Today I pulled out the journal in which I wrote during my post-college backpacking trip across Europe. I flipped to June 22 and found that at this time four years ago, it was our last day in Mittenwald, Germany. Mittenwald is a tiny winter skiing town in the Alps, right next to Austria. It was a little haven, seemingly untouched by consumerism and the downsides of modernity. Mittenwald was our happy accident, and one of the highlights of our trip. When we walked onto our balcony, this was our view (well, except I was not always sitting there):This is where we rested up and recharged our batteries for the last leg of our journey. We rented bikes in this little town and biked through the countryside and into Austria, feeling a little bit like we were in The Sound of Music. Our hearts were light, pedaling and singing and smiling.
May I share some other tidbits with you? I found another section in my journal in which I describe the perfection of Rome at night. Rereading it, I could feel the cool breeze on my skin, see the full moon beyond the shadowed olive trees, and smell the night-blooming jasmine. I could remember the contentment as the four of us settled into the little plastic chairs outside our cabins, ready to play cards and not quite ready to say goodbye to another day in Italy. But I threw a coin into this fountain, so it is written that I return one day:
And then the closest thing I've come to heaven: the Cinque Terre. It didn't matter that we four were sleeping in a 9 x 9 tent with our feet propped up on our luggage. It didn't matter that I left my glasses there in the bathrooms far from our campsite. It didn't matter that I had an asthma attack hiking the cities. This was the most idyllic, pristine section of Earth that I've ever seen. The water was more blue than any blue I'd ever laid my eyes on. We walked the steep, narrow, crumbling steps through vineyards teetering on cliffs, hundreds of feet above crashing blue. Each view was more breathtaking than the last (literally):At the tail end of our journey, we took a few day trips. One day we went to Normandy Beach. I stood on the sand upon which hundreds of Allies gave their lives to help end WWII. It was remarkable. Then we went in search for the D-Day museum and got lost on the winding country roads, and nearly had to hitchhike back to our bus. Then the next day was the 4th of July, and we went to Monet's gardens at Giverny. When we returned, the four of us felt quite depressed, as naturally the French do not celebrate the American Independence Day. So I drew a very rudimentary American Flag on a piece of paper and held it up. From the un-air-conditioned attic room of the hotel in Paris, we raised our voices in a harmonized "Star-Spangled Banner." And as dusk settled over Paris and we tried to stay cool in the blazing heat, this was my view:
I see what he means. During my trip I saw through the sin, the modernity, the rush and rubble and could see the parts of God's creation that he would have called "good." And I had no choice but to praise the Creator for the beauty He'd created, and long for the beauty of my heavenly home, which will be far greater than even the best of what I've seen so far, or I'll ever see.
PS, all of these photos are indeed mine. Should you have any interest in the rest of the pictures from this journey, they begin here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004374&id=163800206&l=8b28468d5f
Totally jealous and drooling over these pictures! You've done something that I had always dreamed of doing when i was younger and once I got later into my 20's I was more focused on getting into my career and finding a man that I forgot about my dream. I will probably never get to experience Europe the way that you did but maybe I'll still get to go some day with my husband and we'll be able to see it together.
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