Chapter 1 of the Great Europe Escape

Leading up to our trip, we planned very little. It's not really either my nor my, husband's personality, to plan ahead. So far, we have made it through life very fortunate that personality trait (or flaw, depending on who you ask) has not failed us miserably. Either we are very very resourceful amongst trouble or God is good to us. I believe a combination of the two. Because we didn't spend a lot of time planning, the day before our trip seemed to sneak right up on us. It didn't even feel real that the next morning we would be embarking on a life changing journey. We spent the day lazily packing while cleaning up a bit and mid way through, my husband decided he should look for lodging at any one of our destinations. Originally, he had later stated, he had allotted maybe an hour to the whole endeavor. It took us 3. And that was only booking lodging in 3 of the 6 cities we would be visiting. We bought a train fare to Moslekern, Germany and another to Amsterdam. We also got our bus ticket to Paris. But we got bored with the online spending and the hours of research, so we stopped. We were supposed to be in bed early enough so that waking at 3am and traveling all day (about 19hrs total) would not be a detriment to our attitudes and health. We stayed up till 130am. For no real reason. I suppose you could blame a bit of childish excitement, but really we ate Chipotle way too late and decided hanging out with Edward (Chris' brother) was a good way to spend a Saturday night. We awoke after a few short hours of sleep and piled into the car. If we were forgetting anything sleep deprivation wouldn’t have allowed us to realize it. We drove to Eugene airport and thus it began. Our trip.

To be honest, the day of traveling is a bit of a blur. Lack of sleep, lack of ample water, lack of good bathrooms and probably the feeling as though we were traveling into the future (if you want to consider an 8 hour time change time travel) all could attribute to little anamnesis of that day. From what I remember, we flew into Salt Lake City for a brief jaunt from one terminal to the next. It was snowing. Big giant flakes of white. We landed in Atlanta where it was 65 and sunny. We had a bit of time there. The international flight was about 7hours long. We watched part of OZ and ate dinner. The dinner they brought us was actually quiet delectable. I was expecting near prison food (I can’t use the most common example of cafeteria food because I came from a small town where the cooks made things from scratch and we loved our lunches). Instead of what I assume prison food is, came a tray with hot baked chicken breast, mashed potatoes and broccoli. We had Tillamook cheese for our crackers, which was pretty shocking considering Tillamook is this little local town in Oregon and we were on an international flight to Ireland. We even had a dessert brownie.

In real life, thats not a meal you take a picture of, unless you're lost in a Facebook junkie addiction, but I was impressed with the pleasant meal provided by what I always considered a stingy travel company. Had we wanted, we could have indulged on at least 5 very large glasses of red wine. They handed wine out every hour it seemed. But due to the aforementioned sleep, water and bathrooms situations, we had one glass of red wine each and then tried to hydrate the best we could with good old h2o. We landed in Dublin at 6 something am their time. It was very cold and dark. We took a bus from the airport to our hotel in desperate hopes they would let us check in absurdly early. It was a long walk from the bus station to our hotel. Our packs were quite heavy and again, it was cold and dark. If Chris hadn't scared me about pickpockets and being robbed, I wouldn't have felt this incredible urge to walk so quickly. At one point I thought a guy was following us and I made Chris turn into an open deli market. He teased me and regretted trying to strike fear in me with earlier tales of seedy thugs on Europe's streets. We did make it to our hotel unrobbed, but frozen from the cold rain and cramped from the weight of our packs. It was quite the shock our bodies were under, hours and hours of cramped sitting while on the plane, then without warning, adding giant packs and forcing our legs to quickly carry us a mile or 2 to our hotel in the freezing cold. We hoped our disheveled look would bring pity from our hotel front desk sir. It did. We were able to check in early at no extra cost (although I'm certain we would have paid whatever needed due to our desperation). We took our hot showers and drank our water and went to bed. We didn't even spend much time exploring our room’s view or our amenities. (Later to discover, the view was cool and the room was bare.) We awoke in the middle of the afternoon. Slightly refreshed. We headed out to view what we could within walking distance. The very first sight was Christ Church. Built before any European had set foot on America (c.1030). We walked around some other historical sites. The wall of Dublin. A few other cathedrals. Old buildings with no name in my head, just beauty. The architecture was all so fascinating. Gorgeous rock and spires and towers and pillars.

The streets were hectic. Cars coming to 7 way intersections. Driving opposite directions of what we’re used to. The curves and bends of the roads made it nearly impossible to gauge where cars would be coming from and if or when it were safe to cross the road. Our outting didn't last more than a few hours. Night was coming down onto the city and we were again feeling sleepy. We ducked into an Irish pub called Darkey Kelleys connected to our hotel. It was awesome. Darkly lit, old worn wooden floors. Wood tables and wood benches, all old as well. Some tables were big beer barrels. There was one guy running the show at the bar. Taking drink and food orders while bussing tables and who knows what else keeping busy. He was young. Not friendly, just straight forward. We would ask a question and get a short, accurate answer. I grabbed a local red beer on tap, Chris ordered Guinness. Dinner for me was a traditional Irish Shepherd's pie and Chris got some grilled chicken dish. We enjoyed the atmosphere and ate trying to stay up late enough to see the evening bar crowd maybe filter in. But 8pm on a Monday (every day on vacation seems like a Saturday, so we easily forgot it was a weeknight) is not a hoppin pub night. We didn't mind. We were too tired anyway.

Back to sleep and up early to repack our jammed crammed full packs and fly to Dusseldorf, Germany. We again awoke at some ungodly early hour way before the sun would be up to warm the air. We packed quickly and again walked the dark rainy streets back to a bus to travel to the airport. We stood forever waiting for the bus, hiding under a shop overhang to cover from the rain. I silently worried we were at the wrong place many times, but didn't say anything. The bus arrived after 45 minutes of second guessing where we were supposed to be, we boarded and began another day of traveling.

The flight into Dusseldorf was very quick. We landed and realized very quickly it was even colder in Germany. We had to wait outside for a tram to take us to the train station. My cheeks rosied in a matter of minutes. Our train ride from Dusseldorf to Moselkern was difficult. Chris had gotten sick from the wear and tear on our bodies (more likely the gross flu/cold thing I got a few days before we left the States). He was grumpy and tired and unable to breathe through his nose. Battling aches and chills and moments of fever. I was too awake to sleep and fascinated by everything out the window. We chugged along the Rhine River for a few hours at speeds of 120mph +. I saw castles and houses and churches so magnificently built and scattered across the hills. Their towers all kinds of shapes and their stained glass windows. The little towns clustered along the river neatly. Usually, you could spot the church steeple peeking above the tall thin houses in the center of the village. Most likely- there was a castle looming on a hilltop nearby as well.

I spent a lot of time thinking because Chris was sleeping. I had epiphanies I've already forgotten. I daydreamed about the ancient lives lived in the different areas. I stared out the window at the very intriguing and sometimes quite talented graffiti lining the dividers from the train tracks and the hills. Hands down, the best graffiti art I've ever seen in real life on a consistent basis. We had one stop along the way in Duisberg. We didn't walk about too far from the train station, but within the train station there were all kinds of shops and eateries. Even McDonald's. I got a hot cup of “white chocolate”. It tasted like melted marshmallows and was completely delightful in every way. Thick. Hot. Sweet. But not too sweet. The train station kept us occupied until our next departure. We found a cool tobacco shop and bought some cigarettes and snuff (don't worry Mom, “it wasn't for us”. Haha) We also went into a market to buy some batteries. Everything was so much cheaper in Germany than the US. I wanted to buy tons of stuff and just send it home. But, Chris and the lack of room in my pack wouldn't allow for frivolous purchases. We arrived in Moslekern, Germany around 330pm. The train station was so small it didn't even have a bathroom or drinking fountain. It was not heated and was at best just a four walled shelter for folks to identify the train’s stopping point. Chris reminded me he wasn't feeling so well so finding a place to stay was the biggest priority. We had about a mile and a half walk from the station down the tiny streets of the town to the first guesthaus.

We walked along the quiet cobblestone streets. We were the only life within eyesight and earshot. The tall, old buildings caged us into their winding, narrow cobblestone streets as if they were going to sneak in closer and closer til they completely locked us in, never to allow us to leave.

We rang the doorbell of the first guesthaus (Chris recognized it immediately even though it had to have been at least 7 years since he last stayed there), and waited. And waited. For whatever reason on that Tuesday at 348pm, it was closed. The windows were dark and the insides of the home looked peaceful and untouched. I wondered how long it had been unvisited. How dusty. How cold. The door was beautiful wood. Strong and thick- the sound of knocking would have been entirely absorbed into the ancient wood. The doorbell was an old sounding buzzer that you could hear ringing as long as you held your finger down. It was apparent no amount of buzzing- short bursts of multiple rings or obnoxiously long held rings- would bring someone to the door to grant us shelter. We had to keep walking to find another place to stay. Chris told me he knew of another hotel up ahead but it was about a 2 mile walk further. The air was very cold and it had started to rain. Our packs were uncomfortably heavy. It was hard to enjoy the adorable town we were trekking through. The houses were all so old. Old doors. Fascinating windows and walls. The streets were one car width. One house could easily see into the next they were so close. We saw 2 people. The entire 3 mile walk. 2.

We saw a beautiful cemetery with a stone wall wrapping around it like big protective arms. Every so many feet the wall would have a slight tower with a figurine of Jesus or Mary or some other biblical scene set in a cubby like hole behind iron bars. The headstones were very decorative. Some were taller than myself. Some looked like mini castles themselves. We walked so far and our feet and backs hurt so much by the time we reached the end of the town and the only real hotel there.

We went to the door and it was locked. I refused to let that dishearten me, so I suggested we try talking to the people at the restaurant to see about how to book a room. We caught the waitress and inquired. She didn't know much English, but enough to tell us her hotel was full. No rooms. I couldn't help my eyes from tearing up a bit. Chris had warned if this hotel was full he didn't know that we would find a place to sleep at all. The town is nearly shut down in the winter because the castle nearby is closed. Tourists pour in all summer while tours allow guests to view the insides of the historic attraction. We sat at a table outside on the deck of the restaurant to gather our wits and try to rest a bit. It was our own fault. We definitely should have booked a room and researched the area when we knew it was such a small town with limited resources. There wasn't even a grocery market or another restaurant that we saw of in the town. On our walk we had witnessed only one tiny church, an abandoned warehouse or factory of sorts (which had we been in better spirits would have considered exploring that haunting, intriguing place) and rows and rows of houses. We didn't have much choice but to head back into town and see if there were any other bed and breakfast type houses to rent a room from. The road back into town was slim and winding through the woods. The hotel was located a bit outside of town at the mouth of the trail leading to the main attraction Burg Eltz Castle. We walked along the path trying to keep hope that we would not have to sleep in the sorry example of a train station. I told Chris I was going to hitchhike. He said he didn't know that a thumbs up was a universal sign for getting someone to pick you up or if that was an American thing. I did it anyway. A few cars passed with no luck. I didn't have much time to think about what I was doing. I was cold, wet and so tired; in fear of having no place to stay for the night. Another car sped by us. Another headed in our direction. I wasn't giving up, “I'll hold my thumb out till we are on the other side of town,” I thought. The next car relieved me of that promise. It stopped. The guy, looking to be about our age, spoke something in German. We spoke back in English. He admitted he knew a bit of English. We told him in as few straight forward words as we could that we needed a place to stay. He said, “oh! I will help you. I drive you to every guesthaus and help you find one. I wait and drive til you find one." This guy was instantly my hero. He had a bucket of soup sitting on his front seat. I offered to hold it in the back seat while Chris slid into the front seat. This guy's soup smelled so weird. I was definitely hoping I didn't spill it on myself. I couldn't place the herbs or seasoning that would have been used to make it smell so.....confusing. It was a combination of sweet and musty and.....something else. Like a casserole. Baked mixture of tons of foods melting together. At one point while we zoomed around the narrow curves of the road he called back asking about his soup. I felt as if I owed it to him to keep it safe and in tact. So, I tried extra hard to balance it while we bumped and swerved along. We arrived at the first bed and breakfast and he got out of his car quicker than Chris. He rang the doorbell and even spoke on our behalf to the resident who seemed not to speak English at all. He told them we were desperate and they seemed as though they were going to turn us away from the way the conversation was going. After a short time of discussion, they invited us in. The savior explained they wouldn't cook us dinner, though. I wished we knew enough German to say how unnecessary it would be to have them cook us dinner when all we were praying for was just a warm bed instead of a frozen shack. Besides, we had sandwiches we bought at the last train station with civilization. We said our goodbyes to the kind stranger so quickly to enter the new place saving our butts due to being overwhelmed with gratitude. Gratitude extending both directions- to our savior and the guesthaus owners. The old couple who owned the house asked us to wait in their dining room while they fixed up our room.

We sat enjoying the heat, enjoying the relieved weight from our backs and aching feet. We soaked in the atmosphere of someone else's home. Their fireplace. Their window coverings so overly pink with lace along the bottom. The decorations were like any grandparents’ home would look. Antiques, odd glass figurines and bottles and floral furniture. It was cozy. Delightful. Endearing. When our room was ready they handed us the keys. A skeleton key was for our main door. A fantastic little silver lining to the whole day, if you ask me. It was authentic, not like some cheeky souvenir. This house is probably that old. The town is, obviously. The adorable old woman led us to our room. It was up a flight or creaky dark wooden stairs and down an even creakier hallway. Our room was also very creaky. Old wood floors wishing their hundreds of years of work were over. But nevertheless still doing their job. Our room was Orange. The bedding, the lighting, the wood. Very Orange. It was cute though. It was also very cold. Another sign they weren't expecting guests. I hoped the small ancient heating register attached to the wall in the far corner would be enough to heat the room fairly quickly. We had a chill deep inside that would not easily warm. A hot shower would help if the heating element didn't kick in fast enough. The bathroom was nothing to write about. Normal. Clean. After scanning the room in momentary awe and thankfulness, we began to settle in. And by that I mean we quickly stripped ourselves of all wet clothing, turned the heat up as high as could go and snuggled up under the covers.

The bed(s) was actually two twin beds pushed together (which I found along the trip to be the norm in Europe) . We had two separate blankets both twin sized. Chris was excited about this as he has threatened many nights that we should venture into this method of sleeping. He accuses me of sleeping like some kind of wild thing, thrashing and stealing covers. I consider his accusations a bit dramatic. My only request is that I can swaddle my feet in enough covers to find little cold spots for my toes. I hate being too hot at night. If he had it his way, we would have separate twin beds and his sheets and blankets would be so tightly tucked into all sides that he nearly mummifies overnight. Ick. Anyway, he was happy at the arrangement (until later when he got too cold). After all the excitement had subsided and the safety of a real place to sleep became present in our bodies to let down the survival-mode gates I realized how hungry I was. I remembered the sandwiches I had been carting around since Duisburg. I had the hunger pangs motivating me to search our room for where I had flung the bag in our whirlwind of events. I tore apart our room in search, with no luck. I admitted to Chris there was a nearly 100% chance I had left the bag of sandwiches along with my water in the savior's car. Excitement is the number one thing that causes me to become absent minded of things I had been so heavily focused on just minutes before. Damn! I really wanted that sandwich! Quite a bit, really. I wasn't already taking for granted the warmth of a room, so I conceded that going to bed hungry was significantly better than the earlier option of homelessness. We talked for a bit. Huddled under the covers still waiting for heat to fill the room. We recounted the day and how lucky we were. We felt so blessed. A good half hour, if not more, had passed as we chartered on about the trip and the lessons learned that day. Soon, we heard voices downstairs. Chris jokingly said, "bet that's our friend with your sandwich." I punched his arm. He really wasn't all that hungry so he had no care about the lost food. “I doubt! But thanks for the reminder that I'm still hungry!" Not a minute past his sarcastic jest, a knock came at our door. I hopped up and opened it. Savior! It was actually our friend, with our sandwiches! He looked so happy to bring them to us. "I think you want these. I brought them back to you. And, I bring you a present. A very good wine made from here. Please have it."

I have had a wonderful life of blessings and moments that overwhelm me to the point of feeling removed from reality. This will always be remembered as one of them. I teared up with overwhelming gratitude. (Tearing up twice in one day within a matter of hours even, is not normal for me- I’m no baby!) Forget the sandwich I wanted so badly. This wasn't about stupid bread and meat slapped together meant to satisfy a stomach. This was about a guy so thoughtful that after being willing to hunt down lodging for us went out of his way AGAIN to return to us something we had foolishly left behind. He didn't have to. Who knows how far he lived from where we were staying. Who knows if he worked all day and was looking forward to a hot bowl of stinky soup in his home. He had to of gotten all the way home before noticing the bag I left in his backseat. How tempting it would have been to just throw them away and settle in for the evening. But here Savior was, standing in our doorway with our food AND a gift. A gift?? Why? We were a burden, shouldn't we have gifted him with something? If we had anything of interest, we would have. We wanted to. So badly we wished we had a way to show him how grateful we were. I gave him a hug. Chris awkwardly outstretched his hand to shake Savior’s hand while staying under the covers since he was only in his boxers. We said our 2nd set of goodbyes to this incredibly kind man. He left and I scurried back to bed. I was going to eat that sandwich. It was a magical sandwich now. It had sentiment as well as nutrition. It would be well savored, not scarfed. We again recounted the incredible blessing, as if retelling it showed our deep appreciation. We tossed out ideas of how we could track him down and how we would thank him. We realized, we never asked his name. We were so caught up in his kindness, we didn't even think of it. We had resolved that we would ask our hosts of they knew of him and we planned to send him something cool like Rogue beer or Willamette Valley wine. We wanted to spend even more time talking about the whole ordeal, stretching out the moment as long as possible so as to never forget. We went to bed that night so happy and full and warm. Even now I want to keep talking about it, as if there is more I can say to explain to you the very impact Savior had on us. But there are no other words for it but the ones I've already said. It was. That is that. But I tell you, I prayed that night that God would greatly bless that man. Greatly.