tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71441490721396846742024-02-21T09:54:57.655-08:00Still Round the CornerHannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-59488603256444176402011-04-16T02:32:00.000-07:002011-04-16T02:36:14.642-07:00A Jaunt through London Town<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sunday in London began with Solemn Mass at Westminster Cathedral. The church was built in a neo-Byzantine style, and featured rich colors and mosaics. I loved the crucifix; it drew my eye throughout the liturgy. The choir there was very good, as well. After Mass, I ran into Emily and her friends, but we didn't have time to stick around and talk because we were headed in different directions.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then it was off to Buckingham Palace. I got a picture of myself with the tremendous monument to Queen Victoria, a significant thing for me, since she is one my my favorite historical figures. We had a picnic in the St. James gardens which lie before the palace gates. I think there is no better place for a picnic than an English garden. There were plenty of people there: families with young children, people jogging or walking their dogs, and a few reclining against trees and reading. We strolled after lunch and saw the Duck Island and a charming little Victorian house on the lake. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Down the street we then went, and saw a monument to Winston Churchill across the way from Parliament. The sculptor did a fine job portraying him- a broad, stout figure in a greatcoat, grasping a cane. But they forgot the cigar. We saw Big Ben, the Parliament buildings, the London Bridge, and the London Eye. It was thrilling to actually see Big Ben. I have seen and read so many depictions and descriptions of it, and the real thing definitely lived up to my expectations. Parliament, sitting on the side of the river, was impressive as well. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Later, we saw the Tower of London, and sat on a bench by the waterfront for a while, talking and (in my case, at least) people-watching. In the afternoon, we tried to see the crypt of the forty English martyrs, but it was closed. We did, however, visit the beautiful Jesuit church of the Immaculate Conception. It was built in the 1840s, just a few years after the Catholic Emancipation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">All about the church were chapels and statues of various saints: St. Aloysius, St. Ignatius, St. Stanislaus Kostka, St. John Nepomucene, who died defending the seal of confession; St. Anthony of Padua, St. Therese of Lisieux, St. Margaret of Scotland, St. Winifred, St. Francis of Rome (who is my mother's patron), and the Saints Thomas- the Apostle and the other of Canterbury. There were also alters of Our Lady of Lourdes and Our Lady of Dolours. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIyw9gtcbRLJAELU0o2XAgCpEaR6TS0iB_vdF5Cl3tmS_t0WOLMUpDVWtYS_uG3y-R1obQMEA-MG6fDDxgCtAAS4VNYmcOylWkO2XnrdRQQouYyrnj-uOPQjJm88B1eVcHSHs8aRSGcKl/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIyw9gtcbRLJAELU0o2XAgCpEaR6TS0iB_vdF5Cl3tmS_t0WOLMUpDVWtYS_uG3y-R1obQMEA-MG6fDDxgCtAAS4VNYmcOylWkO2XnrdRQQouYyrnj-uOPQjJm88B1eVcHSHs8aRSGcKl/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+190.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">St. Margaret of Scotland</div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When we returned to the Clovis house, we ate a delicious dinner and met some of their relatives who were visiting. The house was merry and crowded; there were far more children than I could keep straight. I said goodbyes to the children then, because we were to leave very early the next morning and wouldn't see them again. The youngest daughter of the family gave me a small blue box to give to the youngest daughter in my family; the two of them are the same age and have been pen pals for a few years, but have not yet met each other. </span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-35338965257953224702011-04-15T14:52:00.000-07:002011-04-15T14:54:51.415-07:00Oxford<div style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Visiting Oxford was a dream come true for me. Within a few minutes of arriving, I decided that it was the most charming place I have ever been. It is a small city surrounded by gorgeous English countryside. The city itself is, of course, filled with distinguished university buildings, quaint shops, pleasant neighborhoods, and tidy gardens and parks. </span></div><div style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After walking around and getting a feel for the town, we sat on the street with our backs against a sunny wall and unpacked our hearty lunch, courtesy of the excellent Mrs. Clovis. While we munched on our sandwiches and Taxi bars, I people-watched (this is one of my favorite pastimes).</span></div><div style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We walked past the Eagle and Child pub, where the Inklings met regularly. We didn't eat there, but I looked around inside for a bit. I could hardly believe that I was walking in the footsteps of my beloved English Gentlemen. We visited Wolvercote cemetery, the burial place of Professor Tolkien and his wife, Edith. The cemetery was a green, expansive place, and shortly after entering the Catholic section, we found the grave. </span></div><div style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After spending a few moments in silence, we read two of his poems aloud. One was the Lay of Luthien, which was fitting because Edith was Tolkien's beloved just as Luthien was Beren's. The other poem was the lament for Gandalf, which I read because I liken Tolkien to Gandalf. We also visited the church Tolkien attended, St. Aloysius, and Merton College, where he was a distinguished fellow and professor.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In the evening, we went to Mass at the Dominican friary before catching the bus back to London. We sat in the very front of the bus's top level, which afforded us an excellent view of the passing countryside. Brian and I had discussed theology on the bus ride to Oxford that morning; the bus ride back was quite different- we joked around and were ridiculous. It was a fun time. We arrived back at the Clovis home after ten o'clock, and went to bed soon after. We needed our rest; the following day we would explore London.</span></div>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-25264278302571005592011-04-15T14:23:00.000-07:002011-04-15T14:23:19.047-07:00Scottish Soup and Stinging Nettles<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After surviving Vegemite, Brian and I were prepared for anything. The day took a discouraging turn, however. We were told that St. Mary's Church was Catholic, so we walked there hoping to catch morning Mass. It was Friday. When we reached St. Mary's and saw that it was a beautiful Gothic structure, we rejoiced and congratulated ourselves at finally finding a Catholic Church in Edinburgh (we walked through Edinburgh the day before and must have seen a dozen Churches of Scotland, but no Catholic churches). When we reached the entrance, however, our bubble of happiness was pricked. Beside the entrance was a poster of a woman priest. Then we saw the sign: St. Mary's was an Episcopalian church which advertised itself as Catholic. Disgusted and disappointed, we walked back to the hostel. Brian declared that it was a day of mistake identity, and I agreed, thinking of the Vegemite. As it happens, it was April Fool's.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The day improved dramatically when we at last found St. Patrick's tucked away in a close (narrow alleyway) off one of the main streets. Mass was at noon. We had some time to kill beforehand, so we visited the Edinburgh Museum. There were interesting things to see: artifacts from ancient times when the land was pagan, for example. We were most interested in the displays from the Middle Ages, however, for there were centuries-old holy objects, such as crucifixes and a monstrance. It was a sobering thing, seeing these things in a secular museum. Certainly, we saw relics and the like in the treasury in Vienna, but somehow that was different. That is a Catholic country, traditionally; here in Scotland, these things were most likely taken from churches which were then destroyed or changed to Protestant churches.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We went to Mass at St. Patrick's. After Mass, there was bread and soup for the parishioners and visitors. So, by happy chance, we ate a free meal and were able to chat with the local Catholics. I met an elderly lady who had lived in Edinburgh her entire life. She was with her brother and sister; they all must have been in their late seventies or eighties. They were very pleasant, and wished us a good time in Edinburgh.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After lunch, we went to the Edinburgh castle. There was a lot to see, and I was ashamed at myself for not knowing enough about Scottish history to make it meaningful. That being said, our tour was nevertheless a lot of fun; I learned Scottish history according to Brian. We discussed Methuselah the Proud, Bob the Dog, and Frederick the Impostor, to name a few notable figures. I did my best to stifle my laughter, since we were in the castle museums.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OZ-FfkQZZWLTQuHBhoKm3QgJ1414qAEZb5EULUAVgHzHTBrgejYza5QAt5m7kY8cuidHSFblc7kcyMbKbXNTswxQ-gLnp4UFoSiRJP7S3GLvUbs5TLd95glxr88tZrw5ebnWnObJJuCc/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OZ-FfkQZZWLTQuHBhoKm3QgJ1414qAEZb5EULUAVgHzHTBrgejYza5QAt5m7kY8cuidHSFblc7kcyMbKbXNTswxQ-gLnp4UFoSiRJP7S3GLvUbs5TLd95glxr88tZrw5ebnWnObJJuCc/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+039.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After exploring the castle, we wandered around Edinburgh a bit more. At one point, Brian and I climbed a very steep slope outside the castle walls because we were waiting for Sarah to grab some of her belongings from the hostel. Brian reached a good sitting spot first, and I moved to sit down next to him, reaching out my hand to steady myself. I instantly jerked back back, though, because a seemingly benign green plant had stung me viciously. I could see nothing, but felt tiny pricks in my palm. Soon, white and red welts appeared. When we met up with Sarah, she reckoned that I had touched Stinging Nettles. Brian jovially told me that I had a little bit of Scotland in my palm- a souvenir. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We shopped around town a bit, and I bought a Sir Walter Scott book published in 1874. We ate dinner at a place called the Last Drop. I think it is called so because it is located near the old place of public executions. Wanting to try staple Scottish food, we order haggis, tatties, and nippies. The former two were mashed potatoes and mashed turnips, respectively. The food was delicious in a hearty way, especially the haggis. Brian and I split a carrot cake for dessert. It was notably delicious, as carrot cake always is.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Following dinner, Brian and I decided that we wanted to climb the mountain once more, and reach Arthur's Seat. It was half past seven o'clock. We had to catch a night bus leaving from St. Andrew's Station at half past ten. Sarah did not want to make the climb, but told us that she would meet us at the hostel at nine-thirty, when we would all walk to the bus station. So Brian and I set off quickly across Edinburgh to the mountain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It was dark, and windy as usual. My sturdy shoes were a bit too big for hiking, so to prevent blisters, I went up the mountain barefoot. This worked out fine, until I walked into some thistle weeds. “At least they aren't stinging nettles,” I thought to myself<span style="font-style: normal;"> as we hurried along. Were that the case, I would not have been able to walk. I am pretty much out of shape and could only climb at a slow pace. I kept asking Brian to go on ahead because I knew he wanted to reach the top, but he gallantly insisted that we stay together. We got very high, close to the summit of Arthur's Seat, but did not reach the top because we were running out of time. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Still, we found a good spot with a spectacular view of the city, and plopped down on the grass for a few minutes. It was well worth the climb, and we savored our last moments atop the Scottish hills in the whipping wind. The climb down and the walk across town did not take long, and I barely noticed the prickles in my feet. When we arrived at our hostel, however, Sarah was nowhere to be found. We searched the place and called her multiple times, but got no response. Finally, just as we started to be genuinely worried about her safety, she called my phone and told us that she was still at the restaurant talking to people. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">W</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">e were running out of time to get to St. Andrew's station, and I was somewhat sharp when I told her that she would have to find the way to St. Andrew's station by herself. Brian and I made it to the station with ten minutes to spare, and Sarah miraculously made it just in time- she had literally one minute to spare. When the three of us jumped onto the bus and collapsed gratefully into our bus seats, we were too overwhelmed to speak. After a minute or so, I drew a bar of Carmel Milka from my bag and passed it around. There is nothing like a bit of chocolate to help one recover from particularly nerve-racking situations.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-style: normal;"></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The night bus from Edinburgh to London was rough for my two companions, who were unable to sleep. I, however, dropped off to sleep around midnight. Upon arriving in London, we were confused by the train and metro system, but Brian figured it out. Soon we were at the home of the Clovis family, who are friends of my parents. After a warm welcome, we enjoyed a breakfast of fried eggs and toast. It felt wonderful to be in the home of a large Catholic family, and I would have been perfectly content to stay there and spend time with them that day, but we had a lot to see and little time to see it. So, we left around the eleven o'clock hour and caught a coach to Oxford.</span></span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-6710794732051329572011-04-15T14:02:00.000-07:002011-04-15T14:06:08.084-07:00The Unforgettable Breakfast: or, Our Unfortunate Encounter with Vegemite<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">On Friday morning at Caledonion Backpackers, Brian and I went down to breakfast while Sarah slept in late. There was a mountain of sliced bread, cereals, juice, coffee, and at least a dozen kinds of jams and jellies. As Brian and I were spreading jam over our toast, I spotted a familiar bottle of black stuff with a yellow label that I recognized as Vegemite. I recalled a far-away memory of Mom and Dad returning home from Australia with Vegemite to give to our vet, who was Australian. I also vaguely recalled that Vegemite was a delicious, chocolaty something and had the brilliant idea that Brian should to try it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I told Brian to put some Vegemite on his toast, explaining that my parents had brought it from Australia when I was little, and that it was delicious. He seemed dubious, but trusted me and got some. We then sat in a cozy corner by the fireplace and I tucked into my toast and jam. Brian took a bite of the Vegemite-covered toast and chewed slowly, and his face became focus and somewhat rigid. Confused, I asked him what the matter was. “Oh, do you not like it? Here, I'll eat it then.” He handed over the toast, and I enthusiastically took a bite. Instantly, I experienced a level of repulsion that I have never before felt. My poor taste buds were basically put to torture: cruel, ruthless torture. It took every effort of will to chew the besmirched piece of toast and swallow, but I did.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Brian was watching me intently, so I said that I had something to tell him in a minute. Then I drank my juice and ate up my other toast, desperate to eradicate the aftertaste of Vegemite from my mouth. Mortified that I had made my friend taste the wretched stuff, I told him my mistake and apologized profusely. Somehow, I must have gotten Vegemite confused with Nutella, or some other delicious chocolaty thing my mother had brought from her travels.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">What a flighty, brainless mistake for me to make! Yet, it is so typical of me to make such a ridiculous error; and poor Brian, who has only known me for a few months, could never have guessed it. He took it very well, though. With grim humor, he said that since we have tasted the most disgusting thing in existence, we can now tolerate all other foods, no matter how bad they may be.</span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-90955650828749334162011-04-15T13:42:00.000-07:002011-04-15T13:53:11.967-07:00An Adventure in Edinburgh<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My ten-day break began in Bratislava, Slovakia. We spent the night before our morning flight in the Bratislava airport. I used my travel blanket and was able to sleep for a few hours, but the floor was kind of cold. In the morning, as we sat waiting for our check-in, a random woman gave a banana to me and an apple to Sarah. She must have seen us poor college students curled up like hobos and had taken pity on us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The flight was only a few hours; Sarah napped while Brian and I talked. I also read some of Lewis' <i>The Abolition of Man. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">When we arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland, everything felt surreal. It was hard to believe that we were actually there. We withdrew some pounds from an ATM and boarded a bus to our hostel. It was my first ride in the top of a double-decker bus, and I watched the passing scenery in fascination. </span>Edinburgh is probably the tidiest and most stately-looking city I have ever seen. There were no rough or ghetto areas; every part of the city we passed was beautiful.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Our hostel, Caledonian Backpackers, was a grungy, artsy place overrun by hippies. Our receptionist was a nice gal with dreadlocks and lip piercings. The walls were painted bright greens, oranges, reds, blues...and the artwork was interesting, to say the least. It wasn't sketchy, just a little weird. Most importantly, the people were really nice, and it was cheap.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After checking in, we wandered around Edinburgh. We saw Sir Walter Scott's house, which was neat; I went through a Sir Walter Scott phase over the summer and read some of his books. We visited a very old, very Gothic graveyard, which actually had a monument to the Scottish soldiers of the American Civil War. We visited Carlton Hill, a park with several famous monuments, including the Scottish National Monument and a monument to Lord Nelson. This wind was so very strong that ever so often, it pushed us back a few steps. If you didn't keep your footing and brace yourself, you could easily have been knocked down.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsjzxuywwgGiSTHkz_4EblRNB21fkRIUk_bP-Mn_IMzip5vIrbIJkXA1VInj9vp3woLPV6qyhv9oKQms82uZf_ZbcZB185AVyzQsfSRv4vAhld616zO-gYtujKiWILIPe5f6RRUnHKSxr/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsjzxuywwgGiSTHkz_4EblRNB21fkRIUk_bP-Mn_IMzip5vIrbIJkXA1VInj9vp3woLPV6qyhv9oKQms82uZf_ZbcZB185AVyzQsfSRv4vAhld616zO-gYtujKiWILIPe5f6RRUnHKSxr/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+022.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Holyrood Palace</div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We then walked through town, past Holyrood Abbey (which is the Scottish residence of the Queen), and up the mountain which rises in the midst of the city. Its summit is called Arthur's Seat. When we reached the top, we sprawled out on the thick grass and gazed into the sky, with the tremendous gusts of wind whipping over us. I thought the wind was strong down in the city streets, but it was nothing compared to the strength of the wind atop the mountain. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We then walked to the crags, but took care to stay a few paces away from the cliffs, because the wind could have easily knocked us over the edge. Rather, I took care to stay away from the edge, and Brian tempted fate by getting as close as I would let him. We eventually found the perfect sitting spot with a fantastic view of the city below. We were in the wind's full blast, and sat with our backs braced against a rock wall.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">That evening, we had a frugal dinner, eating some bread and sausage that I had packed. We went to bed early, too, because we were all worn out from our previous night in the airport. This was my first time sleeping in a hostel dorm room, and it wasn't bad at all. Most of the others were fellow backpacking college students, and I really didn't have to worry about my belongings. There were about a half dozen bunk beds, and most of the others got in late after pubbing, so I actually did not see too much of them.</span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-39850324231834798732011-04-15T06:29:00.000-07:002011-04-15T06:41:55.409-07:00Over Hill and Under Hill<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Some of my friends and I went to the cave on Sunday of the Medjugorje weekend. Our fearless leader was Edward, who had been to the cave before. It is located under the Schwarzenberg, one of the mountains surrounding the little Gaming valley. It was a long trek, during which Edward and I talked about Lord of the Rings. Besides Mike and Logan, I think he knows more about the books than anyone I've met. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When we reached the caves, we decided to enter in small groups. Caroline, Emily, Ian, and Sarah waited at the entrace while Brian, Edward, and I went down. The cave entrance is a large crack in the side of the mountain, and inside, the ground is not even, but slants downward steeply. In fact, it reminded me of the pit Mattie falls into in the movie True Grit. “Edward, there aren't snakes here, are there?” I asked with some trepidation, but he replied that there definitely were not. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The farther down we crept, the more difficult it became. It had rained the day before, and the sloping floor of the cave was very muddy and slippery. I felt like I was going to slide down the rubble and mud to the bottom, but by clinging to the damp wall, I kept my balance. When Brian and I finally reached the end, there was only room enough to crouch. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We then began the ascent, which for me was more difficult than the way down had been. I kept slipping, and I felt uneasy at the thought of slipping down to the cramped, black bottom. It was at that moment that Edward remarked that the bottom of the cave would be a good place to bury dead people. I instantly had a vision of a corpse emerging from the black pit, groping my ankles with its horrible, decaying hands, and dragging me down into the dark. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sometimes an overactive imagination is a curse. I promptly “freaked out” until Brian told Edward to shut up. I tried hard to block out the image, but then I thought of the Paths of the Dead in Tolkien's stories and Elladan saying <em>the dead are following</em>. Then, I thought of my ridiculous imagination and how like Anne Shirley I am, and at the thought of Anne Shirley and her affinity for being "deliciously scared", the fear lost its grip and I was able to laugh at myself. After we had clawed our way back up and had a respectable amount of mud on our clothes and hands, Sarah and Edward went down together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">With Sarah and Edward in the cave, the rest of us sat around the entrance and passed the time joking and talking- and singing. After twenty minutes, though, we realized that we could hear no sounds coming from the dark hole. The cave only extended down about a hundred feet. Peering down into the darkness, we called them repeatedly, but they did not answer. After several minutes of calling and telling them that this joke wasn't funny, we dispatched Ian to the Karthause for help. Dreadful possibilites ran through my mind- they might be hurt, maybe even unconscious...or they had vanished.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then, a faint and muffled sound reached our ears. From the very bottom of the cave came the sound of someone moving. It was Sarah and Edward. When they finally reached the top, they told us their discovery: that what we thought was the end of the cave wasn't the end at all. There was a small tunnel at the bottom, just big enough for a person to crawl through on his belly. And through it was a giant chamber, as big as a football field. "You could have Mass for the entire Karthause community in there," Edward told us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I wanted to see it myself, but since we only had one flashlight, we decided to go back some other day. We sent Edward running after Ian before the Karthause was alerted. The rest of us walked down the hill, relieved because our friends weren't dead and excited by our discovery. And so we emerged from the woods, muddy and content. When we reached the Karthause, the boys (minus Ian) and I jumped into the creek. This was a minor victory for me, since I have been trying all semester to get Brian to go creek-jumping. </span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-71179382764013343762011-04-15T04:05:00.000-07:002011-04-15T04:05:24.556-07:00An Afternoon out of Doors<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The last weekend of March found the Karthause quite deserted, except for a handful of students. Most everyone went to Medjagorje, and I was one of the few who stayed behind. It ended up being an unforgettable weekend, which tends to happen when you live in the Karthause. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">On Thursday after class, I wandered up the side of the mountain behind the Karthause. It was a warm, bright day with an occasional breeze- the perfect day for walking. I savored the silence, and the beauty of Gaming in spring. When I had gained some height, I had a marvelous view of the town below. The climb took longer than I predicted, and I ended up running down the hill to be in time for noon Mass. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As it happens, some of the professors' children were on the hill picking wildflowers, and they helped me to pick a path through the thorn bushes and fences that were between me and my destination, the chapel. I ran along and reached the chapel during the opening hymn. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The rest of the afternoon, I babysat for one of my professors. After a few hours of play, I was a little worn out, but that might be because the leader of “Simon Says” had us run around the house eight times. It was nice to play with children again- my own siblings are growing up fast, and my nephews are still babies. Besides Simon Says, we played baseball, pretended we were pirates, and made stew with rocks, flowers, and bark. </span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-19427855746647628482011-04-15T03:48:00.000-07:002011-04-15T03:48:02.149-07:00A Show of TalentC<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">aroline, Emily Rolla, and I performed a comical rendition of the song “Matchmaker” from the Fiddler on the Roof for the Karthause talent show. Emily R. rewrote the lyrics, turning the song into a parody of the quintessential Franciscan female stereotype: the MRS Major. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Actually, Caroline and Emily R. practically had to drag me into the act, because I was reluctant to perform. I am so glad that they did! The skit was successful, despite a stressful microphone situation just beforehand. The lyrics were brilliant and the tune was familiar to the audience, who laughed at all the right places. After performing, we sat back and enjoyed the other acts, which included a juggler, Irish dancers, three ninjas, a miniature guitarist, a monologist, and professor impersonators. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I think I laughed harder than I have since the last time I hung out with Neil, which is saying a lot. It was a hilarious and memorable evening that we all- professors, families, students- enjoyed together.</span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-57367111272984949422011-04-15T03:37:00.000-07:002011-04-15T03:37:52.638-07:00A Swiss Hike<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> The week following our Rome and Assisi break flew by quickly as we dived back into our studies and prepared acts for the impending talent show. Before I knew it, a new weekend was upon us, and I decided to go on a hiking trip to Switzerland that Annie was organizing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The six of us- Annie, myself, Jaci, Kelly, Brian, and Emily, took an overnight train to a town just over the Swiss border. We arrived about six-thirty in the morning, and the weather was cold and rainy. Despite this, the hike was very enjoyable, especially after we had conquered the initial ascent and the way became less steep. The silvery, misty fog drifting through the trees lent a feeling of quiet and mystery. We stopped several times throughout the day, sometimes for snacks and once to say morning prayer. There were majestic trees, a few lovely waterfalls, and hills rising steeply all around us. As we climbed still higher, the rain turned to snow and the trees and slopes about us were soon covered in a light powder. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We passed several farmsteads perching on the sloping hillsides. At one such farm, we stopped to ask for directions because we were slightly lost. I approached the farmer, who was out feeding the animals, and asked if he could help us find our way. I used my German as best I could. As it happens, he was from Mongolia and did not speak German at all. I could not have been more surprised at this revelation. Although we did not get directions, we pressed on, and soon discovered that we had been on the right path the entire time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> The hike took several hours. When we finally reached our destination, a town called Weisstannen, I felt very cold, very damp, and very accomplished. In town, we stopped at a little cafe and ordered drinks. I got a delicious drink similar to cider, which helped warm me up after the hike. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We took a bus back to the trail's starting point. Then we made the ill-fated decision to cross the border into Liechtenstein. The busride was a mere thirty minutes, and we were excited by the prospect of spending the afternoon in another country. It was raining heavily when we arrived in Liechtenstein, and to make matter worse, we were hungry and practically all the restaurants in the country were closed. So, still hungry and more than a little disgruntled, we left the grand country of Liechtenstein after a mere thirty minutes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Back in Switzerland after that failed endeavor, we found a hotel restaurant. We must have been a sight in our mud-caked boots, mud-splattered pants, tangled hair, and overall disheveled appearance. We didn't care, though, because we were tired and hungry. Everyone ordered delicious Italian food, which we ate slowly and savored. We talked, played riddle games, and enjoyed each other's company. Finally, after scrumptious ice cream desserts, we left for the train station. We had a bed compartment for our ride back, which helped us to get a good night's sleep. </span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-57981857026664052112011-04-05T13:15:00.000-07:002011-04-13T14:13:27.185-07:00Assisi Again<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I spent Thursday, Friday, and Saturday in Assisi, the home of St. Francis and St. Clare. It was wonderful to be back in that peaceful place with its narrow, winding cobblestone streets lined with stone houses covered in clinging ivy. After we had arrived and checked into our charming old hotel, Olivia and I traipsed around town, stopping at several shops and the Gran Cafe for some gelato. Then we walked up to the church of St. Rufino for Mass. Afterwards, Fr. Ron talked about the history of the church, and told us that beneath the sacristy was a small chamber in which Francis used to pray. The chamber was closed to visitors, but Olivia, Brian and I very much wanted to see it, so we stole into the sacristy and asked the religious sister there if we could go down into the chamber. Graciously, she let us, and we were able to spend a few minutes there in prayer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The following day, the university ran tours of Assisi's important locations for the students, but I used that time to walk around on my own. It was like a private retreat. I walked alone down the hill to San Damiano, enjoying the warm sunshine as I passed by olive groves and orchards. I saw the original chapel, refectory, and choir of the cloister founded by St. Clare, as well as her own bedroom. Afterward, I walked along a shaded path that wound around the outside wall of the cloister before heading back up to Assisi for lunch.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The few days we spent in Assisi flew by- the other highlights included our trek up to St. Francis' hermitage in the hills, a musical about the life of St. Pio, and sitting beside Assisi's castle on a hill, watching the sunset. It was like a dream.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDMIFlozdC98VW6KMujf1Iy3Jf-efBVvf8I2w_wxXfqDKfqs1GTLOLKByjBl5nqjwo6iPn7-f9MVLE-hGoaisxaE_v9I3qphzN_lnPK2PLI-hOBvVODZDtc0XYs3D8FFOV_ueMolv_Vkh/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDMIFlozdC98VW6KMujf1Iy3Jf-efBVvf8I2w_wxXfqDKfqs1GTLOLKByjBl5nqjwo6iPn7-f9MVLE-hGoaisxaE_v9I3qphzN_lnPK2PLI-hOBvVODZDtc0XYs3D8FFOV_ueMolv_Vkh/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+269.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Walk to San Damiano</div>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-90486982384100219852011-04-05T12:37:00.000-07:002011-04-05T12:37:19.916-07:00Papa Benedetto<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wednesday morning in Rome, I went to a latin Mass with some friends in St. Peter's. The Mass was at one of the side altars- the altar of Pope St. Gregory the Great. The basilica was quiet and somewhat dark, and I could barely hear the words spoken by the priest as he celebrated Mass facing the altar, but I followed along in an English handbook. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A few hours later, the entire Franciscan group went to the Pope's weekly general audience. The hall was packed, of course, and there was a traditional Bavarian band there to play for Pope Benedict. We were there an hour and a half before it started, and we passed the time in excited anticipation. Then he finally entered, a small white figure on the far-away stage. His voice was soft with a pleasant German accent. I think it is safe to say that this was my most memorable Ash Wednesday, because I got to see the Pope and hear him speak. </span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-65967061926307078642011-03-29T08:14:00.000-07:002011-03-29T08:14:37.588-07:00Shrove Tuesday in, and under, Rome<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">On Tuesday, I went with the university group to tour various churches in Rome. They were: St. Mary of the Angels and Martyrs, Santa Maria della Vittoria, the Capuchin Franciscan Boneyard church, Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, St. Agostino, and Chiesa Luigi. We also saw the Spanish Steps, the Embassy of Malta, the Piazza Navona, and the Pantheon. Of the churches, my favorite was Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, with its Gothic ceiling of dark blue set with gold starts. It is a Dominican church, and beneath the alter in a marble tomb lies the body of St. Catherine of Siena. Also there is the body of Blessed Angelico. </span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In Santa Maria della Vittoria, I saw the famous sculpture of St. Theresa of Avila in ecstasy, by Bernini. It truly is a remarkable work. In St. Louie's, I saw the paintings of Caravaggio. The Capuchin church adjoined a very strange crypt: the bones of hundreds of friars throughout the ages <em>decorated </em>the crypt. There were walls covered with skulls, and chandeliers made out of finger bones. I would rather not describe any more of it- you get the idea. It was a very strange place, and reminded of the Paths of the Dead in Tolkien's stories. The Capuchin church itself, though, was very nice, and we all were able to visit the tomb of St. Justin the Martyr. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Those were the highlights- these churches deserve more attention in my travel writings, but I unfortunately do not have time. After the tour, Liz and I walked back to St. Peter's Square where she joined the line for a tour of the Vatican Museums. I wandered around looking at shops until the time came for my Scavi Tour. The tour takes you under Vatican City to the necropolis, or city of the dead. St. Peter's was built by the emporer Constantine on top of ancient Roman tombs, which we were able to see on the tour. More importantly, we glimpsed the burial site of St. Peter. Archaelogists discovered during excavations in the 1940s that he is buried directly under the main alter of St. Peter's Basilica.</span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-54113877230612996382011-03-28T18:48:00.000-07:002011-03-29T07:37:41.989-07:00An Italian Shore<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Monday morning, I boarded a train for Nettuno with some other girls. Nettuno is a coastline town not far from Rome, and there lies St. Maria Goretti. The train ride was glorious- as we sped out of the city, the graffiti-covered buildings were replaced by lush, rolling hills. There were outlying Roman ruins rising out of a green sward and crowned with ivy. Little hamlets, olive groves, vineyards, cypress trees, grazing sheep- we saw these things and basked in the sheer Italian-ness of it all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After the pleasant ride, we arrived in Nettuno and immediately walked to the church of St. Maria Goretti, which sits right next to the shore. After praying in the church, we went out to the beach. Ashley and I sat on a pier and ate rolls and Nutella, stolen from the hotel breakfast, and then we took off our shoes and walked across the sand to an area covered by huge rocks. We climbed onto the rocks and found comfortable places to sit. I was surprised at how white my bare legs looked in the sunlight- evidence of the long Austrian winter. "Ashley, look! My legs are glowing!" We enjoyed the warmth of the sun, the strong wind, the glittering sea, the sound of the water crashing onto the rocks, and the calls of the seagulls. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9o285bDhKB4jcXpP6InkbqU2Gv7r33DUBJJqzOjLk0F6yKZAwS1gZj5-YVRNBzMu8j1vPto563XLG1xmWUJXSphIpV8BxpdvYh4IC8qJMyl_IyawuT3BNifNCDk7D0-Sud5zFzreqHiJ/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9o285bDhKB4jcXpP6InkbqU2Gv7r33DUBJJqzOjLk0F6yKZAwS1gZj5-YVRNBzMu8j1vPto563XLG1xmWUJXSphIpV8BxpdvYh4IC8qJMyl_IyawuT3BNifNCDk7D0-Sud5zFzreqHiJ/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+126.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Endless Horizon </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After two or three hours in Nettuno, we caught a train back to Rome. We wanted to make it back in time for Mass at St. Paul's Outside the Walls, which was at four o'clock. The train to Nettuno had only taken fifty minutes, but the train back took an hour and a half. Despite the delay, we managed it, which is impressive considering the fact that neither Ashley nor I had navigated the metro by ourselves before. We arrived at our stop with only a couple minutes to spare, and ended up sprinting several blocks to St. Paul's, arriving just as the Gospel reading was ending. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After Mass, I went into a side chapel with the crucifix from which St. Bridget of Sweden received the stigmata, and the Pieta prayers. Kevin was there with the Pieta prayer book, and he let me pray the prayers with him before the crucifix. To pray them in front of that very cross made the prayers even more profound and meaningful. By the time we finished, most of the other students were gone. The black-robed Benedictine monks were in the sanctuary chanting. That night, after dinner at the hotel, I made it to the holy hour with no problems, and it was a peaceful way to close the day. </span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-793713697536833422011-03-27T11:09:00.000-07:002011-03-27T11:13:53.117-07:00Rome: The Return<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sunday morning, I woke up in Rome. That is one of the best feelings in the world, because there is no place like Rome. I dressed, grabbed a roll for breakfast, and walked to the metro with Ian, Matt, and Caroline. It was around seven in the morning. I was wearing Emily Rolla's red dress because we were to attend Sunday Mass at the Vatican, and my dresses were all too casual. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When we arrived at our metro exit and approached St. Peter's Square on foot, my excitement levels soared: the city was so beautiful and grand, and there is something about breathing morning air that causes a feeling of exhilaration. When I saw the great pillars which encircle the square, I couldn't help myself: I broke into a run and sprinted there, leaving the other three behind. Ian told me later that I flew by a strolling cardinal, who seeing my excitement, smiled at me and laughed a little. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqe0GB3Z23bxj8sAuYhfPOl15NBBoeauaQL2lGOb9hAOD2dvmW6LPpLzgb7QxiUvRDFM1D0lEN46S1djtk17v9OumNXt524A8MCwFcZX7IFBdZlFuFogE7fEIl54i3I0H2XZUGkOqaw-w5/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqe0GB3Z23bxj8sAuYhfPOl15NBBoeauaQL2lGOb9hAOD2dvmW6LPpLzgb7QxiUvRDFM1D0lEN46S1djtk17v9OumNXt524A8MCwFcZX7IFBdZlFuFogE7fEIl54i3I0H2XZUGkOqaw-w5/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+087.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sunday Morning at St. Peter's Basilica</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ah, St. Peter's square in the morning light, in the fresh morning air! The grand facade facing eastward, in the direct light of the rising sun. I couldn't take my eyes off it. We first went into the basilica and looked around a bit, then joined the queue to climb the cupola. The ascent was fun- some of the boys started out running, but that didn't last long. Even walking at a steady pace fatigued us a little. But we finally reached the top, and beheld the square, with its encircling pillars resembling embracing arms, or an old-fashioned key-hole.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7H6uVX1k5u44nTTdmR3KQZA6WPLaOCobTZguqDyo5NsNEuGavtcIRgi4jQOOkcxbUSuP2xekXn1NfnRqNrg67aROSVCybvnXZ3d5m5FCC_0N8EWzPabACMX-Duwq4LNmOf9JFE1FX-qg/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7H6uVX1k5u44nTTdmR3KQZA6WPLaOCobTZguqDyo5NsNEuGavtcIRgi4jQOOkcxbUSuP2xekXn1NfnRqNrg67aROSVCybvnXZ3d5m5FCC_0N8EWzPabACMX-Duwq4LNmOf9JFE1FX-qg/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+095.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Home!</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After our descent, I had just enough time then to go to confession before Mass. The priest gave me a relic of JPII afterwards, which is now one of my most treasured possessions. The Mass itself was wonderful, of course. I saw bustling old Fr. Peter Paul, the music director of St. Peter's. I first met him two years ago, when my university choir sang for a St. Peter's Mass. There were many priests celebrating with the cardinals, including our own Fathers Brad, Andej, and Joseph. As the holy men processed, Matt pointed out the cardinal who had smiled at me. He was a pleasant-looking old man with white hair, and he did not look distinctly Italian. I wonder who he is. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After Mass, we shopped around the religious shops for a couple hours. Then Caroline, Emily Rolla, and I decided to check out a huge flea market we had heard about, which was in another area of the city. While down in the metro, however, we received unwanted attention from some unsavory characters. By the time we reached the Blue line, it was apparent that we were being followed, so we abandoned our endeavor entirely and got back on the Red line toward our hotel. The rest of the evening was uneventful. We all had dinner at our hotel, where they served three courses, and the first was pasta. This was the beginning of a ten-day pasta marathon, the slight effects of which I now see in my waist. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">About eight-thirty, everyone went down the street to a nearby church for a holy hour. I left my room late, and when I reached the lobby, everyone had already gone. Then I made the foolish decision to go alone, and ended up walking down the wrong street and getting lost. I didn't have my cellphone, and trying to find my way back to the hotel at night was beyond my (non-existent) navigational skills. I then realized that none of my friends knew that I had gone and began to feel panicky. Just then, I ran into a group of Frannies going to an Irish pub, and one of them escorted me back to the hotel. I was so relieved to see familiar faces and hear English! I sat down with Brian and Ashley, who I hadn't seen all day, and we spent some time swapping stories about our first day in Rome before going to bed.</span></div>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-52510401464357568232011-03-27T10:47:00.000-07:002011-03-27T11:17:23.236-07:00The Home of Saint Catherine<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We arrived in Siena after dark on Friday. The walk across town was a little confusing, but as usual I left the navigating to Brian and followed along quietly; I was very, very tired, having lugged my duffel bag (which held all my belongings for our Italy ten-day) around Bologna all day. Bill and Kat diverted themselves by quoting Disney lines and making animal noises- Bill really has a knack for it. Finally, we found the hostel, after much walking and a bit of prayer. The man behind the desk wasn't the friendly sort, and he warned us that there was no heat for the building or for the showers. As it turned out, there <em>was</em> hot water for the showers, which was a blessed relief. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We spent a very cold night in that hostel though- because the central heating really didn't work. I awoke Saturday morning curled up into a ball and very stiff. After meeting the boys at breakfast, we all broke our fast on Kool-Aid and bread. Actually, I also had delicious hot tea, which improved things. Then, we left our hostel and discovered that we had missed the bus by four minutes. So we briskly walked across town in the cool, sunny morning. The air was fresh and all around us, birds were singing. This was noteworthy, because I realized then that winter was finally breaking- the birds were back. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We made it to St. Dominic's in time for Mass, which was held in the crypt below. The Mass was said by a portly priest, and I enjoyed listening to the liturgy in the beautiful Italian language. After Mass, I went up to the main church and, kneeling before the head of St. Catherine, said a rosary. The girls of Beloved First Truth household, who were also in Siena, came into the church when I was about the third decade, and Emily knelt beside me for a while. After a time, we left the church and strolled through the narrow, crumbly streets of Siena until we found the Benincasa home. There was a spacious courtyard with a well from which Catherine perhaps drew water. We saw her little chamber where she spent three years in seclusion and constant prayer. Around the room adjoining her chamber were beautiful paintings of the outstanding stories of her life, such as her mystical marriage to Christ. We also prayed in the chapel directly beside her house, which contained the crucifix from which she received the stigmata. </span><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVaiG_wZ1aLiHOyILVbSC5McCfVAeFc4Dspb8Hpwe4_csBaI5dH0unNosa8sD3jUan5x-6dsBucVY_Bht9DWgZTIhi3U75au3Ak6c5Kcuj7hrMA_2t_gN9kMF-ZBT2iGeybtFgWlLKOv2/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVaiG_wZ1aLiHOyILVbSC5McCfVAeFc4Dspb8Hpwe4_csBaI5dH0unNosa8sD3jUan5x-6dsBucVY_Bht9DWgZTIhi3U75au3Ak6c5Kcuj7hrMA_2t_gN9kMF-ZBT2iGeybtFgWlLKOv2/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+042.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The stigmata cross</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then we looked for lunch, and found a nice little pizzeria where we got a huge slice of pizza and a Coke for three Euro. Kat also broke out a loaf of banana bread she had made herself, and we enjoyed a feast. Later, we wandered Siena and found the main plaza, called Piazza del Campo. There was music playing, pigeons, families...it was a pleasant place to rest and lie in the sun. Our final stop was the magnificent Duomo of Siena, which was awe-inspiring, both the facade and the interior. </span><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjerqFCXLSuHB4g779dQpvUN6Fk5d2T2bzoyQtRFmf6B71u-M13ucrzkFOjwCP3j6aoavdt7om7wC39tIHpgGYpwrCgnbenQfb0k_HlliPSYWAnfsbmh2GGjdF2Nlt-xZ2tMtN9V-gl5coH/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjerqFCXLSuHB4g779dQpvUN6Fk5d2T2bzoyQtRFmf6B71u-M13ucrzkFOjwCP3j6aoavdt7om7wC39tIHpgGYpwrCgnbenQfb0k_HlliPSYWAnfsbmh2GGjdF2Nlt-xZ2tMtN9V-gl5coH/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+071.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Siena Duomo</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It was only after all our sight-seeing that we truly got lost: we were trying to get back to the train station and kept going in circles in the confusing network of narrow streets. Also, I discovered during this time that my faithful old purse was falling apart, which was sad because it has been many places with me and its previous owner, Lauren. Anyways, we eventually made it out, reached our train, and sped along to the Eternal City. </span></div>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-28925111437874471032011-03-24T13:04:00.000-07:002011-03-24T13:04:54.150-07:00The White Tomb<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We had one day, Friday, between the end of midterms and our departure for Rome, so I went early to Bologna and Siena in Italy with Brian, Colin, Kat, and Bill. We caught an overnight train from Salzburg to Bologna on Thursday night. It was my first overnight train experience, and I was surprised that the door to our compartment didn't lock. Fortunately though, the cushioned seats slide out, allowing you to lie down if you want. After chatting for a while and solving numerous crossword puzzles (Colin's favorite pastime), the five of us fell asleep, cramming like sardines in our compartment. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I awoke around six in the morning and, looking out the window, saw towering heights in the distance, crowned with snow. In the faint light preceding sunrise, the mountains were a pale, translucent blue. My companions were still sleeping, and I felt so peaceful. As the light grew, I began to notice the hallmarks of Italy, familiar to me like the features of an old friend: the cypress trees, the vineyards, the olive groves, the red-tiled rooftops. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Shortly before we arrived at the station in Venice, Colin went to the bathroom while the rest of us got our things together. When the train stopped and we all alighted, he was still not back, so we stood on the platform waiting for him. Finally, we saw him through the train window getting his bags and walking to the train door. Just as he reached the door and stood in the threshold, however, the train began to move. He could have jumped off easily, but a train attendant was there holding out an arm, preventing Colin from getting out. We all shouted “Jump off! Get off!” But there was nothing he could do except stand there in the doorway as the train passed the platform and began to pick up speed. It was actually a bit traumatic for me, seeing Colin pass by us in the doorway, unable to get off, and disappear into the distance. I almost began to cry, until Brian reminded me that Colin would get to the next stop and catch a train in the right direction. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So the four of us caught our train to Bologna. We mistakenly sat in 1st class, but the ticket man showed us to 2nd, where we sat next to two adorable Italian children and their father. They were watching a <em>Spiderman</em> cartoon. The clear morning transformed into a dark, cloudy day, and it was raining in Bologna when we arrived. We went first to the Cathedral of Saint Dominic. The tomb of the saint was of white marble, and sculpted into the marble on all sides were scenes from his life. Atop the tomb were figures of the eight patrons of Bologna, but aside from St. Petronius, I forget their names. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Behind the tomb in a golden reliquary was St. Dominic's skull. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdffD_tceFD51FC9tQoYVbyHtWeV-vFxazgBCP1yhx8buiEUFqBg6VRT7oO62TvcHVmNtl6mAVWIQ9usBEQZHfkIo-cphyphenhyphenXgnoqZGJSTKWXBPbXLkcAVsqWnvbq1phgQr89rFRJIbMprnk/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdffD_tceFD51FC9tQoYVbyHtWeV-vFxazgBCP1yhx8buiEUFqBg6VRT7oO62TvcHVmNtl6mAVWIQ9usBEQZHfkIo-cphyphenhyphenXgnoqZGJSTKWXBPbXLkcAVsqWnvbq1phgQr89rFRJIbMprnk/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+005.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Tomb of St. Dominic</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We prayed next to the tomb awhile, and then decided to stay for Mass, which was at 12:30pm. I explored the church, and was especially delighted with the choir behind the main alter. There I met a British couple who, when I told them I was from the Shenandoah Valley, said, “Oh yes, we've been there. It's a beautiful place!” I was entirely surprised. They explained that they had family in Washington, D.C, and had driven through the Valley just a few months before.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Just before noon, Colin called us saying that he had arrived in Bologna and was lost, so Brian went out to find him. I was worried that they would not make it back in time for Mass. At 12:29pm, I went out and stood on the front steps of the church, peering into the square for any sign of them. Just as the 12:30 bells tolled, they came running across the square. They had made it back in time for Mass, which is no small feat, since Bologna is not a small city.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After Mass, we bought delicious pizza for lunch, and then spent the rest of the day exploring the city. We saw the cathedral of St. Petronius, which is one of the largest churches in the world. We also visited a church adjoining a Poor Clare cloister where the incorrupt body of St. Catherine of Bologna is kept. Unfortunately, the side chapel containing her body is not open on Fridays. Nevertheless, we prayed in main church before departing. I did not know it at the time, but I was walking in the footsteps of my patron, St. Therese, who in 1887 visited that same church.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I accompanied Brian on this trip primarily because I wanted to visit Siena, the home of my other patron, St. Catherine. But I am so happy that I went to Bologna- I learned about the life of St. Dominic and now understand at least a little about the Dominican order. I am so blessed to have spent those precious hours beside his tomb. I hope that I will be able to go back someday.</span></div>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-56182483727758232452011-03-24T12:11:00.000-07:002011-03-24T12:15:11.989-07:00The Halfway Mark<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I spent the week after the Poland trip resting up and going to classes. The more I study theology, the more I love it. Philosophy, too, is becoming more and more fascinating, although I don't really have the head for it. My professors are a constant source of inspiration. Professor Wolter, in her charismatic manner, is teaching us personalistic philosophy; Professor Cassidy, with his thick Scottish brogue, delivers passionate lectures about the Word of God; and staid Dr. Asci is teaching us all about Christian marriage and the true meaning of human sexuality. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Karol Wojtyla's <i>Love and Responsibility </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is our Christan Marriage textbook, and it was he who developed Christian personalism, which is a foundation for my Philosophy of the Human Person class. And in my Scripture class, Professor Cassidy frequently references him. I really am studying in the legacy of Pope John Paul II, the beloved figure of my childhood; in a way, he seems closer to me than ever before. I never met him while he lived- yet I stood only a few feet away from his tomb in the crypt beneath St. Peter's, and I can speak to him whenever I please. He does hear me- that was made clear in Poland, when he answered a prayer almost as soon as I asked it of him.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I didn't travel that weekend, because midterms were approaching, starting with a German exam on Monday morning. Midterm week itself flew by, even with the stress of late-night study sessions and little sleep. Thankfully for us, the tea kitchens were kept well-stocked with snacks (Nutella sandwiches, for example). All my exams, with the exception of German, were in essay format. This was a little daunting at first, but I was surprised to find that I like testing this way- while writing, I found that I knew much more than I thought I did. And so, after four intense but rewarding days of midterms, we were free- and on the horizon was our ten-day break in Rome and Assisi.</span></div>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-69934009599093666852011-03-22T10:40:00.000-07:002011-03-22T10:40:03.154-07:00Pope Cake and a Lightning Tour<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sunday morning, we celebrated High Mass at Wawel Cathedral in Krakow. The cathedral was<span style="font-size: small;"> crucifrom, that is, cross-shaped, with the main alter in the center. The alter was underneath a canopy of black marble supported by four pillars- it reminded me of St. Peter's at the Vatican, only it was far smaller, of course. Directly behind the alter was the silver tomb of St. Stanislaus. I sat behind the alter for Mass, so that the priest was obscured from view by the silver tomb. To my left and right along the walls were the carved wooden choir seats. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">When Mass was over, I walked around the church briefly. It was dark, with beautiful and ornate side chapels. I passed a stairway going down into the crypt, but it was roped off and I could not enter. I found out later that Karol Wojtyla celebrated his first Mass there in the crypt in 1946. Also, Chopin is buried in the cathedral- his tomb is to the left when you first enter the church. We could not stay in Wawel long, because another Mass was beginning. </span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTHH5QjOGUr_E96PMm-94iw9nsCmXBztohRB0LS_IWpzFQmGzdWTLCiUWqps89UfrK3lm7ev0Jp36YJ9QZbqXJ-jGtVDA4bjIyBOb8QDhiBydK4wylUt5d9opqRqKlUVyGZTx4pQ9oyznL/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTHH5QjOGUr_E96PMm-94iw9nsCmXBztohRB0LS_IWpzFQmGzdWTLCiUWqps89UfrK3lm7ev0Jp36YJ9QZbqXJ-jGtVDA4bjIyBOb8QDhiBydK4wylUt5d9opqRqKlUVyGZTx4pQ9oyznL/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+037.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Karol Wojtyla's Study</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Out we went into Krakow. This was my only chance to see the city before we left- we had an hour and a half. Brian, therefore, took me on a lightning tour, taking me to all the best places that he had visited the day before. We half walked, half ran through the snowy, bustling streets of Krakow- "I know you're sick, but we have to run if we're going to see everything!" In fact, I think running in the fresh air was good for me. We visited the apartments in which Karol Wojtyla lived when he was a priest, and saw some of his belongings: his soccer jerseys were on display, for example. On the desk in his study was a blank book for all visitors to leave notes and prayer requests. I wrote a note to him with a certain prayer request, and felt a delightful certainty that it reached him. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">We then visited the Dominican church of Krakow, arriving there just as a Mass was finishing. The place was packed with people; families with young children, the elderly, the youth. It contrasted with the churches I had visited in Salzburg and Vienna- in those places the congregations at Mass were small, and mostly elderly. Also, it was the first time I have ever seen Dominican priests, and I was struck by how young these ones were. After that, we visited the main square, which is the largest plaza in Europe. I bought an icon of the Black Madonna. We ate Kabobs, which I could barely taste because I was sick- but still, I could tell it was delicious. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Then we ran/walked across town to the buses, loaded up, and were off to Wadowice, the hometown of Karol Wojtyla. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Wadowice is a quiet Polish town on a hill. Outside the main square was an ice-skating rink playing American Oldies as families and children skated and whirled around the ice. The village church was small and white, and before it stood a statue of Pope John Paul II. Next to the church was a JPII museum, which we visited first. There was a timeline of his life, some quotes, photographs, and personal articles such as his cradle, scapular, even report cards (he did very well in all subjects, of course). </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then we went inside the church. When we entered, a group of young schoolchildren were singing Polish songs under the direction of a religious sister. Hearing the voices of Polish children helped me envision Karol attending this church as a young boy. One of the most remarkable things about the church was its ceiling- on it were written the titles of JPII's encyclicals, and each encyclical had a corresponding painting of a Bible scene. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Lastly, we all visited the little shops for souvenirs. We also bought Pope Cake, called that because the pope ate it once and remarked "We used to eat this after exams"- referring to his school years. Well, we were eating it <em>before</em> our midterm exams, but we didn't think he would mind. Again, I couldn't really taste the cake, but the texture was lovely- almost like cheesecake but much lighter. Overall, the visit to Wadowice was pleasant, light-hearted, and joyful, especially after Auschwitz. It was easy to see that the town is bursting with pride for its native saint, and I will even venture to say that I could almost feel his spirit there, much like one feels the spirit of Saint Francis when visiting Assisi.</span></span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-73054136912545592242011-03-15T06:22:00.000-07:002011-03-15T06:22:06.596-07:00The Divine Mercy Shrine<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I spent a sleepless night in our hotel at Krakow because of pain in my face- I found out late that I had a sinus infection. Needless to say, I stayed in bed most of the following day to catch up on sleep. It was Saturday, and althought I knew the other students were out exploring the city, I did not feel sorry for myself- I was so relieved to have a warm room and comfortable bed in which to recover from the previous day. Eventually, I got out of bed and perched on the window ledge, looking out over bleak Krakow under snowfull. The sky was a dark gray and I couldn't see much besides the tops of other hotel buildings. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Around noon, the buses were to depart for the Divine Mercy Shrine, and at the last minute I decided to go; I would never be able to live with myself afterwards if I missed my chance to pray there. First we visited the convent of St. Faustina, which is beside the shrine. The convent was a red brick complex with a beautiful, colorful chapel containing the remains of Faustina. We said the chaplet there, although I had trouble concentrating because of a slight fever. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqsm5NmK6tdZtfLHhRCzWS3adNZtrbzD4Hoe-LvU0OqheqmtsKTOQPWDeZ6x4ZITbR2Is9VTAM-AN-qYjShXVmQgE04M-XIdrfUzIYlCRLYi3B614kJ57B33NpnXUIW1LyAVwT7SHs0yQT/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqsm5NmK6tdZtfLHhRCzWS3adNZtrbzD4Hoe-LvU0OqheqmtsKTOQPWDeZ6x4ZITbR2Is9VTAM-AN-qYjShXVmQgE04M-XIdrfUzIYlCRLYi3B614kJ57B33NpnXUIW1LyAVwT7SHs0yQT/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+029.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Convent of the Sisters of Our Lady of Mercy</span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After that, we trooped through the snow to the shrine, a giant structure which unfortunately looks like an alien spaceship, or maybe an airport. The inside of the shrine was a large, white space, lacking statues or artwork except for the Divine Mercy image of the Lord. The tabernacle was a large, bronze globe of the earth with an electric red light above it; this I found to be very odd. Nevertheless, we celebrated a beautiful Mass there. I sat next to my household sister, Olivia, who kindly stroked my feverish head as I sat during the creed. When it was finished, we crowded the gift shop, and then we were off again. Upon reaching the hotel, I went straight to my room, and after taking a hot shower, a granola bar, and lots of Vitamin C, I fell into a restful sleep.</span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-12451799733263349892011-03-14T10:02:00.000-07:002011-03-14T10:02:32.884-07:00Auschwitz<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">I slept most of the way to Auschwitz, but several times I awoke for a few minutes and looked out the window. The weather was rather miserable. It seemed to me that I had never seen such thick, milky-white fog. It seemed to mute, stifle, and numb everything, including me. It was no longer snowing, but it was still very cold. </span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">We arrived in Auschwitz, and before long we were divided into tour groups. The ground was soggy and damp, and it was so quiet. Our tour guide led us around, showed us the prison buildings, the living conditions, the firing squad wall. In one of the buildings were huge display cases- filled with mounds of eyeglasses, piles of shoes. There was also a massive pile of human hair, the hair of the women and girls. Some were still tied in pink ribbons.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytcWh0z3eEFKnvg4eE9RS2BlycwY1BzdPX_nNPH3Rgl9XErIsLugbMNQJPgvemJoGQPRY3Kp59R7oYupsjlunuZ484U8EXDyqwTTbM7NODnNLFe9aQMadTeObsdl5_JFxNHyPOhbn-7Fk/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytcWh0z3eEFKnvg4eE9RS2BlycwY1BzdPX_nNPH3Rgl9XErIsLugbMNQJPgvemJoGQPRY3Kp59R7oYupsjlunuZ484U8EXDyqwTTbM7NODnNLFe9aQMadTeObsdl5_JFxNHyPOhbn-7Fk/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+024.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Finally, we approached a grass-covered mound out of which rose one brick chimney. There was a black door in the side of the mound- though which we entered. An empty room with a concrete floor, a low ceiling. Square openings in the ceiling, through which poison was dropped. As we left the gas chamber, I saw Nathan make the sign of the cross and knew that he had been praying for them. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">I am glad that I was with my friends; their nearness was my comfort throughout the experience. When the tour was over, I needed a few moments of relief and I stopped thinking about what I had seen. Instead, I observed my fellow students. Ever so often someone would reach out and grasp his friend's arm briefly. Eyes met silently. The girls embraced one another. As I watched these quiet expressions of friendship and solidarity, I felt a rush of affection for all of them, my fellow students, gentle Catholic youth. The words of Viktor Frankl, whose book I had so recently read, came to mind. <em>The salvation of man is through love and in love.</em> </span></div>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-92224336535221884442011-03-14T09:03:00.001-07:002011-03-14T09:03:28.229-07:00The Black Madonna<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The pilgrimage to Poland was the most difficult journey of my semester thus far, but it was also the most transforming four days of my life. I was running a slight fever when we all boarded the night bus that would take us <span style="font-size: small;">from Gaming to Czestochowa, Poland. It was a Thursday evening, the eighteenth of February. During the ten long hours of travel, I was unable to sleep, except for snatches which never lasted more than a few minutes. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">By the time we reached Czestochowa at half past five o'clock in the morning, there was a sharp, raw pain in my chest, and my only desire in the world was to lie down. We stopped at a hotel and used the dining room for breakfast, but we did not have rooms there. That was fortunate- if I had had a bed, I would have slept and missed visiting the Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa. So while my group ate breakfast, I napped on a couch in the lobby. </span><br />
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<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Following breakfast was our visit to the shrine. Snowflakes were falling as we made the trek up the hill, but it wasn't bitterly cold. I was afraid that I would faint for the first time in my life, but of course I did not. I cannot describe the shrine very well- inside I remember a lot of dark polished wood, many candles, countless side chapels with shadowy statues and tombs. There was beautiful organ music and chanting when we arrived, for a Polish Mass was being said. </span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When we came to the chapel containing the Black Madonna, I wept. I was exhausted and sick, and honestly...I have never been so affected by an image of Our Lady. H<span style="font-size: small;">er eyes are penetrating, full of understanding, infinitely sorrowful, and there is something else in her expression which eludes me. Maybe it will suffice to say that she has an expression of tenderest love and deepest compassion. I cannot describe it well, but it is now the image of the Blessed Mother that I most cherish.</span></span></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">We celebrated Mass in the chapel. Another Mass started minutes after ours ended, so we were unable to stay there long afterwards. Moreover, we were on a tight schedule, and we used the rest of our time at a gift shop. I bought a rosary. Then we boarded the buses for Auschwitz, and I fell into merciful sleep. </span></span></div>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-51595282082444481402011-03-14T07:03:00.000-07:002011-03-14T07:03:34.042-07:00A Day in Prague<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The day after Hallstatt, we went to Prague. It was a cold and sunny Saturday. The city was beautiful, but I didn't know anything about it, so I was content to follow my map-wielding friend Caroline throughout the day. We visited the main square of the city with its colorful shops and famous clock, and saw several churches, including the Church of St. Nicholas. We also traversed the Charles Bridge while sipping hot, spiced wine. The bridge is lined with impressive, blackened statues of our Lord, Lady, and the saints. There were also various sellers and artists there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The best part of Prague was visiting Our Lady of Victory Church and seeing the Infant of Prague. The church also had pictures of the Holy Family and Carmelite saints lining the walls- and it always delights me to see images of my patron St. Therese. After Mass, we were all desperate for a cheap, filling meal, and almost all of us crowded into a Segafredo's which stood near the church. There must have been two dozen of us in that tiny place, but they were happy for our business! By the time we finished eating, it was getting late, and we had roughly half an hour to make it to the bus across town. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Fortunately for me, Caroline is a map-reading expert by now, and Brian has a finely-tuned interior compass, so we made it across town without getting lost. It took us around twenty minutes, although we were fairly running towards the end. Prague was beautiful, but it is not one of my favorite places, and I am content having visited it once. This is partly because the city is sketchy at night, and because I lost some money at the exchange station. Despite that, I am glad that I went, especially because I was able to see the Infant. </span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-8983636784094312392011-02-26T10:55:00.000-08:002011-02-26T11:27:05.469-08:00The Angelus on Top of the World<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It was my fourth weekend in Austria, just before Valentine's Day, and I went to the village of Hallstatt. This was better than my Vienna weekend, better than Salzburg, better even than creek-jumping with Hungarians.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Friday morning, my friends Brian and Emily and I planned to catch a bus that left at 4:37am from the Karthause bus stop. I went to bed early the night before, setting my alarm for 4:00am. I woke at four twenty-five in the morning, just twelve minutes before the bus was to leave. Somehow I had switched off my alarm in my sleep. In a panic, I launched myself out of bed, threw my clothes on, thanked heaven that I had packed my bag the night before, and ran out into the corridor and down the three flights of stairs. We made it to the bus stop with a few minutes to spare.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We rode a network of buses and trains to reach Hallstatt, which is a small village in Salzkammergut. It sits on the western shore of the Hallstättersee, surrounded by a ring of towering Alps. The town itself was built into the side of the mountain, and until the last century was accessible only by boat or mountain paths. It is one of the loveliest and most remote places in all Austria.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The sky was gray when we arrived, although the rain had stopped. We each paid three euro for the boat ride across the lake. Almost as soon as we set foot in town, we walked to the church. Alright: if you ever look at a picture of Hallstatt, you will undoubtably see the steeple of a grey church near the docks. FYI- that's the Protestant church. After discovering this, we noticed an onion-shaped steeple farther up on the mountain side, and there on the wall was a mural of St. Christopher carrying the Christ child. Bingo!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The church was very small, and cold, and was designed and decorated in the Germanic style that is now so familiar to me. And our Lord was there: unlike us, the Europeans think it acceptable to leave Him alone. Next to the doorway was a shelf full of hymnals similiar to the one the Frau lent me last semester. I suggest that, since no one was around, we could sing a hymn. I felt Mr. Schafer would approve. We flipped through the pages and found Godhead Here in Hiding, which we had sung in the crypt church in Salzburg. So Emily, Brian and I sang this hymn together in the tiny church. This is now one of my favorite memories.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Then we ventured outside to the ancient cemetery, where we stumbled upon a narrow path zig-zagging up the steep mountain. We did not know where it led, but sometimes the best adventures are the ones you find by accident! On a whim we decided to see where the path led- and ended up climbing (almost) to the very top.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It was a quarter before noon when we reached the top, and then the sun came out. We beheld the towering Alps circling around the black lake far below. I could see tiny white specks circling high above it- the seagulls. Above us was a fresh blue sky with swiftly-moving clouds. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It was so quiet, and the air was the purest I have ever breathed. We marveled at the sights around us, took victory pictures of ourselves, and marveled some more. The greatness of the mountains caused us to be quiet. Then, from far below, the noon bell of the church sounded, and we said the Angelus softly in the utter quiet. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJaOxYaZhQl_vy_za3SfJEai0h3mOhwHwUCbCdHW4b11yjO2yyHTRhzB3-pd2ZbdSFkOKJYCfIrW2vs96gcsE06VaECOE3-503mN0dczu6dQn0sygUAKrrd372lj4iFU6dadU54eHjl3q/s1600/Austria+Semester+2011+077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJaOxYaZhQl_vy_za3SfJEai0h3mOhwHwUCbCdHW4b11yjO2yyHTRhzB3-pd2ZbdSFkOKJYCfIrW2vs96gcsE06VaECOE3-503mN0dczu6dQn0sygUAKrrd372lj4iFU6dadU54eHjl3q/s320/Austria+Semester+2011+077.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">View from the Top</div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Then we talked about our friends, our travels, our plans, the beauty of nature, and our beloved John Paul II. We stayed there a while, but I was reluctant to leave when the time came. Dark clouds were coming back: it was as if God had given us an hour of sunlight at the summit. The climb down was more fun than the climb up had been- Brian and I ran down the narrow, winding, ice-and-snow-covered path, pausing now and again to wait for Emily, who (wisely) exercised more caution. In retrospect, it was a bit risky to run like that with a sheer drop to the side, but that made it all the more fun. We had a snowball fight, too, and I ended up with snow in my pocket, and down my back. I think I lost. Finally, we reached the bottom.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The rest of the day we spent touring the town. I bought a spoon; my collection is growing nicely. I also caused an embarrassing situation when I ran out of money and had to walk into the bank to exchange more. The only problem was- all my money was in my waist pack, underneath all my clothes, and I had to extract it in public. Future travellers, don't let this be you. Anyways, after a bit of awkwardness, the money was exchanged and all was well. We bought some bread and meat at the local store for the journey home, and off we went back to the docks, across the lake, into the train, and home.</span>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-45121772265521187672011-02-26T06:47:00.000-08:002011-02-26T06:47:24.567-08:00A Jump in the Creek<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I spent my third weekend at home in Gaming. It was our first free weekend- no school trips, just three open days. My fellow students were going every which way- some to various places in Italy, some to nearby places like Prague, so even to London. I decided that it wouldn't be prudent to take such a big (and probably costly) trip so early in the term. So my weekend was spent at the Karthause, and as it turned out, several of my friends stayed because their plans fell through. </span></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Staying in Gaming turned out to be a wonderful thing: my friends and I relaxed, spent time in town, went out to the local pubs in the evenings, hiked to the nearby waterfall, and got to know the Eastern European students better. I really settled into my new home. Friday night after the pub, my friends decided that we needed to do something...out of the ordinary. There is a large, rushing creek across the road from the Karthause, and a particularly deep spot in this creek into which the bravest students sometimes jump. </span></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">So, at one in the morning we trooped out into the freezing, windy night in our bathing suits. Actually, I was wearing excercise clothes because I had forgotten to pack my swimming things. One by one, we half-walked, half-slid down the snow-covered bank to the edge of the creek- barefoot. Also, the wind was very, very strong. Need I say that I was freezing? And that was </span><i>before</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> I actually jumped- and that took some time, since I had to work up the nerve to actually do it. I stood on the bank for what must have been a full minute before jumping in with a shrill scream. </span></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">That water flows down from the mountains- it is far beyond cold. Those of you who have seen the movie </span><i>Titanic</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> will remember that Jack describes freezing water as knives stabbing every inch of your body- that's pretty accurate. After the initial plunge, I bobbed on the surface for a few agonizing moments, completely unable to think and move. On the bank, everyone cheered, and then began shouting for me to swim out before I froze. It took me a while, but I managed to move to the side of the bank, where they pulled me out. </span></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A hot shower, a hot mug of tea, and a shot of Schnapps, and I felt warm and cozy again. We stayed up for several hours afterwards in the tea kitchen, hanging out and talking. I feel proud of this accomplishment- I can now claim that I jumped in the creek, at one in the morning, in January. I'm confident that my brothers will be duly impressed when I get home and tell them.</span></span></div>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7144149072139684674.post-37498521578837084922011-02-04T10:30:00.000-08:002011-02-04T10:37:31.339-08:00Bavaria and Good-bye Salzburg<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">We visited Munich the day after Salzburg. On the bus ride, we watched the film about Sophie Scholl, a girl from Munich who was executed for her resistance to the Nazis. She was my age, twenty-one, when she died. Our day in Munich was bitterly cold, and I had not dressed as warmly as I should have. Though slightly miserable because of this, I still had a good time. I had apple strudel and Bavaria's famous </span><i>weisswurst, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">attended Mass at the Frauenkirche, watched the colorful figures of the Glockenspiel dance at noon to the clanging of bells, and visited the University of Munich to honor the members of the White Rose. </span></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">In the evening, we went to the famous Hofbrauhaus. The atmosphere was festive, with red-faced Germans pounding the tables and whistling, a traditional Bavarian band, waiters bustling around in </span><i>lederhosen, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">smoke in the air, liters of beer (the only size after six o'clock). I didn't get any beer, but I tried some of Mike's, because had I promised my brother Matt that I would try the beer at the Hofbrauhaus. </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Since we did not want one of the Hofbrauhaus' heavy meals, Caroline and I went down the street to a kabob stand. On the way back, our delicious kabobs wrapped up for later, a tall blond man with an earring sprang in front of us and started shouting in German and making growling noises. We slid past him and ran for it. The Hofbrauhaus wasn't far, and under its entrance arch were groups of people, including some other Frannies. Just a stupid drunk, and I think Caroline was more shaken than I was.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We piled into the buses at the end of the day, and drove back to our hostel in Salzburg. The next day was Sunday. Caroline and I went out before Mass to see if any shops were open, and Brian came along. We went into Demel, a famous cake shop, where we each got little confections. Some might argue that nine in the morning is too early for sweets, but I disagree.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Mass in the Salzburg Cathedral was glorious. It was my first German Mass, and I followed along as best I could. Sunrise streamed through the giant window to the right of the main alter, flooding the sanctuary in light. Since it was the day after Mozart's birthday, the choir sang one of his Masses (he wrote eighteen). The music, with its many strings and choral voices, was phenomenal, but the best part was the recessional piece, played on the organ with its four thousand pipes. After Mass many people, including myself, simply stood in the center isle with our faces turned up to the organ, tranfixed by the grandeur of the sound. </span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Caroline and I decided that we are going back to Salzburg before the end of the semester. It is too wonderful a place to only visit once. Although it hasn't replaced Venice as my favorite European city, it is very high on the list. </span></div>Hannah D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09013961111364431546noreply@blogger.com0