Paris, day 2

December 19, 2007. Another slow start today, if possible even worse than the day before. 'Not morning!' Emmaline groaned as I tried to rouse her from her mattress in the corner. Outside, though, the day was just a little bit milder. Today was our day to visit the Louvre. We set out again into the metro, Emmaline with her trusty map, which she kept perusing even while we were on the train. Always the scurry and rush to get onto the train before it pulled out, shoving in among the crowded people. Thankfully there were trains every five minutes or so, so if one train was full sometimes we waited for the next. One day when we were on the metro, a man came on with a saxophone and CD player on his back, and sang Christmas carols in French; Emmaline and some of the other girls gave him money. We went through the subway and came up at last in another maze of big halls and tunnels. All of Paris must stand on very shaky ground, for underneath it is a whole other city--restaurants, shops, metro stations, small museums, newsstands, etc.

We bought ticketes for the Louvre in a little tourist shop, and then found our way to the museum itself, through the huge dark chilly halls. Past the foundations of the original museum, into a large complex like a mall with big sparkling shops, through security, and then into the central area under the biggest glass pyramid of the Louvre. From this area led the four halls: one back the way we had come; the other three to the three 'pavilions', the wings of the Louvre, Richelieu, Sully, and Denon. The rotunda under the pyramid was at least three stories tall, with a big spiral staircase from inside the pyramid winding down like the chamber of a nautilus in the white light on the white walls. So many people.... Swarming everywhere, crawling, pushing, hurrying, drifting, wandering. We tried to settle on a time and place to meet, and went in through security.

At first we stuck together. We went straight into a gallery of medieval sculptures. Silent stone-struck faces staring placidly above our heads, eyeless gazes meditating on distances we could not see. Pieces broken from cathedrals and churches, virtues, saints, knights, patrons. Through the windows we could look out onto a courtyard where green bronze statues of boars and hounds stood, the hair on their hides green as icicles in the cold day outside, poised snarling at each other. We spent awhile with the medieval statuary, then went up a flight of stairs and found ourselves in a huge long arched gallery, like the underside of a barge, with Classical sculptures running down either side. Michelangelo's prisoners, some of them, struggling bound in stone. Muscular idealized bodies trapped in position, every sinew bulging, lunging, thrusting, leaping, or sitting tense and still. At the far end was the famous Victory, poised as though about to take flight, her wings sweeping above her headless neck. Everyone seemed to have congregated here, mostly Asians, busy snapping pictures, and it was in this huge hall that we got separated. Heather, Catherine, and I managed to stay together.

We wandered into an ornate room (stark contrast to the sterile severity of the Victory's hall) full of mirrors with a painted ceiling, and out again, and down a hall with windows looking onto a hall far below, lit from skylights above, where people were busy examining statues at desks while other statues and stone plaques stood swathed in plastic, jumbled about. We found ourselves finally in the Italian art: Donatello and his peers, silent peaceful madonnas and saints with everlasting halos. And from there into another great hall, long, white walls hung with the most famous of paintings: huge canvases hung above and below each other. Da Vinci's 'Virgin of the Rocks', Caravaggio's 'Fortune-Teller', etc. I stood in front of the 'Fortune-Teller' for a long time, lovingly watching the light falling on the faces, the careful craftsmanship of the brushstrokes.

Interspersed throughout the crowd were artists with easels, copying the paintings. The crowds swirled to and fro, circulating up and down the hall. In a packed side gallery we found the 'Mona Lisa', a small hazy canvas hanging behind a glass casing, smiling mockingly at the Asian tourists taking pictures. Not overly impressed, we wandered on. Our own reflections looked back at us from the mirrors interspersed among the paintings in the main hall; here and there were archways with busts under them. Heather and Catherine were tired, so we sat down, and lo and behold, Michaela and Sarah wandered up, and at last Emmaline and Charlotte, laughing and breathless, having been lost in the museum for the past hour or so. We came together in a knot to talk and sort ourselves out. The others hadn't yet seen the 'Mona Lisa', so I showed it to them. Then Heather, Catherine, and I went on to try to find the Egyptian, Greek, and Roman art. We lost Sarah and Michaela again. We went through a couple of huge galleries with more ornate ceilings and an embossed band around the edge of the ceiling, gold gods and goddesses and cupids and florals, and paintings on the ceiling itself. In one gallery, whose walls were painted maroon, were big Neoclassical canvases by people like David, of Napoleon crowning his queen, of scenes from Roman legend. We made our way out, back past the Victory, and into the galleries we'd stepped into before. Ornate: ceilings, walls, all painted, all gilded, stylized faces staring down at us. Strange contrast with the actual content of these galleries, which held endless glass cases of Greek and Roman pottery, red and black flat figures, and Egyptian artefacts--sphinxes, falcons, coffins, tablets stamped with hieroglyphs. The exotic jumble on the ceilings was weird, even somehow inappropriate, compared to the stark simplicity of the ancient pieces, which were strangely sinister in their out-of-placeness. These galleries were hardly crowded. The sun slanted through the windows, glancing off the ruddy figures on the vases. Still figures, silence.

At last we made our way out. Catherine and Heather were already tired and dazed, so they elected to find a bench and sit for awhile. I went back into the museum to see if I could find the others. Charlotte and Emmaline were sitting placidly waiting for me by the Victory; Michaela and Sarah, as it turned out, had gone to join the other two. Emmaline decided to have a look round on her own, while Charlotte and I, still eager to see more paintings, set off to look for some Vermeers that I'd heard about. On our way in the Richelieu wing, we came upon a huge glass-roofed atrium housing more statues. There was something calming about this place. Hardly any crowds here, and the blue light quietly filling the great hall, the statues standing scattered about. We paused and rested for awhile, looking at it, refreshing our eyes on the distances. Then we went on. I glimpsed a gallery with Sumerian art in it, so I stopped to take a picture briefly of a sitting statue, and then we went on. We rode escalators up to the top floor, where we successfully found Vermeer: a philosopher with a map and a lace-maker. We stopped to admire them for awhile, then went in search of the painting of the Magdalene with her skull and candle. But we ended up getting lost in a maze of obese Flemish art, heavy long faces, and so we rode the escalators down again.

We wandered quietly into the atriums of statues, and walked around them for awhile. I examined four statues of great horses with flying manes, and Charlotte found a series of statues portraying a girl (Diana?) growing up. Cloistered archways opened up all around, and through them I caught glimpses of other statues, mostly medieval funeral monuments. At last we met up with Emmaline and the others again, sitting on the little crowded bench outside the Sully wing. The Louvre: Like wandering through A History of Western Civilization.

We picked ourselves up, went back down through the tunnels, and came up at last in the big plaza encompassed by the wings of the Louvre. Here the pyramids and the fountains, the broad shallow aquamarine pools of the fountains encrusted with ice. Seagulls were floating, rather amusedly, on the cold water. We took pictures of each other--of Emmaline swinging on a lamppost, of all of us standing in front of the glass pyramids. The sunshine slanted goldly over the ornate facades of the buildings: perfect proportion and order covered over with statues, branching plants cut in stone, faces staring stilly down, hands braced holding the distinctive emblems--sceptres, lyres, spears, books.

We gathered ourselves together at last, laughing and happy in the sunshine, and descended into the metro again. Emmaline and her everlasting map managed to navigate us to the train to the chateau of Versailles. The train was a big double-decker train, and we found seats up on the second level. Sitting in the sunshine, we ate our lunch, pulled bit by bit out of Emmaline's Spiderman backpack: sweet soft baguettes, triangles of velveeta-like white cheese, Gala apples, etc. No one had quite enough to eat, but it was enough to keep going at least. And it was simple, eaten sitting in the sunshine with my friends around me. Catherine fell asleep. I watched the city slide by.

We reached Versailles in about half-an-hour and had a brief walk from the train station to the road which the chateau heads. Up the big road to the chateau itself. The chateau is undergoing renovation work, so we had to pick our way over the broken pavement. Emmaline took a picture of us under the ornate ironwork gateway. The mid-afternoon sunshine slanted over the buildings. The light in France is different: In Paris, it's very light, so intensely light, the lightest light; here, now, less white, more gold, as though the facades of the buildings were all gilded and glowing back to the sun. We bought tickets in one wing, where the rooms were plain, simple white and blue walls, fireplaces, mirrors; then proceeded toward the main core of the building, but just as we were getting ready to go through security, Heather discovered that she'd lost her ticket. Emmaline groaned. Charlotte laughed under her breath, 'Emmaline is being the big scary mother!', and Emmaline took Heather back to buy another ticket.

The rest of us went on in. We went up a grand staircase and looked into the royal chapel, so incredibly ornate that it would be difficult to worship there, even the silver organ pipes decorated. From there into a special exhibition of silver. Dim room after dim room, lit by faux candles, which seemed to flicker in the gloom. The walls were brocaded and velveted and hung with tapestries; the floors were tesselated; and the furniture...! Silver, silver, silver, silver tables, silver chairs, beds with hangings woven with silver thread and crowned with tufts of ostrich feathers, silver cupids, silver fire guards cast in the shapes of lions, silver candlesticks, mirrors framed with silver.... The ornateness was overwhelming and unnecessary. We came out finally into the famed Hall of Mirrors: the huge panes of mirrors down the left, and the floor-to-ceiling windows down the right. Between each window and each wall of mirror were bronze statues, women in flowing garments balancing candlesticks, and overhead sparkled crystal chandeliers tiered with hundreds of drops. At the far end of the room were rather realistic printed cardboard copies of the thrones and candles where the Louises would've sat. We were reunited with Emmaline and Heather here, and went on into the next wing of the building. More ornate rooms. Marie Antoinette's bedroom suite; the big painting of Napoleon crowning his queen, etc.

At last we were out, out again into the straight pure cold of the afternoon. Good to be out of the close baroque rooms at last, out of the dense cloying sensuality. We walked down toward the gardens behind Versailles. Dusk was falling. The sun set quickly over a distant hill, leaving the gardens lying in a powder-blue twilight. Emmaline, Charlotte, and I walked together. Behind us, the great chateau sat still glowing silently in the pale blue dusk, as though the sandstone was still giving back the day's warmth. We strolled down the gravel walks. Past a round pool, down to the long flat shining lake. The statues and fountains along this main walkway were swathed in heavy green canvas, bundled up against the cold. The hedges and young trees were bare, their branches stiff against the sky. In the distance tall sycamores stood straight against the chill blue sky, black slender lines veining the sky. In the lake was a statue of Poseidon rising out of the water, his horses' manes foaming chilly. Somehow seeing the naked torsos of the statues made me feel colder.... Poseidon and his chariot were coming up out of the black ice of the flat lake, protruding from the ice.

The other girls gradually caught up with us, Sarah and Michaela wandering up behind. We strung out along the graveled pathways. We walked past great arcades of sycamore trees, planted in stark straight rows, their branches arching interlaced overhead. Silence....--grey, aqua, silver-blue, mauve. Frost furring the dark black-green grass. A few white swans grazing beside the lake. The chateau standing glowing in the distance. Emmaline, Charlotte, Sarah, and Michaela played with the ice, kicking it over the lake. Sarah, Charlotte, and I were cold, so we turned around and started to walk back up to the chateau. The stillness of the gardens arched over us. Sterile lanes stretching away on either side. Strange to me: That the same people who made the overwhelming tangle of chambers and gilding could lay out this garden in its mathematic simplicity. Dusk had lingered but dark was coming quickly. The lights came on suddenly on the chateau. Charlotte, Michaela, Catherine, Heather, and I stood looking around for Sarah and Emmaline, who suddenly jumped out at us, screaming--we all laughed, our voices echoing on the frosty air, our breath pealing away. We walked out of the chateau grounds, back onto the train. We stopped briefly to look at the Versailles municipal building, lit up and crusted with statuary like a wedding cake.

Then back on the train. We went to Paris again and got off at Notre Dame, which also was lit up for the night. Michaela knew a good restaurant in this area, and as it turned out it was right near the metro. Two cafes, side-by-side, their awnings poking out like low fluttering wings from the tall buildings. Waiters standing at the doors called to us in French, inviting us in--we deliberated for a moment, then went inside the second one. Inside, we found warmth. It was uncrowded, and the waiters were patient and friendly with us as we tried to decide what to eat and how to navigate the language. It was an Italian restaurant. I had spaghetti; the others had pizza; Emmaline had a 'French burger'. We sat eating and chatting. A jazz band, saxophone and bass, struck up in the glassed-in porch under the awning.

At last we got back to the hostel. Emmaline and co. went grocery shopping. Then we had a long Bible study, discussing Esther, and God's providence throughout the book.

Paris, day 1

December 18, 2007. Today was our first full day in Paris. Some sort of irony: We were in one of the greatest cities in the world, and all too tired to appreciate it! We stayed in a youth hostel, the Hotel Auberge, just off the Ledru Rollin metro stop, down a little side street. We had three rooms: 313, a four-person room, 407, a very warm two-person room (nicknamed "the sauna"), and 405, a cool two-person room. Catherine, Heather, Charlotte, and Sarah slept in 313, and Emmaline, Michaela, and I slept in 405--every night we moved a mattress from 407 and put it on the floor for Emmaline; all our luggage and things we kept in 407.

This morning became the pattern for most of our mornings. Charlotte came upstairs and banged on our door to wake us at about seven-thirty or so. We got dressed in stages, in various places--some of us in the showers down the hall, some of us in the rooms. Charlotte, Sarah, and Michaela all had to blow-dry and straighten their hair, and used 405 and 407 for that purpose, while Catherine and Heather got ready downstairs. We always had to rush to get away, and we were always ready long after the time we'd planned the night before. At about eight o'clock we went downstairs for breakfast. The hostel served breakfast, but it turned out to consist of one baguette per person, a hot drink, and strawberry jam or butter to go on the baguette. We would find a table and sit, shivering a little in the chilly downstairs rooms, sipping our hot drinks. Various internationals would come in and out. During our stay in Paris, there always seemed to be large groups of Asian tourists about, chattering away busily and moving in flocks, like starlings.

After breakfast, we went upstairs for a brief quiet time of prayer before beginning the day. We're doing a Bible study on Esther, so this morning we read the first in the series of studies, basically just a summary of Esther. When we had spent awhile praying, we set out on our day's activities. Before we'd gone to Paris, we'd prepared a whole itinerary for each day. The morning outside the hostel was a spectacular December morning: cold, dry, crystal clear, with a high pale blue sky, and and intensely clear sunshine, streaming down over the tall buildings. It must've been at least twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit. Here all the buildings seemed cleaner, grander, bigger. We descended into the metro. Every time we tried to get in, it seemed, someone's metro pass would malfunction. Emmaline finally got into the habit of going last so that she could get help in French from someone when one of our tickets didn't work. We would all manage to get through somehow or other, and go from Ledru Rollin to Bastille, where the walls were all decorated with scenes from the Revolution. The tunnels in the metro were always plastered with posters, for perfume, movies, art exhibitions, etc. Often, especially in Bastille, there were performers in the tunnels, sometimes only one, playing the accordion, other times bands, playing Christmas carols. Each stop had a slightly different character to it. One had historical displays about famous Parisian performers; another had historical notices about the building of the metro; others specialized in certain art.

From Bastille we went to to Notre Dame, our first sight of the trip--coming up out of the heavy, stale-smelling tunnels into the morning, with the cathedral before us and the Seine alongside. The water was translucent jade green, flowing in its canal. Seagulls wheeled and turned above the river. We crossed the street to the cathedral. The plaza in front of it was crowded, but we made our way across, under the corroding statue of Charlemagne, past the big Christmas tree, to the doors. Inside at last, under the figured portal, the serene saints on the doorjambs eyeing us. The cathedral was crowded but hushed inside. As we walked up the right side of the nave, along the chapels, it was hard to gauge the size of the place. Chapel after chapel, patterned windows with delicate interlaced colors, geometric and floral patterns. The chapel of Jean d'Arc, her statue gazing upward, hands clasped over her spear, the light slanting over her armor. Around the transept, the chapels with their ceilings painted with golden stars on blue backgrounds, past a nativity scene, past an old chandelier, past a delicate model of the cathedral, down the other aisle--and here, a sense of the hugeness.

We went out after awhile, back out into the morning chill. We walked down over a bridge and down to the walkway along the Seine. Gargoyles sprung out of the high pillars of the church; bronze figures of saints stood poised on the high steeple; the sun slanted over the windows as though their stone paning was frozen rippled water. We walked along in the sunshine for awhile, laughing, trying to keep warm. Finally we bought tickets for a Batobus, one of the hop-on-hop-off riverboats, and set off on a tour down the Seine. The boat had a glass arched ceiling and walls, and was comparatively warm inside--thankfully, for all of us. We chugged down along the Seine. We went past houseboats and under bridges. Some of the big boats were fitted out as restaurants and bars, and as the day got later, we could see people dancing and eating inside them. We got off at Champs Elysees, just in front of the big black bridge, with the faces of river-gods gilt along its sides and the great statues on their pedestals, one at each corner of the bridge--horses with flying manes and women beside, their arms and bodies flashing in the sunshine. We walked around toward the Champs Elysees. It was so cold that none of us could properly enjoy any of it. We walked between two enormous buildings that both seemed to be on the grandest scale possible, decorated with Classic statues--Apollo and his horses and other great statues, such a profusion of faces and drapery standing on corners and cornices that it seemed as though a strong wind was constantly blowing over them. Grandiose, ornate, exotic, completely sensual.

At last we reached the Champs Elysees. A big boulevard, cars whizzing up and down. A double row of trees ran down either side, bare in the winter sunshine that sparkled on the lights strung through their branches. At one end was a ferris wheel; at the far end was the Arc de Triomphe. We crossed the street and wandered and wandered, going up and down through the narrow streets leading off the Champs Elysees. Emmaline would dash off to see if she could find a place for us to sit and eat, while the rest of us wandered aimlessly. Heather was feeling ill with a cold, and Charlotte was feeling faint (Charlotte was almost always hungry). At last Emmaline found a cafe on a small side street. It was a little cafe, with two floors, the walls painted cool blue and white. The man and woman running the cafe were very kind to us. The cafe was crowded and there was nowhere for us to sit, so we stood crowded and rather scared in a corner and waited until the crowd had gone. Emmaline disappeared, and I was nervous, not knowing any French whatsoever; the other girls all dazed with cold. But Emmaline came back just in time, and we ordered our food. The man who served us was very kind, and we all ended up sitting at a small round table on the second floor, crowded together with our food. I had pasta with broccoli and ham and olive oil--delicious and hot. It was pleasant to eat the simple food and sit together quietly, piecing ourselves together after the cold. When we finished eating, we went back outside. We walked over the bridge leading to the Champs Elysees with the gilt statues on it, and then got back on the boat. We road the boat around to the Eiffel Tower, which seemed much stockier than I'd imagined it would be, looming against the pale sky.

We got off at the Musee d'Orsay. As I found out later from Mrs. McCollum, the Musee d'Orsay is actually an old train station, converted into an art museum. It reminded me in some ways of The Phantom of the Opera, big rounded buttresses, masks, faces, names of French cities, gilded clocks. We walked along under the enormous thick walls, under the huge statues. In front of the museum were statues of animals, captured lifelike, the sun glancing off their bronze hides. We had to go through security to get in and then pay for tickets. The woman at the counter looked at me as though I were an idiot when I didn't understand her and she had to speak in English. Inside through the gift shop ('Librarie') at the front, and then into the great central hall: a huge arched glass ceiling running the length of the building, resting on curved metal pieces gilded and carved. Down the length of this great hall were placed statues, and galleries led off on either side.

Everyone was thankful to be in the warmth for a change, and Emmaline was thankful not to be in charge. :o) So I took the map and led us through the museum, to the galleries I thought were best. Early Impressionists first: Millet, 'The Gleaners', and a beautiful painting of a shepherdess; Corot; early Monet, still, serene rural paintings. From there through other galleries--more early Monet, the famous paintings of garden parties and the woman in the white spotted dress with the veil. Back into the hall now, at the far end, where is the statue from the Opera Garnier of the god of music with his tambourine and the laughing muses around him. Charlotte and Emmaline found a model of the opera house. From there up to the third floor, and here we found the classic Impressionists: Monet, Manet, Degas, Van Gogh. Degas's models of dancers and the 'Little Dancer'; his paintings of studios and dancers. Monet's paintings of the woman standing on the hill with the umbrella, of haystacks and cathedrals, and, of course, the waterliles. It was amazing to me to see these paintings at last, to stand in front of them and look at the thick brushstrokes, the colors congealing into patterns of light and shadow. I found a statue the twin of the washerwoman statue in the little art museum in San Antonio. We were all strung out through this gallery, Heather, Catherine, and I going ahead; Emmaline and Charlotte (Charlotte trying to educate Emmaline; Charlotte and I were the two main art lovers in our little group) bringing up the rear. Heather and I found a room toward the end of the gallery where the Degas pastels were housed: lovely fair, intimate scenes of dancers with the light slanting over their faces, caught suspended in fleeting movements. Restful to wander between the paintings, watching the way the light changed in each one--as when my eyes are tired and focus fuzzily on the world. Drifting from scene to scene.

And also out the windows glimpses of the city, the endless crust of buildings rising up and up, blue and mauve and salmon as the sun set, and far away, on a distant curve of hill, the round minaret-like towers of Sacre Coeur, crowning the city. On this level, between the windows, were great statues of men and women, seated in their robes, staring with blind eyes from their shadowed pedestals at the city as it lay basking in the evening. At last we managed to gather together in the room with the Van Gogh paintings. We had to hurry out of the museum in order to catch the last boat. Michaela and Sarah trailed along behind us, and as we were waiting for them, we stepped briefly into a room we glimpsed off to one side--an incredibly Baroque room, all mirrors and gilt and curves and florals, chandeliers hanging from golden floral loops. We caught the boat in time and spent an hour just sitting and riding it back around to the Champs Elysees. I sat with Catherine and Heather, who were both exhausted, while Charlotte, Michaela, Sarah, and Emmaline goofed around, sucking jolly ranchers. Heather was feeling very sick with a cold and sat with her head on her knees, while Catherine and I talked quietly.

Dusk fell around us and lights began to come on in the buildings and the streets. On the back deck of the boat a couple was standing locked in each other's arms, watching the scenery go by. Emmaline and Sarah went out onto the deck to take pictures. We chugged under bridge after bridge, each one different from the last. One bridge had fierce eagles standing with spread wings; others had rows of faces, with curled beards and flowing hair, grimacing down on the river; others were carved with letters, or were simple springing arches from one pillar to another. The buildings loomed over us on either side. We could see into the lighted windows--the insides of fancy apartments and offices, mirrors and curtains. Catherine and I sat quietly and watched the canals slide by, the small bare trees, and the half-moon shining stilly out of the blank blue sky. Staring at the light rippling on the water, I slipped into a sort of daze. Like staring at a Monet painting, each blue wave catching a curve of orange light. It seemed as though we were sailing from one picture postcard to another, sitting there quietly.

At last the boat stopped at the Champs Elysees, the same quay where we'd got off earlier in the day for lunch. As we got off the boat, the steward, who'd seen us several times today, laughed and called after us, 'Vive Irelond! My favorite beer is Kilkenny's!' The girls laughed as we walked away, though someone muttered, 'Why does no one understand the difference between Ireland and Northern Ireland?' We walked back to the Champs Elysees. By now it was quite dark, and the trees were all lit: the first row, right by the road, was hung with lights that blazed like falling stars so that the trees seemed to be dripping great globules of white light; the second row was hung with little pale blue twinkle lights. Headlights blazed on the road, and at the far ends, the ferris wheel and the Arc de Triomphe glowed at each other, the Arc lit orange and massive at the high end of the road, with the shops in between. We walked up the Champs Elysees toward the Arc de Triomphe. The broad sidewalks were crowded. On either side were big stores, restaurants, and cinemas, blazing with light. The moon above seemed unreal, staring down with its white eye out of a starless sky at this man-made galaxy. Streetlights, store windows, Christmas lights, the Arc, all glowing white and blue and orange. Fancy clothing stores, Mercedes Benz auto dealers, galleries and malls, McDonald's, Quick Burgers, coffeehouses, etc. We ducked into a pharmacy (of which there seem to be quite a lot--Emmaline always stopped to ask directions in pharmacies because they were most obvious, marked by flashing green crosses mounted above the door) so that Heather could buy tissue for her streaming nose. Back out on the main boulevard, we continued up toward the Arc. People constantly bustled and swirled around us. Crowds of Asian tourists, Parisians in high boots, strange men and women wearing fluorescent wigs, dressed in skanky pub clothes and looking at once very disdainful and very miserable.

We wandered around at the top of the boulevarde trying to find a way to get to the Arc, and at last we ducked down into a metro tunnel, which took us underneath the perilous roundabout that runs around the Arc. We came out in cold tunnels, and from cold tunnels to the area under the Arc itself. Some sort of military ceremony was going on, soldiers in uniforms with gold braid playing bagpipes and laying wreaths at the flame burning under the arc. The arc was covered on all four corners with huge statues commemorating military victories, frozen Nikes with flying banners and streaming hair, shouting silently and sweeping great muscled arms upward. All day the cold had pursued us, and it was no different here. Some of the girls, Charlotte in particular, were almost senseless with the cold. Emmaline, Heather, Catherine, and I decided to climb to the top of the Arc. We bought tickets and set off on the endless spiral staircase: flight after flight, a continuous twisting circle, taking us up and up. Heather and Catherine staggered along behind. The narrow shaft echoed with our footsteps. We went through one low long cold hall at the top, then through another hall, with a small museum inside, and then at last out onto the top of the Arc itself. Paris spread below us, sprawling as far as the eye could see on all sides: an infinite map of lights, gridded with streets spread like rays with the Arc at their centre. We could see the ferris wheel, the Eiffel Tower (which started to sparkle with white lights on the hour, and which swept the city with a spotlight), the cluster of skyscrapers away beyond the Arc, like broken lit columns of a ruined city. Directly below us was the roundabout. Emmaline and Catherine took pictures of the tangled traffic below, cars crushed together like beetles swarming on a tree trunk. Lights and lights and lights, the rushing veins of streets, the sparkling freckles of windows and doors, the orange glow from streetlights, the white glare highlighting the Champs Elysees and the Eiffel Tower, and the moon staring down on it all. We took pictures of each other, and then descended the spiral staircase. At the bottom, we wandered around under the Arc for awhile, then went to find Charlotte, Sarah, and Michaela, who had taken shelter, shivering, in the tunnels under the Arc.

At last we went to find some supper. We came back out into the freezing cold of the Champs Elysees and walked to a Brioche Doree bakery, standing huddled together in line. Emmaline had to order food for Heather, Catherine, and me--neither Heather nor Catherine were confident enough with their French, and I of course was completely clueless. We went upstairs to the second floor of the bakery and found a round table, where we sat and rested and ate. I had salmon quiche (weird) and hot chocolate, and a galette with caramel and apple inside. Light food, not very satisfying, but much better than nothing, and nice in its own fancy, flaky way. We sat with long, exhausted silences, stunned from the cold, though as we warmed up, we laughed and talked more--joking about hypothermia, etc.

At last we pulled ourselves together and, after brief debate (we'd been planning to go up the Eiffel Tower), we went back to the hostel. I was dumb with discomfort, my legs cold, my shoulders and neck sore. We took the way back to our hostel, by now becoming familiar, the sour-smelling tunnels branching away on either side, the colorful advertisements, the stairs and stairs and stairs: Bastille, the never-ending flight of stairs on the Creteil line, to Ledru Rollin. Back at the hostel, we dumped our things. Then Emmaline, Michaela, Charlotte, and I went to a nearby grocery store, Monoprix (rather like M&S--!), to buy food for the next day.

Back at the hostel, I took a shower (313 had its own shower; the other rooms had showers down the hall, so 313, being the biggest and handiest, became our meeting area). The girls sat around, laughing and talking. Heather collapsed on her bunk, and Catherine sat busily texting Daphne. We had a brief Bible study, and then I went directly to bed.

stop and think

Now Playing: Tchaikovsky, Pathetique Symphony, first movement, Adagio-Allegro Non Troppo.

It seems like a long time since I've updated on here, but from reading other people's blogs, there have been far more interesting and important posts to read about, so you all haven't been suffering.

I feel as though my mind has been left behind somewhere. Maybe I set it down on the counter in the post office this morning before I went running and forgot to pick it up. It cost me exactly five pounds twenty-eight pence to post all those letters and cards, but well worth it, hopefully. Now I just wish someone would mail me my mind back again, and then I'd be in better shape.

This morning I walked out with Emmaline to her ten o'clock class. We usually meet Charlotte and Sarah W. on the sidewalk outside Renwick, and they walk with Emmaline over to Queen's, while I split off to go running. It was cold this morning, our breath hanging on the air, Charlotte's fingers numb even in their fuzzy gloves, she said.

The gardens have been laid away for winter now. A sort of stillness and hush over them. The rose beds pruned back, their flowers picked or pulled away by frost. The oaks and chestnuts bare, their few lingering leaves lying on the green lawn. Winter comes like the lifting of a mask, as though the fiesta face of summer were slowly peeled back to reveal this sombre barrenness. The sun is always at a slant, and seagulls veer on the chilly wind against the variable sky. Rain comes down over Cave Hill and then blows away again, leaving the light still lingering--morning is laced with shadows like afternoon, and afternoon is as blue-grey as dusk.

I went running and then came back to Renwick for lunch. No bread, so I had to walk down to the Centra to buy some. A soft white loaf, half-baked, and carried back to Renwick through a sudden cold downpour, the uneven sidewalks slick underfoot. The trek rewarded with a rather soggy peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. The afternoon whiled away with a paper, a paper that proceeded by fits and starts, with many interruptions, nosing at the argument and then scurrying away again, never quite taking the bait. I shall have to tease it some more this evening and see if I can coax the rough draft into something logical.

Catherine came in at one point to ellicit advice about going to the library. I drew her a map. Emmaline came in at two-thirty and sagged down on my bed, watching me with her big blue-green eyes. So dull all day that I couldn't stop smiling like a fool when I saw her come in, and could sit and laugh at her lazy complaining about lunch and groaning about how untidy her half of the room is. She knows I'm laughing at her, and laughs at herself.

When I had finished the paper, at about four o'clock, I finished and wrapped up the box that I'm sending back to the States. It seems pitifully small. How can one pack up deep gratitude to one's parents and concerned love for one's friends into a twelve-by-fourteen-by-four cardboard box, patched together many times with brown tape?

Listening to Tchaikovsky now makes me remember Tulsa and going to the Signature Symphony concerts, as it always does. Memories are such odd things. Once when I took out my new ESV Bible, I had such a vivid flashback to Summer Conference that I could taste and smell and hear it all again, right down to the clatter of ladles in the cafeteria and the face of the mandolinist in the worship band and the feel of scorching white sand underfoot. And last night when I talked to Syneva, I could almost smell again the warm air in her car, seeing out the windows the autumn neighborhoods around Woodward Park.

Linsey just came in to ask for blue-tack. The walls around my desk are jammed with pictures, letters, and cards. Flat Matildas, photographs on the bulletin board, Psalm 91 in Jenny S.'s scrawly handwriting, bits of verses in colored pen that I've done myself, a verse from Catherine, a finger painting from Mary, colorful birthday cards, Kathryn's wooden cross, the funny little colored cards that Syneva tucked in among the bags of tea she sent me when I first got here.

Such is life. Looking at the little clock on my computer wondering when supper is, agonizing helplessly as to why all the rough drafts I've written so far have been so difficult and whether these imposing professors will be merciful when they grade them, wishing I weren't so tired. It's my goal tonight to go to bed by eleven-thirty. Renwick Bible study usually lasts until eleven o'clock. I'd forgotten how addictive socializing with people is--I enjoy just sitting in a room of people, listening, and it's hard to get up and be disciplined and go to bed, when you know that they're all still sitting down there, and can hear the voices coming up through the floor, and can wonder how many more times like this you'll have before you'll have to leave.

Friends keep getting left behind like that mind of mine, little constellations of them sprinkled over the face of the earth. I need to keep looking forward to Heaven, but right now everything seems far too large. Being twenty-one sounds so grown-up. Did someone forget to debrief me about being an adult? These papers are all too big; the time goes by too quickly; I can't make friends the way I want to because I don't have the energy or courage to love enough; I am confused about decisions and afraid to commit to anything.

Don't get me wrong; it's not that I'm miserable here. In fact over the past month or so I've started to settle in much more and focus on life here instead of being quite so homesick. I'm thankful now that I chose to do a full year instead of just a semester; otherwise, I would just have been getting adjusted to life in another country before I had to leave again. The work I do is enjoyable. I've loved being able to study the heroic themes and poetry of Anglo-Saxon literature this semester, and reading Sir Gawain and the Green Knight over the past couple of weeks was a joy. The language is so rich, each word with connotations and shades of meaning that echo across the years. I wish I could bring those down and give them to each of you, make you understand what a wealth we have, a language of interconnected thoughts, where one word reflects off of and onto another, as disorienting as a house of mirrors and as dazzlingly wonderful as a French chandelier.

So now the symphony is almost over. Suitably dark. And this entry should be over as well.

Remember Zephaniah 3:17. All this has a purpose. It is not "vanity of vanities". It is a privelege and a joy, one more soul on the way to giving Christ pleasure and glory.

Oh, my! It's snowing...

... WHITE RABBITS!

Lunch in the Belfast Christmas Market with Emmaline and Heather, 11/27/07

Lunch in the Christmas Market

"my cup overflows"

November 25, 2007. (journal entry) I got up at about nine o'clock this morning at the Wilsons' house in the guest room. I did devotions, etc. Claire and I had to hurry down our breakfast in order to go with Mr. Wilson to the church at ten o'clock to help set up. Sabbath school today--I was with Claire in her systematic theology class, after the usual Psalm and prayer for opening exercises, which always involves all the classes, including the adults. After class, we went into the sanctuary for worship. Catherine Donnelly, Pastor Donnelly's daughter, handed me a birthday card as we were going in; Mrs. Millar and Mrs. Dick both gave me birthday presents. I was quite surprised. But then Pastor Donnelly's children's address during the morning service turned out to be about birthdays--and in the middle of it he stopped, asked if anyone had a birthday, found me (thanks to Mrs. Wilson's pointing), and wished me a happy birthday in front of the whole congregation! I was quite overwhelmed and would have preferred to disappear.... The service was very good, about God's work of revival in Nineveh after Jonah's preaching.

After the service, Claire's grandmother came up and gave me a gift; lots of Claire's friends gave me cards. I was utterly taken aback and astonished by the overflow of goodness. Even Mrs. Donnelly gave me a present; Pastor Donnelly came up and asked me, in a jolly fashion, for forgiveness. As we were finally going out the door to the car, Heather bounced up and gave me a hug. Good to see her again. We're planning to go down to the Christmas market in Belfast for lunch on Tuesday. Back at the Wilsons' house, while Mrs. Wilson served the roast and Mr. Wilson made the gravy, Claire and I sat down excitedly in the kitchen to open the cards and presents. So much. A wealth that dizzied and utterly humbled me. The family and I sat down to the usual solid, hearty Sabbath lunch of roast, potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, chick peas, and gravy. And afterward, Mrs. Wilson and Claire came in with a cake and candles, and sang and took pictures. All very happy, and the cake, a white vanilla one, was delicious. When we had finished eating, Claire and I cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes. Outside little birds were feasting at the bird feeders.

Claire and I went to our separate rooms when the job was done to rest. The afternoon was cold and cloudy, low mist hanging over the hills. After I finished my journal entry, I curled up in bed and slept until five-thirty. I woke up then, packed up, and sat under the blanket reading God’s Ultimate Purpose (commentary on Ephesians) until Claire knocked on my door. We went downstairs and had some tea. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were already hurrying out the door, but Claire and I had to wait for Calvin, who was still sleepy. The evening was misty, a thin mizzle falling over the low hills. At church, there was a prayer meeting at six-fifteen, then the evening service. After the service, I chatted some with an older gentleman named Mr. Martin, I think—it turned out that he used to be an English major, but that he switched and has been teaching math at school for years. Claire and I went with Mrs. Wilson back to the house fairly quickly after the evening service, to prepare food for the Psalm sing at nine o’clock. While Claire moved chairs in the parlor, I helped Mrs. Wilson slather butter and strawberry jam onto scones, and set out trays of goodies (little squares of chocolate cakes, rice crispy bars, and chocolate-and-peanut-butter squares, fruitcake squares, etc.).

At nine o’clock, people started to arrive, and the Psalm sing got underway at about nine-fifteen, presided over by Mr. Wilson. The parlor, a long, low room on the side of the house, was quite full of people, though everyone had a seat. The plush armchairs and the sofa were full, the piano bench occupied, and the dining room chairs all taken. Heather was there, as were Pastor and Mrs. Donnelly with two of their friends from Wales, and about twenty others. The singing was very good, roundly filling the room, with the basses and tenors just to my right and the altos and sopranos curving round the room to my left. As Mrs. Wilson said later, “Your birthday has put everyone in a good mood!” It was a delightfully happy time, everyone singing away, with murmurs and laughter between Psalms. Catherine Donnelly and Claire’s friend Allison presented. Psalms of thanks and praise, for the most part, were the ones requested, though Calvin asked for Psalm 119X--apparently boys over here are just as enthusiastic about that Psalm as some other boys I know....

After the Psalm sing, Mr. Wilson led us in prayer, and then Calvin, Claire, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, and I served tea, orange juice, scones, and “tray bakes” (as Calvin informed me, the scones always have to be served first). Mrs. Wilson was very flustered and worried that things weren’t going just so, but whenever I went into the parlor, everyone seemed to be having a very good time. At last, when the food had been served, we joined the group in the parlor. I sat with Heather and Calvin and laughed as they slagged each other back and forth. When the last person had left, Claire, Mr. Wilson, and I drove back to Belfast. At Renwick, Mr. Wilson and Claire helped me carry things upstairs. It was about eleven o’clock. I said good-bye to them and put things away.

After everything had found a place, I sat down at my laptop to call home. I talked briefly to my mother. Skype kept breaking up, so finally I decided to try to call the home phone with Skype. While I waited for it to connect, I opened the bigger box from the college Bible study in Stillwater. To my complete amusement, instead of packing it with Styrofoam packing popcorn, someone had packed it with real popcorn—I could smell it through the cardboard! Just as I managed to get the box open, I was able to get on the phone with my father, but only briefly before the Renwick internet connection gave out. Disappointed, I sat back, but decided to open the box. I sorted through it, and burst out laughing as I raked through the stale popcorn. Such a bunch of silly people! And the things they had packed…. Food, mostly, done up in plastic bags. Pecans from Laura; something which I suspect to be cake mix; a whole sack full of hard candy and bubble gum; cinnamon cookies (again, smelled through the plastic); Hershey’s chocolate; hot chocolate; watermelon chewing gum; a mug; post-it notes; granola bars; chapstick; blue and green play-dough in little tins; sticky tack; a parcel in blue-and-green paisley paper form Laura; stickers; letters galore…. I opened only one, a card with a letter from Ruth and a card signed by the whole Bible study inside. Signed in typical fashion, too, which made me want to weep and laugh at the same time. I have seldom known such love, such generosity. It is hard for me to believe in such love. This is God’s love, my Father’s love, the love that died for me, reminding me of His power with a touch of humor. I am not worth such love—and I know that they are not, either; this is God loving God, and choosing to do so through us. Overwhelmed, humbled, I went to bed at about twelve-thirty. (11:12 a.m.; 11/26/07)

An (un)Expected Party, Part II

Now Playing: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe soundtrack by Harry Gregson-Williams. Track 11, "The Stone Table".

Continuing on....

I went up to my room and read through articles for the class on Beowulf, listening meanwhile to the music for "The Nutcracker"--appropriately festive, it seemed to me. After I finished the articles, I had about fifteen minutes in which I curled up on my bed and dozed under a blanket. The room seemed very big and dark and cold. At about six forty-five, I could hear feet pounding up and down the stairs. Linsey and Catherine knocked on my door. "It's time," they said, and we hurried down.

When I stepped into the kitchen, I was amazed: The glaring fluorescent lights were off, and in the corner a floor lamp shed a pleasant household glow. The two tables had been pushed side-by-side to make a square, and in the middle three candles were burning. Scattered over the tables were Thanksgiving decorations in the form of fake cloth leaves and little statues of Pilgrims and Indians. The napkins had been folded in elegant fan shapes. Paper pumpkins hung from the cupboards; a paper turkey perched resplendent on the wall under the clock; a big banner reading "Happy Thanksgiving!" was strung between the windows. Emma, Rachel, Daphne, and Deborah were already in the room. Catherine, Linsey, and I sat down at the table, and the other people in Renwick trickled in. Once we were all seated, we bowed our heads, and Andy M. gave thanks.

The meal really was a feast. To start off, everyone had a little plate of fruit--gushingly juicy honeydew melon with strawberries and raspberries in a sweet red sauce. The silence was a bit awkward at first, but when it was time to carve the turkey, there was plenty of laughter. Deborah called for "a male" to do the job, and Phil rose to the task. The turkey must've weighed at least twenty pounds, sitting resplendent on the counter, dripping butter and fat with stuffing. Eventually Emmaline and Deborah took over from Phil, and Rachel, and Daphne handed out the plates with portions of white meat, while Emma took all the other good things out of the ovens, to be passed around the table. Regular stuffing out of the turkey, moist and hot; cranberry-and-lemon stuffing; mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, and "chips" with sausages (have to get the Northern Irish flair in there...!); peas and corn; green beans; sweet potatoes; cranberry sauce. I was sitting between Linsey and Samuel. Samuel, Andy L., and Matthew were all dubious about the sweet potatoes, but I convinced them to try some, and they actually liked it. We had sloeur (fizzy grape juice, basically) to drink. The meal was absolutely delicious--the only thing missing being Laura's dinner rolls and my mother's corndish. :o)

There was a long contented silence while everyone ate. The candles flickered on the table, and we handed around the deep dishes. Then stories started to come out about how the meal had been made, everyone laughing: Emmaline had carried the floor lamp and a pumpkin pie all the way from Donegall Road (about half-a-mile) to Renwick. The boys joked about how if she'd been thinking hard enough, she would've been able to light her way to Renwick with it. Daphne had christened the turkey Fred, and on Tuesday night, when she and Rachel were preparing to bake it, Emma and Ian had been fascinated with the turkey's innards and had amused themselves with dissecting the lungs, kidney, and heart. Rachel and Daphne had spent two hours in Tesco Monday afternoon buying the needed supplies, and had been made fun of by the cashier because of their two loaded shopping carts. And so on....

Everyone finished eating at about the same time, except Matthew. Phil, Ian, and Andy M. teased him mercilessly, and applauded when he finished his last bite.

Then the plates were cleared away, and the next course was served. Emma and Deborah and Emmaline had been in charge of the desserts, and had made enough to feed an army. Emma had baked a pavlova, which had risen up to the top of the oven--she had decorated it with a beautiful pattern of strawberries and green grapes in white fluffy whipping cream. Emmaline had baked a real pumpkin pie; Deborah, not particularly fond of pumpkin pie, had baked a chocolate cake with "Pumpkin Pie" written on it in red icing. Rachel and Daphne had bought a tiramisou, which occasioned considerable questioning--no one knew what it was exactly, and Andy M. (who knows everything, apparently) had to explain it to Matthew at least three times, and subsequently teased Matthew about getting tipsy on the coffee liqueur. There was also a dish with cream and fruit, and an enormous cheesecake, courtesy of Emma, decorated with maltesers. And ice cream....

So that was our Thanksgiving meal. Everyone sat quietly when they had finished eating, content and quiet. After a pause, Phil led us in thanking all the girls who'd worked on the meal, then Rachel and Daphne in particular--then me, just for being here (which seemed quite odd). And once that applause had died down, I thanked all of them, not quite sure what to say, for showing me Christ's love and being so generous.

Then the boys all rocketed away to the common room to watch the England vs. Croatia football match, while Rachel turned on the fluorescent lights, and we began the process of cleaning up. Andy M. came in after five minutes, and he helped Emma wash and dry the seemingly-endless heaps of dishes. All three sinks were in use: Linsey and Catherine in the pantry scrubbing away at the greasy baking trays; Andy and Emma washing plates and silverware; Daphne and Deborah soaping out the pots and pans while Emmaline and Rachel put the food away. I wiped off the table, packed up the decorations, and cleaned the floor a little bit, as well as helping to put away the clean dishes.

It only took us about twenty minutes to clean the kitchen--when we were done, it was almost as clean as it had been when I came to Renwick that day back in September.... We all wandered into the common room to watch the last twenty minutes of the match. Daphne and I nearly fell asleep in the corner. But it was very amusing to listen to Phil "interact" with the commentators and make fun of the England coach. Of course everyone was cheering for Croatia, and when England lost, and the English coach sat staring desolately at the "pitch" (soccer field), all the boys laughed. "He's going to get sacked. I'll buy you a paper tomorrow, E--, and you can read the headlines" Phil said gleefully when I made fun of him.

When the match was over, we played games. Deborah split us up into four teams. Andy M., Catherine, and I were on a team together. The first game was a competition to see how fast each team could complete a word search and unscramble a list of scrambled words. Andy M. and Catherine worked on the word search while I decoded the words, and our team won. Then we had a scavenger hunt: Deborah had hidden 45 laminated cards with pictures of turkeys on them all over the house. She had hardly done explaining before we had all burst out the door of the common room, cheering and whooping and making turkey sounds. The house creaked like a ship at sea as we stampeded all over it, looking for the turkeys, which were hidden in various places: inside the kettles in the kitchen; inside the hot presses; behind the curtains; on the top beams of the doors; in the pages of the guest book, etc. In the end we only found 40 of the 45 turkeys, and my team only had 12--Rachel's team found 13, the highest count. The last game was pin-the-nose-on-the-pumpkin. This turned out to be incredibly good fun. Rachel produced a thick orange tasseled scarf with which to bind the victim's eyes. Emmaline went first. Deborah tied the scarf on her, Emma spun her around, and then (not allowed to touch her) guided her by talking her to the smiling pumpkin man stuck to the wall. Meanwhile, of course, everyone else shouted and made a racket to confuse Emmaline, but it didn't work too well. Next up was Rachel's team, and then my team--and of course Andy M. and Catherine decided that since it was "my day", I had to go. So Catherine spun me round and round, and then talked me over to the wall (despite the yelling of the boys) to put the nose plump on the spot. Linsey, guided by Daphne, was last. After all four teams had gone, we decided to play it again--this time, without any guidance. It had been Phil's idea, so of course everyone shouted for Phil to get up and take the first turn. Deborah tied the scarf round his eyes and put the nose in his hand, and he was off.... We all sat and nearly died laughing. Andy L. and Samuel shouted all sorts of things to confuse Phil, while the rest of us sat and laughed and laughed. Phil made the whole business funnier by staggering around exaggeratedly like a drunken pirate, with the scarf swishing over his shoulders. When he hit the wall, he said, "Alright, let's do some math," and did a ridiculous version of the Pythagorean theorem--he actually managed to get the nose pretty close, by putting his thumbs at the corners of the piece of paper and guessing the distance. After he went, Rachel went. While Deborah was tying the scarf on her, Phil whispered to all of us to get up and switch seats so that she couldn't steer by the sound of our voices--we did it with as little giggling as possible; even so, Rachel, standing shakily in the middle of the room after having been spun, said, "I have a bad feeling that everyone has changed places on me!" She groped toward a softly-upholstered chair and started to feel it for reassurance. "What's this?" she muttered, "Someone's leg?" "Stop, that's my wee brother!" Phil roared, and we all shouted out laughing again. Then Deborah started to call to her, guiding her, and Rachel moved toward the sound of her voice--nearly out the door of the common room, while the rest of us, including Deborah, laughed, until Rachel figured out the hoax. She, too, managed eventually to get close to the nose. Catherine came next. When she had been spun, she was so dizzy that she was actually about as tipsy as Phil had pretended to be. She fell over and lay on the floor laughing; she almost ran into the TV (the boys made a big deal out of that); she crashed over the table; she nearly held Samuel's hand, and she finally blundered her way to the wall, pink with laughter.

After that game, we all settled back with aching sides for Deborah to count up the score. Three teams were tied--we sat and thought about a tie breaker for awhile. Phil suggested that we could get a box of "Big Issues" (the magazines that the beggars sell on the sidewalk) and see who could sell them fastest, which made everyone laugh. But finally we decided that whoever could find the most of the 5 missing turkeys would win. Catherine was the first to find one, and thanks to that (and because it was "my day") we were finally awarded the prize: a bag of Starburst bursts, with a gooey outside and a creamy inside. Catherine. Andy, and I each took one, and then handed it on--the bag made it twice round the room before it was empty.

We were all in much too high spirits to settle down, so we tried to think of another activity. Board games and parlor games were suggested; someone else asked for a DVD; someone else suggested playing hide-and-go-seek outside (but it was raining). So finally we decided to play hide-and-go-seek inside with the lights off. We all put a foot (or a crutch, in Matthew's case) in a circle, and Phil got down on his hands and knees and bounced his hand over our shoes as he ran off some ridiculous rhymes, most of which I'd never heard before, to determine who was going to be "it". The lot fell to Rachel. I said good-night to Andy M., who was going to bed (I had to be thankful--he had obviously been exhausted most of the evening, but had manfully stayed with us the whole time). We turned the lights out and ran, shouting and laughing, into the rest of the house. Emmaline and I hid in our room. I crouched down in the bay window behind the curtains and waited. We could hear Emmaline and Daphne as they came upstairs, laughing and shouting. They burst into Linsey's room next door and found Linsey and Catherine; then came blundering into our room with their cellphones on shouting, "Ha! Found you!" They did find me, and I followed them on the ensuing wild goose chase. Andy L. was hiding behind the sofa in his room, and Samuel was lying on top of their dressers. Emma was in her room, and helped us find Ian, who was out on the fire escape; Phil was in the hot press behind the heater.

Back downstairs again for another round. Andy L. was selected to be "it", and again we all disappeared. I crawled into the cupboard under the stairs and curled up, contented, in the dark. I waited... and waited... and waited.... No noise, no one came. I heard someone coughing beside me in the dark. I was startled until I heard a cellphone buzz and realized that Emma was sitting on the outside under the stairs, by the payphone. Finally I heard Emmaline and Rachel come out of hiding, and a lot of outraged laughter. I crept out of the hidey-hole and found Andy L. and Matthew sitting and watching TV: they hadn't bothered to look for anyone at all...! And to top it all off, Emmaline had never been found from the next round. Rachel and Daphne had been hiding beside each other in the cupboards in the utility room; Samuel was discovered on the topmost shelf of the hot press, etc.

Finally, Deborah, Matthew, Samuel, Emmaline, Catherine, Daphne, Rachel, and I trickled into the common room. We sat around joking and talking. Rachel and Daphne and Catherine sat on the floor; they wanted me to read them a story. They handed me one of the Thanksgiving story books Emmaline had brought up. I flipped through it, pretending to read it, but telling them a ridiculous little tale about three mice (coincidentally named Emmaline, Daphne, and Rachel). Then Deborah took the book. In her best school marm style, she started to read to us, in the same high, fluffy voice a teacher has, asking questions as she went along, and making us put up our hands. Daphne and Rachel poked each other and told random little stories to answer the question, just like certain other small children I know, while Matthew and Samuel pulled faces behind Deborah's back. Catherine and I pretended to be "teacher's pets", while Emmaline grimaced back at the boys. We could hardly contain our laughter, but we all pretended to be little kids while Deborah read severely. Even she couldn't keep from cracking sometimes, though, especially not when Daphne and Rachel got going....

Eventually, Deborah gave up, her classroom misbehaving shockingly. We sat around talking for awhile. I was far too tired to stay awake much longer. Pleasantly full, my sides still aching from all the laughter I'd done this evening, the hyperness from the scavenger hunt and hide-and-go-seek having died down, I went over to Rachel and thanked her for a lovely evening. "Enjoy your American sleep," she laughed at me as I went out the door, and I laughed back. I went upstairs to bed. Emmaline came up shortly after, having apparently been told to enjoy her "half-American sleep" (!). We sat up chatting for a bit before we turned off the lights.

I haven't had that much fun in a long time.... Christ's joy and the fellowship of His people are truly something for which to be thankful!

A Northern Irish Thanksgiving

An (un)Expected Party

Now Playing: Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky, "The Nutcracker". Track 14, "Act II: Final Waltz and Apotheosis".

It all started last Wednesday evening. A bunch of us were sitting around in the common room before supper, talking, studying, etc. It was Rachel's birthday, so we'd just had a cake and sung to her. I was sitting next to Catherine, and brought up the subject of having the other American study abroad students over for a meal. I've been wanting to do that for quite awhile, but have never had just the right opportunity. "What would you think if we did it next Wednesday?" I asked. Catherine nodded. Since Rachel was sitting right there, I asked her if that would be alright (since she's the warden, it seemed only fair to get her permission). She looked at me wordlessly for a minute. "Ummm...." she said. "I think the committee is coming over that night or something," Phil put in vaguely from the other side of the room. As they were discussing it, I realized that the next Wednesday would be the day before Thanksgiving. I'd overheard the other students talking about having a Thanksgiving meal of their own, so I thought to myself that the plan wouldn't work anyway. I went innocently upstairs to study. About five minutes later, Rachel knocked on my door. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked. She proceeded to tell me that they had been planning a surprise Thanksgiving celebration in honor of my birthday for next Wednesday night. "I didn't want you to think we didn't want your friends over here or something. If you'd rather do something with them, that's fine," she said, "That's why I didn't know what to say--I actually couldn't think of anything when you suggested that," she chuckled. As I listened, I put my hands over my mouth: regret for having spoiled the surprise, complete and utter astonishment and excitement, and amusement at myself for having put Rachel wordless. I finally managed to get out something to the effect that I wasn't going to plan anything anyway, and Rachel went out.

So the cat was out of the bag. I felt pretty bad about having ruined the secret, but soon things became much too amusing and exciting to feel regret any more.... Knowing the secret made the the ensuing "surprise" more delicious. It became a running joke. Ian came down to breakfast the next morning and hinted, "So, E--, I hear you've ruined your surprise." "What surprise?" I said, and grinned. Naomi at small groups said something similar, and I retorted, "I'm trying very hard to forget! So don't say anything!" and put my hands over my ears. Any time Catherine or Linsey asked me whether I was excited or not, I'd pull a blank look, and then the three of us would laugh.

On Monday morning, as Emmaline and I were gathering our things to get on the train for Belfast, I asked her if I could help her carry anything. She let me carry her laptop, but I was forbidden to know anything about a mysterious black back which she took charge of herself.

On Tuesday morning, I went downstairs to eat breakfast and couldn't find our milk (it had been used for tea after Bible study the night before). Looking through the refrigerators to find the milk, I discovered instead an enormous fowl done up in yellow plastic residing placidly on the middle shelf of one of the refrigerators. And there was an unaccountably enormous heap of white plastic Tesco bags in the corner of the counter in the utility room, which seemed to have accumulated suddenly overnight.

Tuesday evening, all the Renwick girls went out to see a production of a musical, to celebrate Rachel's birthday. When we got back, I drifted into the kitchen, where Daphne and Rachel were starting to cut up heaps of carrots. My natural urge was to ask if I could help, but when Emmaline asked me to carry her things upstairs, I meekly obeyed, and strictly kept myself out of the kitchen (despite tantalizing bursts of laughter and smells) for the rest of the evening.

On Wednesday morning, Emmaline got up early and mysteriously disappeared downstairs. Before I went down for breakfast, I asked her if the kitchen was "safe", and she grinned at me. It was, though a whole flock of pots and pans had oddly taken flight and settled on top of the refrigerator and freezer in the utility room. Sitting in my room studying before my ten o'clock class, I could smell something wonderful down in the kitchen, but kept myself to my books.

It was raining on Wednesday when I went to my classes. The Discovering Old English classes were really good today, all about Old English poetry (so far we've just been doing grammar work or prose) and "The Battle of Maldon". For once I was completely engaged in the lecture. To make the day better, after the tutorial, I walked out with one of the girls in the tutorial and had a nice chat with her--I hadn't talked to her before, and it was good to make another connection.

I splashed back to Renwick in the rain, only to find, as an added piece of delight, two packages waiting patiently for me in the hall, a large square cardboard one and a smaller one done up with masking tape. "I'm so jealous," Linsey said as she saw me coming up the stairs. I was too happy to do anything but grin at her, though I restrained myself admirably and didn't open them: birthday presents are to be opened on birthdays, not before. :o) I spent the hour until communal lunch studying, wrapped up in a blanket in the room. (Normally I would've gone running, but because of added reading to do this week and the papers posted online, I didn't feel I could take the time.)

During communal lunch, I chatted with Linsey and Rachel. We had meat pie and "chips" for lunch, which was good. The usual crowd of former Renwick girls wasn't there, but a bunch of boys came to eat, suit up, and go to play in the Renwick football match this afternoon. After lunch, Linsey and Catherine asked me if I'd like to go shopping with them. Emmaline had warned me beforehand that they were going to invite me out, and that I'd probably be wiser to go with them, so I accepted, and five of us (Linsey, Catherine, Rosemary, Heather, and I) set off in the rain to catch the bus to the City Centre. (I ended up very much regretting not having taken my camera, but perhaps I'll go back and take pictures to show you all....)

We sat at the back of the bus as it lurched down the narrow wet streets, and got off in front of City Hall. The City Hall lawn has been completely covered by booths and stalls set up for the Christmas market, a tradition (apparently) in big European cities. We splashed across the street, through the big wrought iron gates, and into the market. A maze of little freshly-built wooden sheds, smelling sweetly with the wet. Goods from around the world. We stepped into a booth where silk brocaded Chinese shirts and jackets were being sold, jewel-bright colors like flocks of butterflies. Across the sidewalk was a booth with counters stacked full of bars of aromatic French soaps, in a spectrum of creamy colors. We spent at least fifteen minutes smelling all the different soaps: mango, opium, rosemary, coconut, cream, clove, tangerine, strawberry, melon, mint, cinnamon, lavendar. Down the way were jewelers' booths with sparkling sterling silver rings and necklaces, and round the corner from that was a spread of Dutch plants: tulip and amaryllis bulbs for sale; plants in tubs--fox berries, ornamental cabbages, hollies, their leaves sparkling and glossy with the rain. Another sweetly-smelling booth, this time full of Christmas candles, scented snow berry or vanilla or cinnamon. We walked past a corner booth where a huge metal disc holding sausages, hamburgers, bratwursts, and other unidentifiable (but greasy) pieces of meat were spinning slowly over hot coals. We walked past a hamburger stall and a food tent, past stalls selling curry and Thai noodles, past stalls selling French crepes and pancakes, past an Irish pub in a little wooden barn, past French chocolatiers and boxes of Irish fudge. So many smells.... We stopped to eye a stall full of Russian nesting dolls, the counter just above our eye level so that the plump, smiling wooden toys beamed down at us. Small children sucking candy, women in saris, men in heavy boots, pushed around us in the rain. We looked into a stall selling hand bags, and Catherine bought a khaki messenger bag with pink Japanese-style flowers scattered all over it. We walked past another stall run by a Greek Orthodox convent, full of icons and crucifixes elaborately painted and inlaid with gilt, and across the way, stalls selling teddy bears that were hot water bottles. A stall full of glittering silver Christmas tree baubles. A stall full of stuffed animals. A long, low shack containing wooden African masks, coarsely-woven African textiles, and heavy wooden African necklaces. The smells from frying pans dripping grease, crepe griddles sizzling with oil and sugar, and woks simmering with bean curd and spices, lingered in the cold wet air. Overhead, on the side of the City Hall, the big ferris wheel (dubbed the "Belfast eye") revolved slowly, its arms sparkling. As we worked our way back round to the gates again, we passed a stall selling pashminas, and I bought one, pale blue and gold, a lush, luxuriously heavy wrap.

Out of the Christmas market, we went down the main street toward the Castlecourt mall. On the way, we stopped at an ATM. I tried to hold my umbrella over both Heather and Rosemary, neither one of whom had umbrellas. Before we went into the mall, we stopped at an entertainment store, where Linsey and Catherine looked for a DVD for Emma, but were unsuccessful. The mall inside was jazzed up with Christmas decorations. We split up to go our separate ways: Rosemary to buy a battery for her watch; Linsey to shop for Christmas gifts in Debenham's, where she works (and has an employee discount); Catherine about her own mysterious affairs. Heather and I moseyed down the long open atrium to the jewelry stalls, poking around among the sparkling, shining things. As we worked our way back to the doors, where we were to meet the others at four o'clock, we passed a smoothie bar. Heather had never had a smoothie before, so we stopped and bought smoothies, and sat and sipped them on a bench. Hers was mango, and mine (true to form) was berry. Heather chatted happily about clothes, going on holiday with her family, wearing uniforms to school.

We met the others at about four-thirty. Rosemary was late, as it turned out, which gave Catherine enough time to buy a cup of hot chocolate before we went back out into the cold. When we stepped out of Castlecourt, we discovered that the Christmas lights up and down the thoroughfare had been turned on: strings of white and gold stars overhead, tiny blue lights glittering in the young bare trees, big white stars and sunbursts shining on the walls of City Hall, standing majestically at the far end of the thoroughfare. The shops up and down the street were brightly lit, a mosaic of tiny pieces of glowing glass inset in the tall dark buildings. We stopped at a bodyworks shop so that Rosemary could buy some coconut soap, and Catherine stepped into an accessory store just next door to buy a gift for one of her friends. We took the bus back up to the stop near Renwick. Rosemary and everyone else went straight into the kitchen. "So, you're going to go study now?" Rosemary laughed at me as I started to climb the stairs. "Yes. Hard," I laughed.

something silly

Well, a long time ago I said that I had gotten lost in the park on my way back from seeing the princess safely to her kingdom. And I did get lost, too--very lost.

After saying good-bye to the princess, I had to figure out which was was back to Renwick House. Her carriage had disappeared into a thicket of oak trees, and now I was all alone. I looked at the shadows the sun made behind the trees to tell which direction was west, and set off in that direction as best I could guess. I walked along, sniffing the cool air and watching the orange oak leaves falling to the ground. I walked... and walked... and walked.... And walked some more. Slowly clouds came over the sky, as they usually do in Northern Ireland, and it started to rain. My feet were sore, and I was hungry, too. The rain started to fall harder and harder, and my hair started to stick to my forehead. I didn't have a rainjacket or anything with me, and my feet were soaked in my shoes. So I crawled under a rhododendron hedge to wait until the rain had gone away. The big, glossy leaves bent just right so that they sent the rain drip-dropping right down my neck, cold and clammy. I curled up and tried not to cry.

All of a sudden, through the sound of the dripping rain, I heard something crashing toward me through the hedge. I sat very still and held my breath. The branches whipped and cracked, and all of a sudden, out of the hedge, there came trotting a little dog. It stopped when it saw me, with one paw in the air and its head cocked to one side. "Hello," it said, "are you lost, too?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. The dog was talking to me! "Yes," I said, "I'm lost. Do you know where Belfast is?" "Belfast is quite a big place," the little dog said, trotting up to me and sniffing me carefully. "Do you want to go to anywhere in particular in Belfast?" "Somewhere dry and warm with food would be nice," I said. "Oh, well, we don't need to go to Belfast for that," the little dog said, "Follow me." He whisked round, his brown tail tickling my face, and trotted away into the underbrush. I hurried after him, squinting my eyes because the water kept falling off the bushes and getting into them. Then I saw his tail fly up in the air and his hindquarters disappear, and before I knew it, I was following him, down into a burrow under a tree. The little dog watched me crawl through the door, then shook himself so that water flew everywhere. "Welcome to my house," the little dog said, "How do you like it?" "It's quite nice," I replied, though when I stood up I nearly bumped my head on the ceiling, and a shower of powdery dirt sprinkled over my face. The little dog chuckled. "You look as though you had been out digging holes," he said, "You're filthy." I wrinkled my nose at him. "That's alright, though, because I always carry a washcloth with me," said the little dog with a grin, and bounced up to me before I could stop him and licked my face all over. "Yuck!" I said. "But your face is clean now," the dog nodded approvingly.

He turned around and trotted over to a cupboard and put in his snout, and took out two bowls with his teeth. He set them on the table, and with his mouth and paws he started to get things out of cupboards to eat. While he worked, I looked around the little house. There was a fire burning on a fireplace, and the ceiling was all intertwined with the roots of the tree above, and in the corner there was a little hollow with leaves in it, where the little dog could sleep.

Soon the little dog had our lunch ready, so we sat down and ate hot soup and sandwiches. "This is very good," I said, "thank you." "You're welcome," the little dog said. "Now, I think it's still raining outside. So to pass the time, if you tell me a story, I'll tell you one." "Alright," I said.

"Once upon a time," I said, "There were three little girls named Mary, Emily, and Christa. And Raychel."

"That's four," the little dog said.

I wrinkled my nose at him again. "Once upon a time there were four little girls named Mary, Emily, Christa, and Raychel. They were all busy playing outside at Christa's house when Emily said, 'I'm hungry.' 'I am, too,' said Christa. 'Let's go inside and get something to eat,' said Mary. So they all went inside. But Christa's mama was busy making supper. 'Go back outside and play until I'm finished, and I'll call you when it's time to eat,' she said. So the four little girls went back outside again and sat on the back porch. 'I'm still hungry,' Emily sighed. 'Me, too,' said Raychel. 'I have a good idea,' said Mary, 'why don't we see what these berries on the juniper trees taste like? They look nice and blue. I've heard that some people eat blueberries.' 'They smell funny, though,' said Raychel, 'and I don't like things that smell funny.' 'Well, we could pretend that we're eating a big meal then,' said Christa. 'I think that if I'm going to have a big meal, I'd like a big plate of scrambled eggs.' 'And I would like a big plate of noodles and chicken,' said Emily. 'And I would like a big wacky cake with ice cream on top,' said Mary. 'I don't know what I would like,' sighed Raychel. 'Girls! It's suppertime!' Christa's mama called out the back door. Raychel sniffed at the smell swirling out of the house. 'Oh, now I know what I would like to have,' she said, 'I would like some lasagna.' 'Why?' asked Emily. 'Because it smells as though that's what Christa's mama has made for supper,' Raychel chuckled, and they all went inside and ate a lot of lasagna and had dessert and watched Looney Tunes and went to bed."

"That's the worst story I've ever heard!" the little dog barked. "Well, you tell a better one, then," I said.

"Alright. Once upon a time, there was a little dog. This little dog happened to be out for a walk one day, and he walked past a big building on a street where there was a big glass window. When the little dog stopped to look inside the glass window, he saw lots of little girls standing in rows and dancing. They all had black dresses and black shoes on, and they kicked their legs high in the air, and their shoes made funny clicky noises on the floor. 'I wish I could do that,' the little dog thought, 'that looks like a lot of fun.' He looked down at his own paws and saw that he didn't have proper feet but paws with claws on them, and he sniffed at his chest and saw that he was covered in fur. 'But I guess I'd look pretty silly in a dress,' the little dog said. 'Oh, well, there's no harm in trying.' So he pushed with his snout against the door and snuck into the big room. All the girls were busy dancing, so they didn't notice the dog sitting in the corner, watching them. Day after day the little dog went and sat in the corner and watched the girls dancing. One day, as the last girl was leaving, she glanced into the corner and saw the little dog lying with its nose on its paws, watching her. 'Hello, little dog,' she said, 'what are you doing there?' The little dog stood up and looked at her. 'Don't laugh at me,' he said. 'Don't worry, I won't,' the little girl replied. 'Well, I love watching you and your friends dancing, and I've decided that I would like to learn how to dance, too. But my legs are too short and stubby to jump, and my body is all furry so that I can't wear clothes, and my paws are too little to wear shoes,' the little dog sighed. The girl looked at him. 'Well,' she said, 'can you play an instrument? Because we need someone to come and play the bodhran for us while we dance. Our teacher can play the accordion, and my older sister can play the fiddle, and my older sister's best friend can play the whistle, but we haven't got anyone to play the drum.' 'How would I do that? You need hands to play the drum,' the little dog barked. 'I'll show you,' the little girl said. She lifted the big, flat drum off the wall where it hung and set it on the floor. 'Hop onto it and try dancing your paws about,' she said. The little dog looked at her. 'I guess so,' he sighed. He scrambled up onto the drum. Because he was just a little dog, he didn't break the leather that the drum was made out of. So he started to prance around, and as he pranced, his paws made a funny thumping sound on the big drum. The little girl put down her back with her dance clothes in it and started to dance while the little dog jumped around on the drum. 'That's great!' said the little girl, 'Go faster! Faster!' So the little dog jumped faster and faster on the drum, and the little girl danced faster and faster. 'You're great!' she said, 'You're just what we need for the ceilidh tomorrow night.' So the next night, the little dog came to the room with the big glass windows. The little girl tied a fancy leather collar round his neck, and when it was time for the dancing to start, the little dog hopped up onto the big leather drum. He started to jump around on the drum, and the accordion started to hum, and the fiddle started to saw, and the whistle started to toot, and everyone started to dance, and they all had a wonderful time."

"That's a pretty silly story," I said. "Well, it's better than yours," the little dog replied. "Anyway, it's done raining outside now, so I guess I can help you get home." We scrambled up out of the little dog's burrow, and all of a sudden I realized that we were back in the gardens again, right on the edge next to the rose garden. "Oh, I know where I am now," I said. "Thought you might," said the little dog. "Thank you for lunch," I said. "You're welcome," the little dog replied, and waved good-bye to me. I walked back to the house and returned just in time to eat lasagna for supper. It was very good.

Trinity RPC Congregational Weekend

Trinity RPC Congregational Weekend

isn't reading week supposed to be for reading?

Now Playing: Brahms, Piano Concerto No. 2, Track 1, "Allegro Non Troppo."

November 6, 2007.

My intentions to get up at a decent hour this morning were good, but they didn't last very long. That might have had something to do with the fact that I was up till one-thirty the night before, but we won't talk about that....

Anyway, the positively indecent hour of ten o'clock found me sitting on a chair in the bay window in my room, drinking some of the hot peach tea Syneva sent me, eating some of Emmaline's mother's very molasses-y banana bread, and laughing while Rachel tried to use my laptop to look up information for her sister, who was trying to get to an interview that morning with a company about which she knew almost nothing. Emmaline's French classes have reading week this week, so Emmaline came back at about ten o'clock, having been to her nine o'clock Math lecture.

After Rachel left, I took an hour or so to answer some e-mails and then went running in the PEC. The walk through the gardens was lovely as always. Half of the rose garden has been cut back in preparation for winter, the cuttings piled in a big brown heap to one side, the bushes looking strangely dwarfed in the sunshine. The trees that were bright colors only last week have begun to look bare, but there are still plenty of trees in the gardens that are fully green. While I ran, I listened to one of my father's Sabbath school lectures about communion. I'd never realized before just how alien the idea of eating Christ's body and blood is. Almost too vivid an image, though it forces one to realize just how dependent we are on Christ and just how much we really do participate in His life.

Back at Renwick, I showered, and then Emmaline went downstairs to eat lunch together. I tried to make myself a ham-and-mayonnaise sandwich, but the ham had gone off, so it was peanut butter and raspberry jam (they don't have grape jelly here!) instead. I spent the afternoon writing e-mails, addressing some letters, etc. Emmaline ended up going grocery shopping this week. I had been planning to do it myself, but since I've done it for the past couple of weeks she offered to do it today.

It was already beginning to be dark by four o'clock, when Emmaline and I, after having stowed away the groceries, walked down to the Starbucks at the corner to meet Mr. Atkinson for coffee. Neither Emmaline nor I know him very well, but he knows our parents, and had offered to take us out. We met him standing on the sidewalk above the open area outside Starbucks: a friendly man with a hooked nose, very black hair, and wearing a dapper suit. He gave us both fatherly handshakes, and we went into the restaurant. After we ordered, we sat at a table in a corner, and he asked us questions about our studies, our families, etc. In university he majored in math, French, and music, so he could sympathize with Emmaline. He asked me about what Philip, Laura, and Stephen are doing, and showed me a picture of our family taken back in the fall of 2005 when he visited. I glanced at it and chuckled, "We look very different now."

We spent a pleasant forty-five minutes or so chatting in the warm cafe. I had a big mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and caramel, which was almost too rich. Mr. Atkinson had to be on the road by four forty-five to continue his driving round the country and speaking, so we said good-bye to him and then went back to Renwick.

I had Irish class at five-fifteen. The girl who teaches these classes is also a student at Queen's, a short, plump girl with very red cheeks, tiny eyes, and an apparently endless supply of patience for our stumbling pronunciation and constant interruptions to ask grammatical questions. Today we learned about how to describe family and friends, and she gave us packets of papers with reading exercises, which we did in class. That really helped. I had been feeling frustrated with the class, but when we actually sat down with a short, simple paragraph of reading, I was surprised by how much I was able to understand. She had us write short paragraphs to describe our own friends, which was, of course, more difficult than reading someone else's paragraph, but she praised our pronunciation, which was reassuring.

Class ended at seven o'clock. I walked back to Renwick as briskly as I could. The night was chilly and dark. In the kitchen, I found Emmaline and Catherine washing dishes. Tonight was Catherine's night to cook, but Daphne had cooked for all four of us. My supper was being kept warm in the oven, the last slice of shepherd's pie and the leftover corn and peas. I sat at the table with Andy M., who was also eating his supper, and slowly ate the warm, hearty food. Emmaline, Catherine, Andy M., and I chatted. Andy M. is in a choir and brought out his music to show Emmaline and me. Christmas music by Poulenc and Vaughan-Williams and Palestrina--beautiful, beautiful stuff. After I finished eating, I joined Emmaline on her quest to demolish the two mountains of dishes in the sinks and the foothills of dishes on the counter in between. (*cough*) We were mostly successful and had the "hills brought low" in about half-an-hour. I made myself a cup of tea and went upstairs with Emmaline to study.

We spent the rest of the evening in our room "studying", though I don't think either one of us got much work done. Our evening was punctuated by visits from other people. Catherine came in to ask Emmaline to look over a paper she'd written for her theology class; Daphne and Rachel bounced in twice, once to invite us to go with them to Clement's, and once to ask us for a movie to watch after they'd been to Clement's and found that it was closed. We could hear them laughing outside in the street, and when they came up to their room they had lost none of their hyperness. Daphne started to do disco dancing in our room while Rachel stood and laughed and made outlandish comments, and Emmaline and I, rather taken aback by the whole proceedings, sat and laughed at both of them.

I had Facebook messages to answer, so I did that at first, and then settled down to attempt to write the next paper for Late Medieval Literature about Chaucer. I don't know why, but writing about Chaucer is like pulling teeth. It's quite disconcerting to me to be so completely unable to write.

At about eight-thirty, I got on Skype, and found to my delight that Syneva was on also. We talked for about half-an-hour, an intense catching-up-on-each-other's-lives conversation. After she left to teach a piano lesson, I got another paragraph or so written. Then Emmaline and I talked for awhile. I had almost settled down to work again when my mother called me. I talked to her for a little while, and then to Stephen. Stephen and I basically just teased each other for ten minutes and then said good-night. I went to bed and was in bed by about eleven-thirty.

two pirates' adventures

Now Playing: The Postal Service, "Such Great Heights". (Courtesy Philip)

Londonderry

Today myself, the ferocious Captain E--, and my fellow pirate, Catherine the Brave, decided to invade the city of Londonderry because our normal piratical activities of going to classes and carving out essays were suspended thanks to reading week. Since our decision was made on the spur of the moment and we didn't have time to build or hijack a proper ship, we took the "half-ten" train from Belfast to Londonderry. I nearly got us on the wrong train, a train to Bangor, but the Catherine the Brave also proved to be wise and, laughing at me, pointed out my mistake as I stood on the platform, crestfallen, and watched the Bangor train slide away. Our train came eventually. We had a beautiful morning for our expedition, at least on the southern part of the line: crisp, sunny, with a stiff northwest breeze. We drove through fertile green pastures where prosperous-looking sheep and cattle grazed. Mossley West, Antrim, Ballymena, Cullybackey, Ballymoney, Coleraine, Castlerock, and Bellarena were all ports of call for the morning's train, but these were too small for us pirates. We stayed on board the train all the way to the end of the line. The further north we went, the colder and more overcast it became. Rain spattered the windows of the train. Then, through the clouds, I spied a rainbow: a graceful arc, full-colored, arching over the fields, arching over a white house surrounded by a cluster of orange-leafed oak trees (their leaves swirled sparkling from them like sparks on the wind), arching down into the field right by the train--and so we saw the end of a rainbow.

Disappointingly, no pot of gold.

The clouds came lower and darker, and it rained. The train went through a couple of tunnels, but between tunnels we had glorious glimpses of the north coast: brown beaches where teal waves broke in a white foam with the grey-blue sky overhead.

After about a two-hour voyage, Londonderry hove into view, the old city on the starboard side, on a hill overlooking the mouth of the Foyle River. I saw the spires of three or four churches and the cluster of buildings marching up the hillside. We disembarked from the train on the other side of the river, though, and had a stiff walk up a hill and on the long bridge over the river. The wind stung our faces. Our first objective was to find ourselves maps of the place. We went down a couple of sketchy side streets lined with old buildings with broken windows and ended up at the central command for pirates in Londonderry, also known as the Tourist Centre, outside the city walls. We picked up a couple of maps and sat in a corner, whispering secretively as we planned the day's mission. I marked out a series of numbers and x's on the map, and we set out on the adventure.

Our first objective was to find some lunch, it being by now two o'clock and these two pirates being positively famished. We went up yet another narrow winding side street to the Foyleside Mall, just outside the city walls: in fact, the Ferryquay Gate was just opposite the entrance to the mall. Inside, the mall was warm and bustling. Clothing shops, Christmas decorations, candy, but nowhere for two pirates to buy a proper lunch. So we went scouting down more side streets until Catherine the Brave spotted what looked like a Chinese restaurant. It was flying the wrong colors, though, as we soon discovered. Inside it was small and quiet, some suspicious-looking characters eating by the windows. We sat down at the far end on the orange chairs, and the lackadaisical proprietor took our orders. I ordered chicken curry, and Catherine the Brave ordered fried rice. To Catherine the Brave's disgust, her fried rice came out slathered with green curry sauce. Now to the ferocious Captain E-- this would not be a drawback since the ferocious Captain E-- loves curry and had no trouble eating up her plate of rice, chicken, and "chips", but Catherine the Brave detests the stuff. However, she manfully downed the least-currified bits, laughing the while in true pirate fashion. We made a resolution to return later with a larger force and make the restaurant change its colors: it ought to fly the flag (or, if you prefer, the plastic sign) of an Indian restaurant, not of a Chinese place!

At least the food was hot and filling, though, substantial enough to keep two pirates going for another couple of hours.

Our next sally was on the old city walls themselves. Londonderry was a town in medieval times and has walls to prove it, with six gates therein: Ferryquay Gate, where we climbed up onto the walls, Bishop's Gate, Butcher Gate, Shipquay Gate, Castle Gate, and Magazine Gate. All the gates have faces carved onto them, though some are plainer than others. The walls are in some places broad enough for at least ten people to walk abreast, and in other places much narrower. They mostly run fairly evenly, though there are all sorts of odd jogs and slants and slopes to them, and they go up quite steeply above some of the gates, the steepness made more dangerous when wet. At instances along the walls there are bastions manned with canons. Unfortunately the city council hadn't been thoughtful enough to leave dry powder and canonballs for these two pirates, so we had to content ourselves with looking down on the city and shooting it with a camera instead.

We went round the walls a short distance until we came to St. Columb's Cathedral, which is under renovation right now, but still open. We decided, in true pirate fashion, that we had to make a raid on the cathedral. So we went through the graveyard (pausing to look at the old flat stones set in the grass) and into the church. The vestibule had a winding stair running up to the organ loft inside it and flat monuments set in the walls. We went inside, into the small entry area, which was cluttered with tourist bulletins and brochures. A busy-tongued woman came up to us and made us welcome--most unusual treatment for a pair of pirates, indeed! She seemed to think it quite normal that pirates should come calling, and even let us take a few pictures, though there were signs posted everywhere saying that cameras were banned (as she explained, some rotter had come along years before and taken a pile of pictures and sold them as Christmas cards comercially without giving the cathedral anything). She explained to us the significance of the flags hanging at the front of the cathedral, among them a stained American flag from WWII. After she left us alone, we walked around the cathedral a bit. It's a short, squat cathedral, dating from around the 1600s. The arches above the clerestory were each supported by the carved portrait head of a past bishop, the synod of churchmen frowning down on the nave below. Some stained glass windows with unusual purple glass in them (purple is rare in stained glass; usually blue, red, green, and white or yellow are the main colors). The floor underfoot was tessellated, and all the pew ends were carved with leaves and animals--no two were the same, but each done lovingly in solid oak.

Us two pirates took a look round, admired the carving and the windows, and then slipped out to resume our storming of the walls. Literally: it began to rain and blow on us. A freezing blustery wind spitting specks of rain in our faces. We have braved many storms, but this one was most uncomfortable, and to make matters worse, Catherine the Brave's umbrella got turned inside-out at least twice.

We made our circuit of the walls by degrees: along the way, we looked in at a little chapel, looked out toward St. Eugene's Cathedral standing elegantly on a distant hillside, passed the Tower Museum (which was shut), admired the intricate sandstone carvings supporting the stained glass windows of the Guildhall, and arrived at last back at our starting point. We ducked back into the mall to get warm again. To make up for not having taken any treasure along the way, we packed two paper sacks of booty at a cart selling candy (and duly paid for them), and sat down at a little table to suck our sweets and chat. Catherine the Brave had included fudge in her collection of sweets: not chocolate fudge here, but butterscotch. Chocolate mice, too. "The only good mouse is a chocolate mouse," I pronounced, and shared some chocolate eggs with Catherine the Brave.

Having victualled ourselves up again, we set out to spend our last hour on a quest to see St. Eugene's Cathedral (have to be politically correct: having seen the Protestant/Church of Ireland cathedral, we had to be good and cross-cultural and do the Catholic one, too--wouldn't want either side to miss out on the honor of a pirate visit). We walked outside the walls this time, through the city's old shopping area. As we walked down the square in front of the Guildhall, the bell in the Guildhall steeple rang four o'clock. "It looks like a church and sounds like a church, but it's not a church!" Catherine the Brave complained. We walked past a booth selling warm woolen sweaters in the street, past newspaper stalls, past restoration work, past florists' and chocolatiers, and at last turned out of the commercial area, up past a "car park", past some neighborhoods sleeping quietly (why no one raised the alarm at the appearance of two such doughty pirates I don't know), and up the slope to the cathedral. The great spire loomed high above us, seeming to swing like a pendulum as the clouds sailed past. A much grander cathedral than St. Columb's, but more oppressive in its way. Inside, on the aisles running down either side, were the Stations of the Cross, and there were four little chapels (one on either side of the door and one on either side of the altar at the front), with candles and statues. But the stained glass windows were beautiful, and the ceiling overhead was patterned into a wooden grid, each square painted with a geometric cruciform design. And turning back down the nave again, we saw a beautiful round window over the front doors with a Celtic interlace pattern in it.

Our conquest of Londonderry complete, we walked back across the river to the train station, purchased our tickets, and boarded the train. It was nearly dark by now. On the ride back we were sitting near the engine of the train, and the racket precluded any conversation. We studied, sucked sweets, studied some more, tried to talk, studied, and finally dozed off. Catherine was exhausted and tried to sleep for awhile. I stared out the window at the black hills rolling past, like great dark waves flecked with armadas of little orange lights as we neared Belfast. The train pulled into City Hospital station, and we were back again, expedition successfully completed.

pictures from this past weekend: an IFSA-Butler outing to Dublin, ROI

Dublin Saturday November 3

Reformation Day pictures

Daphne and Rachel went to a fancy-dress party at a friend's house, completely unconnected with Halloween, of course.... Rachel and Daphne wore masks and painted their masks themselves beforehand. I thought the masks looked pretty cool, but when Daphne here put hers on, it was creepy.


Catherine and Heather spent the afternoon in my room, talking about clothes and food. Their favorite things to eat: carrots, turnips, onions, potatoes.... Anyone see a trend here?

Even over here they have...

... WHITE RABBITS!

:o)