I’ve done really well emotionally, until now.

Sitting at the gate staring out at the vessel that will tear me away from this wonderful country, I finally have time to reflect on my past experiences.

The morning was very relaxing as we ate our bakery breads and skyped my mom. Some last-minute gifts and second-guessing my baggage weight made me depend on Takae to send me my own box. After a final cherry blossom viewing we piled in the car to the airport, happily singing our favorite Disney songs together.

I want to take this moment to say, God is good, and I’m an awesome packer.

Suitcase 1: max weight = 32kg. Mine was 31.9kg.

Suitcase 2: max weight = 23kg. Mine was 23kg.

Oh yeah.

I changed my yen into half dollars, half New Zealand currency. In the last few months I’ve possessed several kinds of currency and America needs to step up their game. Our money is so boring! I mean, the term “greenbacks” is kinda catchy but compared to the colorful money of the Kiwis, it has to go.

There were no “goodbyes” in our parting, only “see you later.” This helped keep my eyes dry, though Okaasan didn’t fare so well. I’m going to miss them so much. If it wasn’t for my Japanese family, I would have had a very different experience in Japan…not positive. There is no way to accurately describe their generosity and kindness, and no way I could ever repay them to the extent granted to me.

Like I said, I did well through the parting…

Until I got to the immigration desk. I handed over my residence card and was directed to sign a statement: I hereby resign my residential status and forfeit all connections associated with such residency.

My hands shook as I signed the form and I fought tears as the officer confirmed my denial of re-entry.

Sayonara, Japan.

I hope to return someday.

Thank you for weeping, sakura blossoms. 

This past week has been a blur…

Actually the entire month went by rather quickly. Each day seemed to be the “last” for something.

Last day with a particular class of students. Last time to each some kind of food. Last time to sing with the ladies.

Onsen.

Vacuum my rug.

Stare at the camels on my ceiling.

View Mt. Katasone at sunset from my balcony.

Slip into sleep at the sound of the ticking dollar store clock.

I wish I could recount each moment of my last few days here but the bottom line would be punctuated with peace.

After 2 years of teaching and living in Japan I am at peace with the timing of my departure here. Everything about my situation is in God’s hands and He has helped me leave with no regrets…or very few regrets J

I think there is just as much to look forward to as there is to look back on in joyful memory. Particular moments in time with various people are forever engraved in my mind. These, in tandem with the pictures to print and display, help me keep Japan fresh in my heart.

This doesn’t overpower the harsh reality of saying goodbye face-to-face.

I woke up at 6am to finish some things in my apartment, but ended up staring at my ceiling for 20 minutes, hoping time would go backwards a few hours.

It didn’t.

After taking a shower and eating leftover bean soup, I suddenly had no time and Rachel was knocking at my door. With a few dishes in the sink I grabbed my few belongings and walked out the door. Hard to imagine that 2 years ago I entered the same residence in a jet-lag stupor.

All the yochien teachers and American teachers lined up in the parking lot and I was obliged to pay respects and parting words to each one. Some people I’d never met before! It seemed to take forever and by the time I got around to the American side I was exhausted.  Up until this point emotions were kept at bay, but saying goodbye to my closest friends made me shed a few tears.  I didn’t even say “goodbye” to some people. It’s too final. I am very sure today will not be the last time to be in each other’s company.

The 4 other teachers took off in the van and we waved them down the street. I boarded my own van as Yojisan and Matsumoto sensei escorted me to the train station.

Last time to buy a train ticket. (Done with considerable ease now)

Matsumoto sensei and I chatted on the platform until the train pulled in.

Last time to see the lone headlight growing closer and closer.

I didn’t plug into my ipod as I waved goodbye. I let the sights and sounds of Japan soak into my brain, permeate my skin and settle in my heart.

Local mountains I summited faded away behind the Japanese cedar trees.

“Kanameta. Kanameta desu.” Calls the conductor.

Sleeping students in uniform bobbed their heads to the side, cell phones threatening to slide out of their hands.

The charming clickety clack of the wheels and swaying of the car is predictable and dependable.

In Koriyama I met my friend for tea and scones at Vie la France. We chatted for 2 hours before they escorted me to the platform and waved goodbye. My last vision of this familiar place is from the bullet train window; my friend and the distant Tamura-shi mountains framed in a perfect peaceful scene. Traveling to Tokyo the sea of white and pink cherry blossoms exploded out the window. Changing to the local train meant a slower pace to enjoy the view.

My heavy computer bag rested on the top of my suitcase as I sat down to enjoy some avocado & salmon sushi bought from the station. In mid-bite my belongings crashed on the floor across the aisle in response to a train jerk, barely scraping some poor woman’s shoes. An apology followed by the retrieval (and security) of my bags made the trip a little more interesting.

Arriving at Shinjuku was very interesting: construction! The layout of the station was completely different and I had zero bearings on my location. I had to change company lines and somehow ended up outside needing to cross a busy street. There were construction barriers everywhere and I couldn’t see any way to cross the street…except for a skybridge. I hefted my suitcase and two bags up the stairs and crossed the bridge, only to find that I was only a few steps away from a pedestrian crossing signal on the ground level just moments before.

Oh well.

I crossed the bridge and refused to take the stairs down. Luckily the elevator was immediately inside the new building.

All three elevators were on the 9th floor. They slowly came down as I pushed the call button for the 1st floor. Wouldn’t you know, the first elevator was almost full?!

I squeezed my entourage into the elevator, thankful it was a short trip.

I tried to find a pay phone to call Okaasan…but with all the construction (and invention of the cell phone) there were none to be found.

Surely I could bum a 1 minute phone call off of someone. I mean, half of all the people walking around were already talking on their phones! I know everyone is packing…

Problem 1: People are in a rush to catch their train.

Problem 2: People are using their phones to conduct their own business.

Problem 3: People standing around are actively looking to meet up with their own friends. 

Problem 4: I’m shy…and afraid my Japanese won’t be understood.

I stood by a map. Perhaps other people would stop to look at the map and I could ask them.

“God, send me someone to lend me a phone.”

A girl came as I prayed.

She stopped by the map and took out her phone.

She was typing, not talking.

I looked pitifully at other passersby. Maybe the kindness of Japanese people will just make someone come up to me and ask if I need help.

Nope.

I looked behind me. The girl was still there, only she looked like she was just passing time…not really studying the map or engaged in her device.

Maybe THIS is the person whose phone I’m gonna borrow and I’ve just been wasting all this time. (I’ve been about 4 minutes standing here).

God answered my prayer literally the moment I said it.

I turned around and with the most humble gestures asked in Japanese:

“Excuse me. This is rude to ask, but may I borrow your phone?”

“Sure. Here you are.”

“Really? I need to make a phone call to my mom because I don’t have my phone. Is that okay?”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

Well, that was easy!

I made my call, boarded my train and made the rest of the trip without a hitch. Nice.

Okaasan met me at the station and we spent the next few hours chatting  before picking up Takae from work. Funny how my Japanese gets better when I have to use it. Okaasan said she likes it better when Takae isn’t around because then we get to talk directly. J

Time well spent.

The three of us routed through the bakery and grocery store for some yummy treats. Dinner docket: sukiyaki! We bought some cheap meat…then a pack of 5 strips of fatty beef priced at $25. Wow. Special night.

Of course we were sucked in to the milkshake special happening at the fast food place and couldn’t decide which flavors to get: vanilla, Ghana milk chocolate, or mikkan (orange).

So we got one of each. Yeah.

On a whim we parked on the side of the street and walked down a blossom-filled street along the river. I’m so happy the sakura are blooming in Tokyo right now. In fact, by tomorrow they will start to fade away as the petals rain down like pink snow.

When Otoosan got home from work we filled the boiling pot with water, sauce, onion, mushrooms, meat, tofu, and some glassy-looking noodles. Happily dipping our cooked ingredients into raw egg, the pot filled and refilled numerous times. Ojiichan (grandpa) got full and left the table….then we pulled out the expensive meat! It was so delicious…pretty much just melted in my mouth.

The rest of the evening was spent chatting together….tomorrow is it.

Let’s start with the most important thing on my mind: me.

I know it sounds egocentric so let’s get to the whole truth, starting with some history.

Waaaaay back in middle school I was playing soccer with some friends at school and made a swipe at the ball. A bad swipe. I twisted my right knee pretty badly, but never went to the doctor for it because it ended up healing on its own…mostly.

Every once in awhile if I did the same stomp/twist motion it would come back and be sore for a few days but I was always afraid that by the time I got to the doctor and he said, “where does it hurt?” the pain would subside and I would be speechless. Instead, I accepted my occasional limp and life went on.

The next year I REALLY wrecked my left knee and had surgery…that took a long time to fully heal and my activities were impaired for awhile.

In college I took up running and weight lifting, but soon encountered strange injuries in my lower joints: hips, knees, and ankles. Most interestingly, my old soccer injury on the right leg came back with a vengeance and even took me out of a race after months of training. I visited the podiatrist, who prescribed insoles and particular adjustments to my running shoes to counter my pronation. I went to the chiropractor who discovered that my left leg was 1/8 inch shorter than my right. This threw off the alignment in my hips and likely caused all of the pains when doing prolonged running. He gave me a heel lift and that seemed to help. I tried to do biking, but neither of my knees liked long rides. I took up swimming, but after graduation I no longer had access to a pool. The only activities that caused no pain were walking and roller blading. It seemed I would never run over 3 miles again…

Then I went to church with my friend and the pastor talked about healing from God. I’ve certainly heard of this before, and read about it for myself in the Bible, but something he said changed my perspective of prayer and my view of God’s power. The congregation sang some songs but I could only sit in my chair and cry out to God. He told me to ask Him for healing, to rely on Him as the sole provider. My friend prayed with me and I felt the presence of God. It’s a very weird feeling, but distinctive.

The only thing left to do was wait and see what would happen. Prayers are always answered in only three ways: yes, no, and wait.

So I tried running. No problems.

I went hiking. No problems.

To this day, I’ve never had a problem with my right knee.

Within the last year, however, a new problem arose: my left hip. You remember the leg that’s shorter than the other? Yes, alignment issues arose because I had stopped wearing my heel insert from the chiropractor. It was so hard to wear because I slip my shoes off and on so much in Japan and wear so many different shoes during the day. One day on a long run, my hip started hurting so I walked home (an hour). The next day I could barely walk, let alone get down the stairs.

It slowly got better and I went running again. Bad choice. This time it took longer before I was walking normally again, so waited a whole month before going out on another run. I didn’t last a half mile before pain shot out from my hip and I shamefully walked back to my house. I haven’t been able to run since last July. I took up swimming again to stay fit, and only made it up Mt. Fuji because I was loaded with ibuprofen. Yes, even hiking was now compromised because of this injury.

In all of this, I never forgot that God had healed my knees a few years ago. Could He heal my hip, too? More importantly, would He heal me again? Well, I had no doubt in His power, but I wasn’t ready for the answer to my prayer. I refused God to ask for healing, afraid the answer would be “no.” The last thing I wanted was to be bitter and angry at God for not allowing me the pleasure of good health, so I avoided asking the question. If I don’t ask, I can’t be refused. So I just limped on, hoping that the problem would go away or something like that…but it didn’t. In fact, it got much worse.

I tried using my heel insert again but it backfired, producing a limp that was present even while walking. It was continuously sore, even while lying in bed. Through all of this I was reading about Job, reading about Paul, and reading King David’s cries to God. My heart finally came to a place where I could joyfully rest in my eternal salvation in Christ; I didn’t care about hearing “no” or if my body was broken the rest of my life. I care, but not in a resentful way. Making the conscious decision to rejoice in Christ no matter my circumstance, I was ready to ask God to heal me. A friend in Japan had previously offered to pray with me (which I declined) so I sought her out. We met in my room and prayed simply to God. Suddenly I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit. Again, very distinctive and unlike any other feeling. You couldn’t recreate it on your own. The weirdest thing happened; as we prayed for healing, I felt my femur growing. I thought it was my imagination. I didn’t expect that at all, just figured if God was going to do something He would just “make it go away” or something magical like that.

After our prayer my friend said, “I felt the presence of God here; it felt like ~.” It was the exact same thing I had felt. She asked if I felt any different and I was like, “well, I guess we’ll see in the morning.”

That night, everything BUT my hip hurt. My lower back, my knees, my legs all felt like they were adjusting around in there. In the morning I walked down the stairs. I stretched out. I jogged down the path. I hiked up and down a short steep trail. I’m pretty confident that God healed my hip, and that He did it by growing my leg to the appropriate length. I have a long trip ahead of me, traveling with heavy luggage and hiking around New Zealand. I guess time will tell for sure, short of a doctor’s visit and x-ray. However, none of these things will ever be needed to reinforce my confidence that God’s presence was there, that He answers prayers, and that nothing in this world holds significance compared to His majesty. Only He is worthy of our attention and devotion.

Today is Valentine's Day and I just want to say, "Happy Valentine's Day" to you. 

In other news, my return plans to the US are as follows: 

March 28th: leave Funehiki. Spend time with my Japanese family in Tokyo. 
March 29th: board a plane to New Zealand!
March 30th: arrive in NZ, spend the next 19 days traveling the islands with my beautiful friend Melissa.
April 18th: Fly to Hawaii and spend time with my brother and sister whom I love dearly. Learn to surf. 
April 30th. Arrive in Seattle. 
April 30th-May: Sleep....sleep.....suffer through reverse culture shock, eat pizza, sleep, go through my stuff, find a job, sleep, visit friends, kiss babies, meet new spouses, contemplate my life on a mountaintop. 
Future: move to Oregon!

The parent wake up call. Light piercing through your closed eyelids in an otherwise dark room.

The sheet-wrapped-around-you-roll out of bed.

The groggy bowl of cereal.

Stumbling to the car with arms full of backpacks and coolers that aren’t yours but you know you’ll use later.

Jamming into the backseat of the car and thanking God you’re not driving as you go back to sleep with the pillow you brought.

Yes, I’m sure we can all relate to this type of car trip, the one you actually packed the night before but still freak out before you get on the highway as you hope you didn’t forget something important…like tire chains.

When you’re in the valley and it has been 63 degrees, you kinda forget about things like chains in the back of the car. Let me tell you, if you’re heading to the alps you shouldn’t forget.

That was one of the many phone calls made between the two vehicles we drove into the heart of Switzerland. Not fitting into one car, we borrowed a second car and took some extra passengers to fill ‘er up. Thus, my aunt and uncle each drove the entire 6 hrs round trip and sledding in between. Dave and I brought our licenses just in case our skills were requested in the line of duty.

They weren’t.

And we didn’t need the chains we brought.

Twisting through the jagged mountains we arrived in Bergun, Switzerland around 10am. Jumping in our snow gear we walked into town to rent sleds. 

10am. Jumping in our snow gear we walked into town to rent sleds.

Swiss sleds are very traditionally styled, as you can see. Made mostly of wood, two runners strengthened by a steel sheet along the bottom support the sled. They’re bolted on the back, but only bound by a removable leather strap on the front. This enables the sled to steer according to the weight shifted by the rider.

There are a few ways to steer:

1.     Drag your foot on the side you want to go. Effective and simple, but kills your shoes and sends snow flying in the air/in your face/in others’ faces. Also potential to break your leg should you hit a bad patch of snow or ice.

2.     Pull on the strap of the side you want to go and lean your weight in the back of the sled on the opposite side. Takes considerable weight shift and practice, and not a very fast or sharp rate of turn. 

3.     Put your feet on the top of the runners and push in the desired direction while shifting weight in the back on the opposite side. Better rate of turn and safe for your legs, but takes more time to brake.

4.     Put hand on the back of sled to move your weight on the opposite side of desired turn. Very fast rate of turn, good for drifting corners, but easy to become unbalanced increasing danger of falling off over bumps. 

There were two different runs.

The Praeda is a 7km starting with a leisurely train ride up to the top. This road is never plowed in winter, designated solely for winter sledding tourists. Stepping off the red passenger train, the herd of people make their way past the small restroom hut to the crest where hundreds of sled tracks have pressed down the snow. I got on my sled and pushed off, figuring I’d have to get down sooner or later! Funny, that was the same thing my brother told me as he taught me how to snowboard and bypassed the bunny hill to a 2 mile run…coldest 3 hours of my life.

I digress.

Anyways, the steering came quickly as it was learn or die. More like learn or crash. Dodging adults, kids, and babies my fast little sled carried me swiftly to the bottom of the hill. I only crashed into one person but that was because she was sitting in the middle of a corner like she was Heidi snow princess. (Heidi’s Hollywood village was visible from Bergun).

At the bottom and feeling rather successful about my steering accomplishments, I leveled up with the boys and we went to the hardest sledding run on the mountain: The Dar Lux. From the safety of the ski lift veteran Marshall and I dissected the run weaving between the trees below our feet.

“Oh, there’s part of it.”

“You mean that little deer path?”

“Yeah.”

No more wide roads.

“So…basically it’s a switchback?”

“Yep. See those boards? They’re to prevent you from falling off the mountain if you don’t make the turn.”

Great.

The Dar Lux was everything promised: steep, fast, bumpy, icy, dangerous, narrow, challenging, scary, and fun. The fun part came after I was in the clear at the end of the run, prideful at surviving the gauntlet of obstacles. I only crashed twice, both because of other people in the way. It took a considerable amount of concentration. Sure, there were boards on the corners, but if you moved your weight on a straightaway you could still hurl off the mountainside where there is no guard.

My second run later in the day wasn’t so graceful. I let my guard down a bit and was more careless, trying to pass everyone and making hard cuts on the corners. I wiped out lots of times on that one but it was more exciting.

My second run on the Praeda, having run the Dar Lux, was now like walking through a field of prairie flowers. We played Mario Kart and took on characters Yoshi, Bowser, and Princess Peach, throwing snow and running into each other. We were probably a menace to the other sledders, but then again we were free entertainment.

At the end of the day I walked through town to admire the architecture and flavor of the area. I love the public fountains in European cities.

Regrouping at the hotel lobby we dried off and packed up the cars for the long ride home. Did you know a hamburger in Switzerland costs 17 bucks at McDonalds?! Not that I would eat it normally, but this is insane. 

After that long car ride we cleaned up our gear and coolers of brownie crumbs. Time for New Years!

The Blumenplatz or town center was filled with people of all ages setting off rockets. Some small crackers and fountains were occasionally interrupted by a booming m-80, but overall it was an atmosphere of loud fireworks and sulfur.

Cigarettes.

Champagne. 

Friends.

Smoke.

Bottle rocket sticks hitting cars.

Christmas lights.

Warm coats.

Toasts.

Kissing.

Roman candles.

Church bells.

These are the elements of New Years.

Friends from church had an open house so we walked in from the streets in overcoats and comfy pajamas. (We’d spent the entire day in the car and alps).

The chic house was gently arranged for company and seasonal smells wafted from the kitchen. That’s where the sharply dressed houseguests were congregated, sipping their glasses of spirits and chatting in distinguished, lively voices. Our ragamuffin cousin clan inched along the cabinets towards the group, imagining rather than believing our smoke-infused garments would not offend the hosts. They graciously offered us a toast and we stayed for a little bit until the children went to bed. We excused ourselves accordingly and sheepishly donned our mismatched mufflers after handing back the empty goblets. I felt like a bum, coming in off the street just to get warm and have a drink…but that’s kinda what we did.

That’s it then. The New Year is here. I don’t have a resolution but returning to America all of a sudden became a lot closer. 

Going to America.

AKA: military base.

My cousin Marshall had a basketball tournament so we trekked up there for a day to support the team. I was already used to seeing white faces around me for the past few days, but now they were all speaking English! Many Europeans study English as a second or third language, but now surrounded by my homies I had to really be careful who and what I was talking about at any given moment. I’m so used to just blurting out anything in Japan because no one knows what I’m saying…or if they do, they won’t respond.

We had a grand time, yelling at the game though! A bus transported us to a nearby base and we picked apart the exchange and commissary. I bought some necessities to use in Japan. I was completely at home in the grocery store. Knowing what everything says, and how to use it/make it is such a wonderful thing! If you don’t appreciate living in your own country yet then you need to get out and try living somewhere foreign for a while. I guarantee you’ll return with a new outlook on life. If nothing else you’ll have more patience for yourself and others.

Basically the day was watching basketball, walking around the grocery store, and driving….lots of driving. It took 3 hours each way. I sat between my bro and Tim in the car, so Tim and I shared a pillow. It was more like a drool barrier for my part.

What does a girl living in Japan buy in an American grocery store?

Deodorant.

Toothpaste

Toothbrush

Face-wash

Cookie and cake mixes

Yogurt-covered raisins

Banana chips

Not that Japan doesn’t have these things, they just have different versions that I don't like to use.

In the case of deodorant, Japan only makes aerosols that are 100% NOT effective for non-Japanese people.

Japan selling cake mix: 7 dollars a box. 

You can see why these items are a high priority to grab on base. 

The days between Christmas and New Years are so fuzzy…but there was definitely dishwashing, photo editing, badminton, and Mad Gabbing going on. Probably some naps, too. 


Oh! My bro had a birthday! We celebrated by going out to eat at a German restaurant. 

Well, first we went to church. 
After church we asked a friend to hang around and snap some family photos of us. It didn't go very well as far as things to frame on the mantel...
(click to enlarge)

So we drove up this hill….around a few corners, still up the hill, through the trees, over the river and through the woods.

Out of the woods, onto the ledge.

Hugging the ledge, up to the crest.

Park the car on the ledge, walk into the restaurant/house/village. It’s all those things at once because it probably houses the largest population in a single area within 2 square miles. Cows don’t count. 

The restaurant/hotel/house/village sat diners just inside the large picture windows to view the luscious valley and distants snow-capped alps. 

For the first time since my arrival, the locals didn’t speak a word of English, nor was it offered in translation on the menu. With no pictures to point at, I picked one that was rendered to me as “authentic.” I got schnitzel with noodles cooked in a Jagger beer sauce. It was a very good but large portion. I sampled everyone else’s food as well to get a more diverse opinion of the local flavors. It reminded me of pot roast. 

After the birthday bash we drove to the local rustic castle ruins to play around and take pictures.

Evening: packing for Alps adventures!!!

With a free day to kill, the cousins decided to trek into Basel via local bus to film a music video. 

I really don't have much more to say than my family is more awesome than me. 

And I ate a veggie/feta gyro from a street vendor. So good. 

Killer bathrooms in France. Keep reading to learn more. 

Christmas!!!

What else can I say: pajamas, presents, food, and games!

My bro got me Mad Gab so we had fun sounding like idiots for awhile.

I forgot to mention that I don’t have any money during this time. I have a wallet full of Japanese yen but no euros for Germany and no Swiss francs for Switzerland. Banks are all closed for the weekend/holidays so I can’t buy anything. That whole time at the Christmas market I just looked around. Sad, but it was also nice knowing I couldn’t buy anything…it let me just browse and take in the local culture.

Another difference that was very apparent as soon as I stepped off of the plane was the brazen PDA with every couple. In Japan I first was surprised at the lack of PDA and wondered how anyone ever got married. Now, after being in the conservative country for 19 months I was appalled at the lack of propriety in these Europeans, making out in front of me every spare second of the day. Cultural differences….how many can I count?!

Yes, Christmas….can’t remember a whole lot of details aside from yummy food and staying in our pajamas for most of it, but I do remember the next day…

France! The boys took a snow day and headed up to board in the mountains while the ladies took a friend’s car to Colmar, France. What an enchanting town! This was one of a few Christmas markets that remained open after the 25th.  We only had about an hour of daylight until the night lights came on in the streets and stalls. This market sold many of the same things as in Switzerland, but everyone spoke French! There seemed to be more stalls sprawled down several streets. It was easy to get turned around. Cheeses, meats, and spirits were frequently sold from local vendors. I sampled a nice rum vanilla liquor and bought a cute bottle of it to take home. Crepes and croissants replaced the brats and beer, though those could still be found in front of the smiling faces of men manning the booths. Smells of street food wafted through the corridors of brightly painted buildings. The moon poked eerily through dark blue clouds, wanting to be a part of the merry light from lampposts. 

I took French in the 7th grade for one semester. Don't ask me to say anything except count to ten and say my name. I was pretty much worthless in transactions with the locals, despite my best efforts in smiling and pointing to things. When I lost my leather glove I went around to the stalls I had recently visited, found the owner and showed them my two hands, one gloved and the other naked, and made a sad face.

Eventually one of them pulled out my forgotten glove and we were reunited. Who needs words when you have body language.

At the end of our adventure we went to use the public restrooms. It cost about 50 cents to open the door. Aunt Sue plunked in the coins and went doubles with Hannah. When they came out I grabbed the door before it closed and slipped in. Just about to sit down when the lights went out. Pitch black.

“Hey! It’s dark in here!”

I went for the door.

Behind me the toilet flushed and the seat rose on its own.

“What the???!!!!”

I heard a spraying sound and a machine turned on.

The toilet is alive!!!

Groping in the dark I found the handle and pulled my full weight to open the heavy metal door. 
"I almost died!" I exclaimed in a panic to my cousins.

Strange faces stared back at me by the parking lot lamplight. Another family of three looked at me with amused expressions. With the door opened we discussed how to further proceed and avoid paying another 50 cents when the lights came back on and the toilet returned to standard position. I gingerly closed the door again, willing the lights to stay on as I did my business and got out of there as soon as I could.

Though there was another empty bathroom, the other family must have decided it wasn’t worth it after watching me and left.

But hey, we got three people on one coin. American win.

 Oh, you want to know another win? Remember how I didn’t have any money? Well, that was because I couldn’t change my yen to Euros…Christmas in Germany is much like America: they take a vacation! Japan doesn't do that….I think I’m used to everyone working all the time.

Anyways, my bank card expired while I’ve been in Japan and since I don’t use it I never had it sent. So, my mom sent it to my brother in Hawaii, who brought it to Germany. Well, it’s been almost 2 years since the last time I punched my pin number into that little dial pad and I forgot it. I tried several possible combinations but none of them were right. I emailed my bank (during the holidays) and tried to get them to email my pin to me but they wanted to mail it to me (yeah right) or have me walk into local branch. I’m in Germany, idiots.

So, imagine my joy and delight when I woke up this morning, literally the second I  opened my eyes and my brain said: here’s your pin: ####.

Thanks brain. You’re a little late, but pretty awesome. 

Today is the day: Christmas Eve!!! I’ve already enjoyed so much culture that is reminiscent of my own holiday traditions. Definitely making up for last year; not that it was bad being in Japan, but there’s nothing like a good ‘ole Christmas dinner and opening presents with the fam.

After a week of rain I brought some sunshine to the region and we went for a stroll through the rolling hills of Kandern, Germany. The wide, luscious pasture land for grazing cows was a stark change from the dead brown rice fields of wintery Japan. The warm sun beckoned me to strip down to my tee shirt and I thought of Tamura, expected to drop below zero and snow.

Yes, I’m definitely getting a better deal.

We walked into small villages and past picturesque homes on sprawling acreage. A reindeer, Santa’s second string no doubt, chilled out in the shade by the fence. At another property we socialized with the local llamas, tempting them to the fence with fistfuls of long grass. Uncle Bob found some mistletoe strangling the branches of a tree along the road. Dave jumped on his shoulders and took it down. The rest of the walk was filled with kisses and laughter. The cleansing country air was refreshing especially after choking down the recycled plane/train air for the past 30 hours. Even the occasional waft of manure was a welcome scent! Hey, we don’t have cows in Japan…you get to miss the small and even annoying things in life. 

Returning to the house, Alison, Hannah, Marshall, Aunt Sue, and I huddled around the keyboard and practiced for the evening service. Yes, I hadn’t even been in the country for 10 hours when I was commissioned to play for the Christmas Eve service at their church. Reading over the chords I transposed it a few times on the fly as the ladies discovered their preferred key for vocals. I didn’t know the song so it was a completely clean slate for me to improvise. Aunt Sue strummed the guitar and Marsh played the jimbe to complete this coffee house style serenade.

Entering church I just had one main purpose: don’t cry.

Yesterday we attended the Sunday service and I didn’t make it through the first song before an overwhelming sense of unity and rest washed over me. I haven’t been to church in English since Easter of 2011 so it’s been a long time coming. It was like the last part of me was finally in place. Now I feel like I can go another year before getting worn down again. Good thing I won’t have to wait that long.

After church we came home and enjoyed family time together, eating food and sharing stories. Uncle Bob started a fire in the raised pit on the patio. We eventually made our way out there in blankets and slippers to enjoy a little outside air. Then the whole family was there. Then another family came to join us and there were carols in the air. More wood stoked the fire. A large pot of chestnuts roasted on the grate over the flames. Cheese and crackers and Christmas cookies appeared, disappeared, and replenished. In the courtyard, adjoining apartment tenants came on their balconies to hear our Christmas cheer in the night hours. The German neighbor lady came to the short fence to offer homemade cookies, which we gladly traded for some of our jam-filled ones. She invited us in her living room and we complimented her fir tree adorned with simple ornaments and burning red candles. They barely flickered, flames steadily reaching upward, giving a peaceful stillness to the evening.

Alison and I were still messed up on the inside so we were in bed by 10:30. I don’t know how we were awake during the past few days. It was a Christmas miracle. 

Well, no need to go into detail about the first night. It was your basic, jet lag-interrupted sleep. You know the kind where you wake up at 4am to eat breakfast and deep clean the kitchen before anyone else stirs. But I refused to get out of bed until 6:30 when both Alison and I couldn’t take it anymore…we cleaned the kitchen together.

 In that respect it was nice to both be struggling with the same things during the break. Our bodies were on the same time zone and we arrived in Germany at the same time so we were equally screwed up. Additionally, we’ve both been living in East Asian countries for a while so the reverse culture shock was frequently a topic of conversation.

While walking through the town, or even going to church, we looked at each other and whispered, “We’re not the biggest people here!” When I say big I mean fat. When she says big she means tall.  We blended in with our white skin and brown hair, but both of us were more comfortable interacting with locals in our Asian languages than German or French. I could be seen bowing to people for the next 8 days all over Europe.

On the evening of the 23rd the family trekked to nearby Basel, Switzerland after enjoying a home-baked lasagna, courtesy of the mad Italian cooking skills of Aunt Susan. (Not me.) We walked over the Rhine River and up the cobblestone streets to “The Muenster” church. This was the evening, mind you, so forgive the picture quality. Shout out to my new camera that did awesome once I figured out the optimum settings.

Frolicking around the tall stone walls and steeples we heard a choir singing on the inside. Mass, perhaps? We peeked in and found it packed with people enjoying a concert by Mendelssohn! We sat by pillars supporting the high vaulted ceiling and listened reverently to the last 15 minutes, the chilling acoustics filling the air with warm Christmas Spirit.

I love Europe. 

At the conclusion we hit the streets and wound down the hill to the vendors selling brats and beer. 

We bought a huge skewer of roasted delicious meat, a 2 ft. long bratwurst, and glühwein (“glue-vine”), a hot spiced red wine in a commemorative Basel mug. 

I love Europe. 

The Christmas Market was just what you would expect: markets of Christmas items spanning homemade jellies, cookies, glass and wooden ornaments, nativity scenes carved from trees, fur gloves and hats, woolen scarves, toys, food, wine and spirits, and a hundred other things. Each wooden stall was painted or decorated with fresh evergreen or cedar boughs, rich red bows, and expressions of Merry Christmas in different languages. The atmosphere was enchanting as couples and families strolled up and down the winding streets sipping their spiced wine and smiling with joy in the company of loved ones. I was one of them. 

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