard barbecue, think again. The Belgian drinker is discerning and proud of their vast selection. Each is carefully crafted and each one looked after. Every variety has a specific glass in which it is served and if for some reason you have forgotten which curving silhouette belongs to which brew, the logo is emblazoned on the side. Many beer-ologists, professional and self-appointed, consider Belgian beer to be the best in the world. How many variations are there of this stuff? Great question. Belgium claims the title for having the most extensive variety of beers in the world. That is pretty impressive, but even more impressive when you consider that the place is a twelfth the size of the state of Montana and has been demolished over the years by various countries including Germany, France, and the Netherlands. Perhaps that's why they drink so much...

My aunt Tamara has come to visit me for a bit so we thought it would be fun to go to a Belgian brewery. The Cantillon Brewery is a family run brewery and makes a very unique variety. They craft lambic beers, which means that they don't use any added yeast. How's that, you say? The beer is fermented by placing bags of the grain up in a dank attic for a spell and letting microbes that are specific to the Bruxelles/Brussels area inundate it. It is called Brettanomyces Bruxellensis. The air of the entire building is full of an aroma that reminds one of baited breath. It is rich and full, cool, slightly sweet from the process of fermentation, and with each full inhale you know that microbes are moving, acting, and creating a new thing. As you can imagine, learning about all of that beer worked up a thirst in us and soon we found ourselves waiting at the tasting bar with our very own baited breath. Much satisfied, we congratulated ourselves on learning that "A" is for appétit, "B" is for bière, and decided to quit the premises for the next letter of the alphabet. "C" must be for chocolat. The Belgians have the best alphabet ever.

Me and Tamara at Hotel Metropol, a rather chic spot in Bruxelles.

Lundi, le 10 novembre, 2008

Monday, November 10, 2008. Journal entry.

"Barack Obama a gagné. Barack Obama won. I went to bed late last night and rolled out of bed and down the stairs at five in the morning to find out the results of the elections on the TV. It was obvious that Obama would win. I wasn't overjoyed nor was I angry. America voted and America voted for him. It was simply the voice of present day America. We'll see. Obama's rhetoric was moving and I want to join the chorus, "Yes We Can!" and "Change!" Yet somewhere in the base of my skull a thought pulsated, "What is IT that we CAN change?" Do we all agree as to what that IT is? And what is the result of this change we are so eager for?

The moment of the declaration of an African-American president was nothing short of incredible. Oh, just fifty years ago... How thrilling it is to be able to witness such a thing! Just think, the moment when I heard that America elected a black president I was seated in a little room in a Belgian home on the Avenue du Chant d'Oiseau. It was late in the evening in America and early in the morning here. It is one of those moments that I will never forget.

Obama, we shall see. The proof is in the pudding. "

Translated from the French :)


















A magazine stand featuring Barack Obama's image.

Paris Slide Show

Here's a slide show of two trips to Paris. Thanks for watching!

In Bruges

Ken: Coming up?
Ray: What's up there?
Ken: The view.
Ray: The view of what? The view of down here? I can see that down here.
Ken: Ray, you are about the worst tourist in the whole world.
Ray: Ken, I grew up in Dublin. I love Dublin. If I grew up on a farm, and was retarded, Bruges might impress me but I didn't, so it doesn't.

There is a movie called In Bruges with Brendan Gleeson, Colin Farrell, and Ralph Fiennes. In the above excerpt Gleeson plays Ken and Farrell plays Ray. It's a foul, excessively violent, and all around inappropriate movie but it is politically incorrect and does have some interesting themes. I personally liked the reoccurring references to the painter Hieronymus Bosch and his phantasmal paintings but anyways... It is mostly a movie I could never recommend but man, it certainly shows the town of Bruges well. There's nothing like watching a scene where a character falls to his gruesome death and recalling, "That's where I ate a Belgian waffle." Appetizing.

The basic low down on Bruges is that it was a bustling commerce town back in its medieval heyday. Much to the dismay of its inhabitants, the main river dried up. Having lost its life source Bruges became isolated and forgotten. No ships to ferry goods in and out = no money. After many years of abandonment the city was rediscovered for the very thing that had become its demise - its inability to stay connected with the rest of the world. Today Bruges is a gem of Belgium, proffering one of the most intact specimens of a medieval town to the modern tourist. Everyone that goes to Bruges loves it, except for Ray.

Jardin des Tuileries

Tuileries Gardens It is one of those nights. It's one of those beautiful Parisian evenings where the darkness sizzles with energy and amps up your senses, urging you to jump up and dash breathlessly through every backstreet, yet at the same time sit perfectly still to absorb every nerve tingling sensation.

Opting for the latter, this stone ledge seems just the place to savor everything. Perhaps it is a poor decision to sit alone under a dark tree in a even darker city park but I am still young enough to get away with naïveté (naivety). Every shape lies indigo on indigo; statues, park benches, stretches of grass. The light from the headlights of racing cars on the Rue de Rivoli flickers through the cast iron gate over my shoulder. A cool breeze filters through and makes the tree boughs restless.

What a night. The Louvre resides heavy and august on the left, all of its treasures weighing it down in mass, history, and significance. Just think, it is but a mere two minute walk to a treasure trove of chef d'oeuvres (masterpieces)! It is jam packed with masterpieces; works of art that have endured the test of time and reveal a timeless truth.

A timeless truth. A timeless truth?

I lift my chin and look all around. Above, the light from a tall rectangular window pierces through the silhouettes of two black trees. It startles the darkness.

A timeless truth? Almost without realizing it I have caught one. One like passing your hand through a beam of yellow light from a distant window on a dark, dark night. It is not something I will share with you, for I think it is really only meant for me. The realization is saddening but although painful it is very much worth the exchange. Don't get carried away, it is nothing so high as to do with the spiritual or any such thing. It is just a simple but influential truth.

The night is still beautiful. Time to stand, cross the street and walk back towards the apartment. I think I'll sleep well tonight.