Travel Diaries #7: Entering a Different Land

Riding the train from Salzburg to Prague was the craziest train ride I took on this trip. Riding through Austria, there are quaint towns dotted along the countryside with the steeples of their churches pointing towards the sky. The houses are chalets that (usually, not on this trip though) are covered in snow in the winter. Everything is warm and inviting, as it should be...The Sound of Music was, after all, filmed here. As soon as we crossed the border, it was obvious that we weren't in Austria anymore. The train station was not shining with joyful Austrian faces awaiting the arrival of their loved ones. No, the station was an old broken down house surrounded by nothing but fields and standing on the platform was an old Czech man in a big fuzzy hat, a heavy coat and a bushy grey beard attached to a very serious face.

As day turned quickly into night, things just got crazier. The old, broken down train stations looked just as sad as ever and the man on the platform was now holding a lantern with a candle in it to guide the train in and send it on its way. Changing trains was something that terrified us, solely because of the name of the town where we had to change trains: Czeske Bodejovice. It didn't sound inviting and so far the train stations we had seen did not look inviting to tourists. Luckily, this town we'd never heard of was a little bigger than we thought and with the help of a Czech information desk through very broken English, we were on our way to Prague.

The car ride to our apartment made me feel like I was being tossed around in the waves of an ocean of uncertainty. We turned up one bumpy, cobble stoned street and made a sharp turn around another too narrow for most any car. It was a maze and I loved it. Every building was decorated with such detail and architects of long ago decided that intricate statues should be placed on every building, no matter how insignificant it is. The buildings all had giant doors, the night life was apparent and I was excited to be there.

The next two days, we wandered all over that city taking it all in from many of the different towers and bridges throughout the city. Looking out from a tall point, all you can see are red rooftops of buildings all crammed together and the streets are so narrow, you don't even see them from up high. The cathedrals look like castles and we quickly understood why they call it the City of Spires. Everywhere you look, something is pointing high in the sky in a foreboding manner. It's a beautiful city, but it has a very dark past.

We visited the Museum of Communism and for two hours I read about the rise and fall of Communism in Czechoslovakia. It was a Communist state until 1989. Here we stood, tourists in this city, only twenty years after such darkness had finally left their nation. Considering how little time it has been, this city is phenomenal. They have made quite the comeback, but it seems like it will be ages before that comeback will hit the outskirts that we rode the train through. I received more history of the country just in that train ride than I ever knew about the Czech Republic and that was just one tiny portion of it. That is why I have loved this trip. There's no way to fully understand the history of the world without seeing it and now that I have seen a little bit, I understand so much more than I ever did before.

Travel Diaries #6: Christmas in a Different Way

I've never been away from home at Christmas until this year. It was hard to be away from the familiar coziness of our house and traditions, but I find it hard to complain because I'm in the Alps in Austria. We celebrated Christmas Eve this year to finally satisfy Mom's request after thirty years (and because that's what they celebrate over here). Snitzchel was cooked, potatoes were fried to perfection, wine from France was poured and it was Christmas in Austria. I missed home very much, knowing that we wouldn't be able to go to our Christmas Eve service that has always been the same. For the fifteen years I've been at Bethany, there has been the same service which concludes with a room full of people lit solely by candles held in their hands and singing Silent Night together. And I have missed it.

But I didn't miss it entirely. We drove to the local church in Ramsau and sat in one of the 300 year old pews. The entire service was in German, but it was still beautiful to see the town gathered together on Christmas. To top it all off, we ended the service singing Silent Night in German, surrounded by a bunch of old, traditional Austrians. We left through the cemetery, each ancient grave marked with a Christmas wreath and a glowing red advent candle. What rich traditions this culture has and what an experience it has been learning about them.

Then, of course, there were less beautiful things that happened. Like eating at McDonald's for Christmas dinner in Salzburg. And saying good-bye to Noah for four months. But it's all these experiences that add something to life.

As I sat in a cathedral in Salzburg on the 25th for Vesper's, I lit a candle. I prayed for peace in the uncertainty of life. Jesus was born in completely uncertain times: through messages from angels about a virgin birth. He was born in a stable in the cold and life was far from easy. How phenomenal that such strange circumstances made way for the reign of Christ that would continue for 2000 years. Truly this Christmas has been a huge reminder of the reality of Christ's birth and the hope that we have in Him.

Merry Christmas!

Travel Diaries #5: Skiing, Take Four

The first time I went skiing was with my dad in the fifth grade. To say "with" him might not be entirely true. It was his idea to cure my cold, so we drove out to Snoqualamie Pass and he signed me up in a ski lesson, as teaching me was not something he was gifted at. The lesson was fine, though it made me nervous to be with other beginners significantly younger and better at skiing than myself. I learned about the pizza wedge and french fry positions and I made it down the mountain without any tears.

The second time was the following year with my mom. She was very patient and rode the green lift with me the whole day. All was well until the fluffy flakes turned into sharp pellets of icy rain. Soon, the joyous day of skiing became an afternoon of an icy cold face and tired limbs. That was the beginning of my dislike of skiing and I wouldn't go again until my junior year of high school.

That Christmas of 2006, the Dahlstroms decided that a trip to the cabin accompanied by skiing at Mt. Baker would be a fantastic way to spend the holidays. The cabin I was all for, but the skiing I was ambivalent towards. I was fitted for my boots and skiis and I got on the lift. It was unpleasant and I was fearful of breaking something. My life, starting in January, would consist of dancing in "Oklahoma!" and playing viola in the orchestra. To break or sprain any of my limbs would be tragic and this fear overtook my enjoyment of the sport. Then a vicious snowboarder plowed me into a snowbank and, after tears and a headache, my skiing was finished.

Now, three days ago, when presented with the option of skiing or saving 25 euro, I had to think about it. Then I asked myself, "When will you ever have the option of skiing in the Alps ever again?" Not to mention, I didn't want to think of the judgement I would receive at home when I revealed such a poor decision to my friends. So, I cluelessly went with my sister to rent some gear for my fourth try at skiing. Noah was the perfect teacher, we ate soup in a hut on the mountain and I ended with a smile on my face.

Though my bum hurts an awful lot now from falling 800 times, it was worth it because I can now say with pride that I, Holly Dahsltrom, have been skiing in the Alps.

Travel Diaries #4: Reunited at Last

I have never traveled for more than a few days without seeing a family member. Whether a sibling, a parent or grandparent, and aunt or an uncle...there's always someone to meet me along the way. I went to college three miles from my house and I see my whole family every Sunday, so to be away from them for ten days a was a big thing for me. To be together again was even better.

I waited and waited for Mom and Kristi's delayed flight from Amsterdam. When it finally arrived, those ten minutes from their arrival to the gate felt like an extra hour. Then I turned around and saw my beauitful sister skipping towards me with a huge jet-lagged smile. Mom gave me a hug and we were together again. All we needed now were Dad, who had been away for three weeks and Noah, who is disappearing for fourth months.

We made our way throught the confusing train/bus station and eventually piled into the overcrowded train from Munich to Salzburg. We had to stand in the entrance of the train for half of the trip, but it really didn't matter to me. All that mattered was that after a couple hours, we would all be together again. Kristi and I had fabulous conversations as Mom drifted in and out of sleep. Before we knew it, we stepped onto the snowy platform in Salzburg where Dad and Noah met us. We were together again...oh how I love them.

Travel Diaries #3: Long Trains for Old Friends

I set out on Wednesday on a 4 1/2 hour train ride that traveled halfway across southern Germany to Kempten. Waiting in Kempten were Timo and Lydia and their two little girls. Timo is a man who I met at a Canadian bible school when I was three. Lydia is his wife and Anja is their eight year old daughter who left Seattle when she was two. I didn't know Jennika, their five year old daughter, even existed until I saw her when I arrived. To me, this family was frozen in time until I got off the train and everything fast-forwarded six years. The same thing probably happened to them, too, and I think Timo was surprised when he saw a nineteen year old sitting at his dining room table.

For the first time in my life, I felt like an adult. Here I had purchased a train ticket, transfered trains in Ulm and ended up sitting with Lydia drinking gluhwein and talking about life and the way it changes. I am no longer a thirteen year old living in the shadow of my family, but I am a sophomore in college with a hope to change the world. I can discuss faith with integrity and I actually have an opinion about politics. How did this happen? How did I become old enough to travel alone and discuss things that are "only for grown-ups"? It's good, but a little bit unbelievable.

Visiting this family was a highlight of the trip and I'm glad I made the trek and coughed up the 35 euros. It's always a joy when I can be away from someone for so long and then meet again with the feeling that it hasn't been so long. There was nothing awkward about meeting up with them; it was a joyful reunion. It wasn't just a reunion, though, it was the realization that somewhere between moving into the dorms and flying to Munich, I have grown.

As I sat and played UNO with Anja, who I remember being born, I realized that I have grown into someone sot of resembling an adult. The girls asked me if I was a kid like them or a grown up like their parents. I told them I was in a strange place in between where I can still act like a kid, but am an adult when life calls for it. I like to be in this place of life. The place where playing hopscotch is acceptable, but it's also okay to stay up past 9:30.

All of this to say, after ten days on my own, I have seen a very good side of the ever dreaded "growing up."

Travel Diaries #2: On Home and Service

I hopped off the train in Basel and saw a red pea coat attached to a beaming smile come towards me. Jillian takes my bag as I say, "The ride was beautiful, now where the heck is the bathroom?" This is the beginning of journey #2: visiting and staying with Jillian in her tiny village of Holzen, Germany.

It is always fun to see my friends in their homes with their families. In highschool, I saw this all the time, but I hardly ever get to see this anymore. As soon as Jill and I walked out of the station, Jill's dad (who I've never met before) threw his arms all the way around me and my monstrous backpack and welcomes me to his home. This was very different from when I first met Jill, which was in the awkward setting of our first floor meeting and then again in the quiet of a classroom. Now, fifteen months later, I am staying with her family in Germany for two days. How things change...

The next day, I was able to go into Kandern, which is the city that houses Jill's high school. It's not a German high school, though, it's a missionary school. Kids who go to this school are here because their parents are serving a group of people who are elsewhere. Jill's dad is the principal of the school which means he is the one who makes it possible for all these kids to have a place to consider "home." At least for a little while.

I think being a missionary kid would be incredibly difficult. To follow your parents from place to place without much say and never settle down would be so hard for me. Yet these kids do it and then they settle at Black Forest Academy until it is time to move on. I am impressed by these students and also by their teachers. The teachers are wanderers, too, but that doesn't stop them from serving their students.

I asked Jill if it was hard for her to move to Germany from Arizona. She said it wasn't, it was just the next place. Talking to her about that made me wonder what my life would look like now if we had moved to England when I was eleven. All the things that happened to me which seemed significant started to happen in Jr. High. These never would have happened if we had moved. I guess that's the beauty of it; the point was to stay and I don't need to know what would have happened if we had left. It's always part of a greater plan, stay or go.

Travel Diaries #1: Of First Impressions and History

I am now sitting on a train that is going west along the southern countryside of Germany. There are tiny villages scattered across the hills, each clearly visible because the steeples of their churches stand higher than any of the surroundings. I have just spent two days with a German family that reminds me very much of my own. He is the director of a Bible school and she is his ever supportive wife who puts a smile on the face of every student when she walks in the room. Their kids are my age, love music and sports, and are friends with each other. The only difference between this family and my own? One less daughter. Oh yes, they also live in a city on the Bodensee called Friedrichshaffen.

I love the culture of Germany. Everywhere I have turned, the people are so kind. Meals go on forever and conversations even longer. These conversations range from family to Christ to past and to present. Before I left, Gaby and I walked along the shore of the Bodensee. She told me that the city is so different now from what it used to be. When she told me that, I began to view it all with a different eye. Just seventy years ago, the very shores that I walked were torn by war. The walls I see have been destroyed and mended. The hearts of the people here have faced much more than the people at home.

Now, as I sit on the train, my curiosity aches for stories. That old woman sitting across from me...was her husband in the war? That city right on the Rhein...was it always so picturesque, or did boats once bombard its colorful walls? It's amazing how fast it all can change.

Gaby told me that as wealth has become more prominent in Germany, she is losing the Germany she loves. The traditions and culture of her old Germany are disappearing as modernity approaches. It seems from here statement that wealth is not always the solution. It is not in wealth that we band together. We don't grow stronger by living in a perfect, rich world. It is in our weaknesses that we learn to truly live.