At no point in my life will you ever find me more easily distracted than the times when I’m packing a suitcase. 

As I’ve mentioned before, social drinking is way more socially acceptable in Europe.  Here’s the perfect example.  You know how if you go into Sam’s or Meijer on a Saturday, you can sometimes get lucky and run across free samples.  Yeah, same here.  Except a little different. Because instead of small, disposable cups of free yogurt and pretzels, they had small, disposable cups of free wine and Belgian lager. 

And you thought American kidswent crazy when they saw free samples…

(Just kidding, they don’t give the alcohol samples to kids.  I don’t think.)

Some of the brands over here aren’t just pronounced with an accent; they are literally different vowel sounds.

You know Pantene brand shampoo?  Like Pantene Pro V?

On the commercial the other day, the lady said it like this: “Pan-ten”

Yeah.  Like the cooking equipment, and the number.  Pan. Ten.

You know Van Gogh?  We say it “Van Go”, right?

Well the Brits say it “Van Goff”. 

Yeah, Goff.  I don’t know where they found the ff sound…

They do have some things that really make sense though. 

When we abbreviate the study of “Mathematics”, we call it the study of “Math”. 

They call it “Maths” (plural). 

“It was like working out a hard maths problem.”

And here’s the most brilliant part of the British road system: When their traffic light is about to turn green, the yellow light will shine along with the red one for about three seconds.  Brilliant, right?

This is kind of different too.  When I’m talkin’ with my friends about when to meet, they don’t say, “we’ll meet at nine o’ clock”… they say “we’ll meet for nine o’ clock”.  

I’ve been pondering the sociological explanations for the difference between the way drinking is treated in Europe and the way it’s treated in the USA.   And I really think that this has a lot to do with it: driving.  Here, everything has traditionally been very close together. If you want to go meet the guys at the pub, you can walk down there, throw back some pints, and still be back by ten.  If you accidentally threw back too many, you’ll have a harder time walking home. In America, however, you have to drive to pretty much anywhere you plan on drinking.  And if you drive to the pub and throw back a few pints, there’s a good chance that you will be unfit to drive back.  If you accidentally threw back too many, you might kill people on your way home. 

So that changes the game. 

Dudes and dudettes… I am coming home in three days.  6/22/10.  7:00 PM.  I will soon be able to communicate to you via old-school means (such as voice boxes and ear drums,  AKA ‘natural means of communication’) instead of techno means (like Facebook and Tumblr and Skype and AIM, AKA ‘fake communication’)

I honestly can’t tell you how pumped this makes me. 

When I get home, I want to hang out with you.  So contact me. 

And when you contact me, do me a favor and don’t text it.

I have been able to see digital messages from you all for the past five months.  I want to hear your voices.  

The best parts about experiencing culture are the parts you don’t expect; the parts no one tells you about.

When I came to London, I expected to see red double-decker busses.  I did.

I expected people to say, “Form a queue” instead of “form a line”.  They did. 

Whoo hoo. 

The things that really blow my mind are things like the freaking sun. 

When I first came over here, at the end of January, it got dark earlier than it ever does in Michigan.

And in the past week, there have been times when I’ve been out after 10 PM, and seen the sky still blue from the not-yet-departed sunset. 

And the other morning, the sky started lightening up at 3:30 AM, and by 5 AM, I had enough light to read a book.  5 AM. 

The Roman Coliseum is alright, but if I want something amazing, I look at the freakin’ sun. 

The sun is way bigger. 

Also currently blowing my mind is the wildlife- the plants and the animals.  There are plants here that aren’t in the U.S.  There are insects here that I don’t see at home. And animals.  And bird noises. There are things specific to this place. But nobody ever tells you about those.  If I were to come over here a couple hundred years ago, the difference in plant life would be one of the most noticeable differences between England and America.  But I didn’t really get to become that familiar with this until I spent some time in the park.

Then this hit me:  I’m a rather outdoors-y dude, and I’m just beginning to see how different the natural world is here than it is in Michigan.  I doubt that most of the other American travelers even got a chance to notice.  I’m sure many study abroad students simply went from one Western, concrete, urban civilization to another, completely oblivious to- and isolated from- the fact that we are actually living on an actual planet. 

Here’s a great big proof that the Capitalist Mindset has become far too internalized by all of Western society…

This question:  What do you want to do with your life? 

When people ask that, what are they really asking?  This:  “What job/ career/ profession do you want to have?”

They may as well just say, “So, what role do you want to play in the market society?”

But can we do nothing more purposeful with our breaths than fill a place in the economy?

We can.  We should.  But the next time someone asks you, say what you really want to do with your life- what you want to come of your time on earth. Say you want to help people. Say you want to love. Say you want to see things better than they are now. Say you want to be happy. Say that being a doctor or a social worker or a physical therapist may help facilitate these, but it won’t be an end in itself- only a means to a greater end.

Say those things.  

And when you say those things, you will be weird. 

And this fact- the fact that it is less socially acceptable to say what you honestly want your life to be about than it would be to say simply what you want your job to be- only proves the point:

The Capitalist Mind is the default lens through which Western Society views life.

That’s not good.

It’s odd, because many of the people who have the nice jobs and careers- the ones with the best roles in the market society- are the ones who feel like they are doing nothing with their life. 

And their feeling is probably warranted, because there’s way more to life than that.

WAY. 

So this wasn’t written with the graduates in mind, but I realize it’s actually pretty related.  So if are graduating and you relate, I am happy.  Congratulations you guys.  

“What am I gonna do when I get in the real world?  I’m gonna roll around in the dirt, you know?” -Derrick Jensen 

After another night of not sleeping, the travelers board a train for Zurich, Switzerland.  Robby LOVES seeing the countryside and the beautiful mountains, and reflects on how one mountain’s eruption can cause all of Europe to go into chaos. He concludes that mountains are better than technology.  Regrettably, however, he is terrible at staying awake on trains, and falls asleep.  This is not a complete loss, however, because he dreams that he is on the mountains, and this is certainly as good as staying awake to see them from the train.

After a half hour in Zurich, the three board another train and finally make it to Brussels by the end of the day (thirteen hours worth of train rides later)!  

Luckily, Sarah has a really good friend in Brussels, Marie Catherine, who houses the brave young travelers.  These brave young travelers are very tired, and sleep for twelve hours straight that night.  Marie Catherine is pretty much a hero, and takes the three all around Brussels, and they are able to enjoy Belgian Waffles, Belgian chocolate, Manakin Pis (the statue of a baby takin’ a pee.  It is literally named Manakin Pis), Belgian town scenery, and a Belgian pub. 

On Wednesday morning, the trio embarks on the final leg of their journey!  They board the Eurostar from Brussels to London!  Naturally, Robby falls asleep on this train, and this is later documented in a funny photo on Facebook.  Upon arriving at St. Pancras station in London, the train’s speakers begin playing “Home” by Chris Daughtry, and tears flow like gushing rivers from the eyes of every Eurostar passenger. […this is a lie]

When it is all said and done, Robby arrives at his (well, technically his landlord’s) front door at about noon on Wednesday. 

He has gained a new appreciation for his home away from home, and the concept of ‘home’ in general.  He is glad that he was forced into undertaking such an adventure.  He does not desire to see any more of mainland Europe for a long time.

THE END!

Our sleep-deprived travelers arrive at Rome train station Saturday morning, not knowing where they will end up.  Due to the volcano chaos, there are no available routes out of the country.  The three decide to take the train to Milan, Italy, and see where they can go from there. 

After waiting for hours in the Milan train station, Robby puts a 600 Euro charge on his credit card, and the group obtains train tickets to Brussels, Belgium on Monday.  Robby, Sarah, and Evelina approach about 15 hotels, before finding vacant room at very nice one.  It is here that Robby is able to reflect and think about how this trip is actually really cool, and adventurous, and much more memorable than taking a flight back to London would be.  He is also able to eat pizza on the bed with his friends, watch his favorite Italian children’s singing contest on TV (something that he feared he would have to miss), and take a shower. 

The next day is spent exploring Milan- the Detroit of Italy- experiencing humongous castles and churches, incredibly over-priced fashion, and really really good lasagna.  This day is concluded with a nights stay in the train station, with about 200 other stranded travelers.  ‘This is just like what you would see on TV, or in a disaster movie’, Robby thinks to himself.  He becomes jealous when his friends get interviewed by a news lady.

TO BE CONTINUED

I didn’t think I was going to be able to top my last weird story.  I thought that any subsequent entry for my blog would pale in comparison to Crazy Grandma.

But then I went to Rome, and a volcano exploded. 

This story is SOO long, so it’s gonna be in parts…

Thursday- Evelina, Sarah, and Robby watch Italian TV in their Bed and Breakfast.  They see a news story (in Italian) with clips of a huge erupting volcano, and an Italian-speaking man reporting from the river Thames, in front of Big Ben.  ‘Hah’, the three young travelers think, ‘What do volcanoes have to do with London?  Silly Italians…’

Soon, however, their situation becomes clear.  Evelina gets a call from her mother, and proceeds to have a long conversation in Swedish.  Robby and Sarah and pay closer attention after hearing English phrases like “Easy Jet Airline”.  They also recognize few, um, “choice English expressions” that suggest that the topic of conversation is upsetting news.  Hearing the news of the volcanic ash cloud over most of Europe is shocking- there are no flights, and no way of telling how long the sky will be all ashed up for. But the trio remain calm, and begin planning their return to London; bravely. 

On Friday, the group takes a taxi to the airport to hear the disappointing news that airports will not open until Saturday (though this news was actually false, and the airports wouldn’t open until TUESDAY), and there will be no flights until Monday.  Thanks to the caring and responsible folks at Easy Jet Airline, however, the three are provided with comfortable sleeping accommodations for the night, consisting of a table and chairs at the snack bar in Rome Fuimicino Airport.  Thanks guys. 

During the night, the group meet a very outgoing New Yorker named Frank, who says many interesting things, the most memorable of which being “These British men are one slap away from being gay”.   Thanks for that insight, Frank.

After a (non)restful night of (not) sleeping, the three leave the airport around 4AM, and catch a cab to the train station.  The cab driver maintains an average speed of (approximately) 100 miles per hour, and runs four red lights.  Luckily Evelina, employing her wit and Italian vocabulary, is able to keep him from swindling the travelers out of 10 extra Euros.  Nice guy, that cab driver…

TO BE CONTINUED…

I get approached by a London cop who thinks I may be on his ‘Wanted’ list.  

I get into a 20-minute conversation with a French traveler in the men’s room at       Wal-mart.

And today, as I’m walking down the street, what happens?  I have to disarm a crazy old woman wielding a butter-knife. 

You know, the usual…

Story:

OK.  So I am walking down the street, on my way to a restaurant, as I would do any day.  I look ahead of me and I see two women walking down briskly the street, but one of them is about 15 feet in front of the other, and keeps looking back at the her.  I have to awkwardly make my way around the one in back, because her wandering is pretty crooked, and she’s taking most of the sidewalk.  I think “That’s, wierd”, and I wonder what the woman in front keeps looking back for.  So I look back myself.  Nothing much to see, just a poorly coordinated old lady (about 20 years older than the one in front, maybe 60).  I turn and keep walking, and I notice a man on his cell phone.  This dude’s obviously flustered, and he’s gesturing in the direction of the old lady as he talks on his phone.  So I stop and look back again.  There’s nothing glaringly obvious, but I can just feel that I’m in a weird situation.  As I’m about to turn around and walk away, three guys on bikes come by, and I hear them asking the younger woman things like, ‘Do you need help?  Do you want us to call someone?’  

I analyze further, and by now it’s apparent that the younger one is trying to run away from the older one.  But she’s actually not running at all, she’s just briskly walking (a ridiculous display of the stereotypical ‘reserved British demeanor’).  So perhaps ‘fleeing’ is a better word.  

Younger woman: ‘She’s lost her mind!’

I look back to the old pursuer (I use the term loosely; she was the slowest pursuer in the world), and I can now see the gleam of a silver butter knife in her hand.

Dang it.

By now, the younger woman and the three bike-boys were about the same spot as me on the sidewalk, and the woman tried to duck behind some bushes.  The old lady look caught up to us, and a bike-boy pointed and said “She went down that way!”  But the old lady wasn’t so easily fooled.  She looked behind the bushes and said, “I seeeee you…” (let’s face it- that is hands down the creepiest thing any pursuer can say.  I’ll admit it: it freaked me out).  But the younger woman managed to scoot away from the bushes behind the old one (remember: slowest pursuer ever).  

She just keeps sayin’ “She’s lost her mind!”  

By now we have a bike-boy on the phone with 999 (i.e. the British 911), and a business man who has stumbled into our predicament.  

Business man and I decide it’s time to engage crazy grandma.  

He starts talking with her, like, “What’s going on?  Let’s just settle down…”  

“Yeah, let’s just settle down… And you really need to give me this knife”, I say, as I grab her hand and manage to wrangle the knife from her arthritic grip.  And this was, in retrospect, REALLY COOL.  I mean, I’m no James Bond or anything (she was, after all, a grandma.  And it was, after all, a butter knife). But still… I like to think it could’ve fit into a movie.   

So now business man and I just get to talk with crazy grandma while we wait for the cops.  And man, was grandma out of it.  She had been drinking a lot, she was very senile.  And she loved to talk about the Van Gogh special that was on BBC 1 the night before.  That’s what she kept talking with us about.  She asked me if I had seen it.  I said I hadn’t.  She tried to punch me in the head.  

Business man and I spent the next few minutes keeping conversation with her, dodging her surprise attempts to punch us (which occurred at completely random points in the conversation), and trying to restrain her from walking into traffic.  It was very odd, because it was so similar to working with kids with special needs at Spring Hill.  Because of that, I was able to feel a lot of compassion for crazy grandma, and I started to see ‘Jesus’ in her un-focused eyes, instead of ‘lunatic’. And that was probably the only thing keeping be from being scared stupid.   

The police got there surprisingly quickly.  Turns out crazy grandma was the sister of the younger woman, and she was trying to overdose on prescription meds.  The cops asked us who had “disarmed” the woman, and I realized that that was me.  So they jotted my name and address (the second time I’ve had to give this info to Kingston PD, mind you), and I was free go get dinner.  

So, yeah: weird things happen to me.  

SATURDAY:

Saturday, I decided, was going to be Purge Day.  I was going to clean my system of any potential alien parasites.  So I went down to the store, and I brought three baggies of fresh prunes.  I ate one of them on the way home, and one of them with lunch when I got back.  And my stomach was in warfare.  It was not comfortable. 

And I drank a few liters of water with it too.  

I don’t know if this is precisely how it worked, but I was envisioning all the prunes and the water going through my intestines like those commercials for Drain-O Max.  

And I didn’t eat any dairy that day, and my stomach still got upset after meals.  

Well, I guess the only dairy I ate was a couple Cadbury Cream Eggs (I don’t remember if we have those in the U.S..  I think we do, but they are way more popular over here).  And I decided that if that small amount of awesome chocolate could make my stomach hurt, then I would just have to live the rest of live with a hurting stomach.  If Cadbury Cream Eggs are wrong, I don’t want to be right.  

SUNDAY:

Easter Sunday.  I woke up and decided to eat a bowl of cereal.  I was really nervous.  I actually learned a really serious lesson from the whole ordeal.  I was so afraid, really so afraid, that I wouldn’t be able to eat dairy again.  But as I was about to eat that cereal, I thought back to exactly one year previous.  At that time last Easter, I was breaking my Lent fast (almost 40 days without much variety in my food:  rice, beans, milk, veg, fruit), and it was an amazing experience.  I remember sitting to Easter Breakfast ‘09 and just thinking about how much of a blessing it was just to have cereal in front of me.  I didn’t give up anything for lent this year, and it was as is God wouldn’t let me make it to Easter without remembering the lesson that you learn whenever you go without (or face the frightening possibility of going without) something that you love.  And that lesson is this:  It’s a blessing.  It’s not an entitlement.  I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to eat dairy again.  But that helped me to put myself in the place of people who fear they will never be able to eat anything again.  I didn’t do anything to earn my dairy treats.  I didn’t do anything to earn the fact that I was born into an affluent family in an affluent culture.  These are gifts.  

And I didn’t get these sorts of blessings so that I could just live the good life, and go around munching on Ben and Jerry’s and getting fatter.  And I didn’t get these sorts of blessings so that I could just praise God that I’m one of the blessed and not one of the starving.  

I got these blessings to bless.  And the more blessings that I realize, the more clearly I see that I have a responsibility.  I have a job to do.  

2nd Corinthians 1: God comforts us in all our afflictions so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.

And get this: it turned out that the milk didn’t make my stomach hurt.  

AAALLL praises BE…  to the King ooooff KINGS.

Lactose Paranoia: Day 2

When I first started getting these stomach aches, I thought it might have been a tape worm or something like that. 

I was terrified that there might be a creepy alien parasite in my belly trying to eat all the food that goes down there. 

Now it’s the opposite.  I don’t care what’s down there; I just want to be able to eat cheese in the future. 

I am going to be overjoyed if I go to the doctors, get an ultra-sound, and find something alive in my belly.

“Thank GOD it’s just a creepy alien parasite… Get me a freakin’ milkshake!”

I’ve not felt paranoid, really paranoid, about anything in a long time.  But I’ve been getting stomach pains lately after eating, and I’m terrified that it might be lactose intolerance.  I could not go on living like that. 

So I am determined not to let it be lactose intolerance. 

Reasons it’s not lactose intolerance:

It happened SO suddenly.  I was basically consuming about a liter of liquid cow per day for a long time, then this stomach pain just hit me over Amsterdam. 

What are the chances that it will hit me over Amsterdam?  Small.

What are the chances that I ate something, or caught something in Amsterdam?  Large. 

I only have stomach cramps, and people on the internet said that they found out through more… more “bathroom related incidents” after eating dairy.   I haven’t had any of these.

Not me, because I am not lactose intolerant. 

I am lactose tolerant. 

I tolerate it.  I will continue to tolerate it until I get old and die. 

The other day, I ate pasta and peanut butter, and those made me feel crappy.

In Amsterdam, waiting at the airport, I ate a ham sandwich with cheese that made me feel better, and a jungle bar that made me feel worse.  The other granola bar made me feel crappy, too, now that I think about it!  Sounds like we have a culprit.

And the culprit is not cow.