Anna Klemm | Part of Something Bigger

My Flat!

2010-02-13T10:51:00.000-08:00

A combination of rather perfect gifts, an old sewing machine, and Ikea magic have helped us turn our big empty flat into a cozy attic home...

My room...with historic prints of Bratislava Castle!
(thanks, Viera!)

Chandelier with butterfly and wonky purple candles...
(look closely--you might see a picture of yourself on the wall!)

Dining Room

It all looks much better in person--come visit sometime!! <3

Remember

2010-02-13T10:50:00.000-08:00

"But then I recall all you have done, O Lord;
I remember your wonderful deeds of long ago.
They are constantly in my thoughts.
I cannot stop thinking about your mighty works."

[Psalm 77:11-12]

This is what I've been trying to do more of lately when I feel that cold, familiar loneliness creeping up again or get that sinking feeling that I've really blown it again. There are a million ways that I can get discouraged, but that's not what I'm supposed to focus on, according to this Psalm. If I focus on the Solution rather than the problem and trust Him, then so many of the nasty doubts that nag at me throughout the day begin to disintegrate. They aren't bigger than the One who holds my future.

Staying warm!

2010-01-27T06:08:00.000-08:00

I have really cute flat mates. This is us trying to stay warm in the freezing Bratislava winter!

Fany and Zuzka, with Rasty and Deyna

Ok, that's enough pictures for now!

Important Life Lessons

2010-01-22T02:33:00.000-08:00

I've been in Slovakia for ten months now. I thought I'd share with you a few things I've learned in that time:

1-You have to press the button to request a stop on the Slovak night buses. Otherwise, it will keep merrily chugging along until the end of the line. And you have to get out, walk a few miles in the dark, and pray that no one attacks you on the deserted road.

2-No one will bag your groceries for you. You have to bring your own bag, do it yourself, and if you aren't fast enough, the rest of the customers will stare you down while they wait for you to clear out.

3-Showing up two to fifteen minutes late to anything except your bus, train, or streetcar is tolerated well and quite common. This was not difficult for me adjust to. ;)

4-With the exception of a few mega-chains and shopping malls here, stores that are open after 6 pm are almost non-existent outside of North America. This saves you the trouble of having to go out in the cold after dark!

5-That waterproofing spray for your boots only really works if you stay out of puddles...and rain.

6-The bus driver has no qualms about slamming the doors in your face and driving off without you.

7-The streetcar driver doesn't either.

8-Or the train conductor.

9-Taxis are really nice sometimes.

10-Napkins or plates are not necessary if you are just eating bread.

11-Pretty much everyone knows more of our language than we know of theirs.

12-Pretty much everyone knows more about our pop culture than we know about theirs.

13-And yet, pretty much no one understands why Americans shower every day.

14-Wearing a watch is really not all that necessary. See #3.

15-If you don't eat all of your food at a restaurant, you risk getting a reproachful mom-like look from the wait staff.

16-If you aren't wearing enough layers to make you sweat profusely in the winter, you risk getting a reproachful mom-like look from the nearest elderly lady.

17-If you eat too much and wear too many layers, everyone will tell you that Americans are fat.

18-Only Americans smile enough to show their teeth in photos.

19-Only Americans wear sweat pants or running shoes in public.

20-Only Americans talk loudly enough to be heard across the room when speaking to someone three feet away.

21-Only Americans are surprised that they are perceived as overly-friendly sloppy dressers.

22-Few things in life can match the satisfaction of having a foreigner mistake you for a member of their own culture. Even if your accent makes it obvious the second you open your mouth, their little error feels like acceptance.

One, two, three!

2010-01-14T08:43:00.000-08:00

So, it all started when my flat mate Frantiska (Fany) saw a poster for beginner lessons at a local dance school. I'd been telling her how I would like to get more involved here and meet more people, so she suggested trying this class.

Now, I've always wanted to know how to do some classy European or Latin American dances (like the waltz or cha-cha), but to join the class, I'd need a partner. Fany helped me out once again by calling about 6 different guys she knew. Oddly enough, they were all interested. However, only one said it might work with his schedule.

Fany offered to take me to the class, since I didn't know where it was or who I'd be meeting there. We nearly missed the streetcar when it arrived. After running the last hundred yards, we made it just in time for the doors to shut. The driver had waited for us. We were talking on the streetcar, though, and forgot to pay attention to the stops. The mechanical voice announced our stop as the doors prepared to shut and move on. "Oh! We need to go out!" Fany realized.

We jumped up and ran for the doors. I barely made it out, with the doors nearly closing on me. Fany wasn't so lucky. The doors shut before she could get through and we both stood there for a second, pressing the open-the-door buttons. The driver had had enough of us, though, and drove off. Helpless, I smiled and waved as the little train moved off down the tracks. As I sat there, doubled over with laughter, she called and told me she'd get the next train back and meet me there.

After she arrived, we scampered through the slightly sketchy short-cut she'd found, trying not to slip on the ice. When we arrived at the class, there were about a hundred people there. But that wasn't the most amazing part. The most amazing part was that there were more men than women there! I love Europe!

My partner arrived at the last minute and I discovered with relief that he spoke English! This meant he could translate for me! By the end of the first hour, I realized that I wasn't quite as coordinated as I'd hoped I was. It was fine, though, because no one there had exactly mastered the dances yet.

Now, my Slovak is, uh, how do I say this nicely?...rudimentary. Luckily, Fany had informed the instructor of this. So, he'd stand there and explain a lot of things in Slovak, and I'd try to copy his posture and the steps. Finally, he'd start dancing, "Raz, dva, tri!" (one, two, three) he'd count off the steps. After this, he'd turn to me and, um, translate. He'd dance the last three steps again, but instead of counting in Slovak, he'd say "one, two, three!" and then turn back to the rest of the class.

"Thanks," I'd say, "now I understand," and I'd pray he didn't hear the sarcasm in my voice. I really did appreciate his efforts to help me understand, to be honest. After all, I'm the one in their country, not vice versa. Next week, I'm going to try to sign up for some Slovak lessons. ;-)

The joys of travelling...

2009-12-14T14:29:00.000-08:00

Chilly, damp, and overcast, this morning felt like England.

But I wasn't in England. Where was I? I looked out the train window and squinted into the pre-dawn murkiness. Too neat to be Romania, too soon to be Slovakia yet. Must be Hungary. I looked at my watch.

It was 6:20. Or 5:20. Either way, Budapest had clearly failed to appear at 5:17 like it was supposed to. That also meant that I would almost certainly miss my connecting train, which left Budapest at 5:28. Of all the trains that this five-segment trip included, the one from Budapest to Bratislava was the one I had wanted to miss the least. I'd already bought my ticket for that train. And those sorts of tickets were nonrefundable. I sighed. I was way to tired to try to sort this right now.

Some hours earlier, I had said a sad good-bye to my wonderful friends in Romania and been glad that at least I had the excitement of travelling to lessen the the sadness of the farewell. I liked to travel. An uncertain number of hours later, I found myself questioning this assessment...

Besides the trouble of Budapest being late, there was that one Romanian woman who woke me up at 1:32 am in the waiting area in Arad. Judging by her expression, she was clearly trying to communicate a matter of life and death. Her face was just inches from mine as she repeated herself. I managed a sleepy smile, “I'm sorry. I don't understand.” But she didn't understand what I said either. Apparently, she thought I said “Please talk louder so that everyone in the room turns to look at us—and get a little closer so that when you talk to me you accidentally spit on my face.” She kindly obliged.

She shuffled my luggage around and I think she said “You don't speak Romanian!?” four times. I shook my head and said no, I didn't speak Romanian. Then I think she told me that the world was going to end really soon, using a lot of hand motions so that the stupid girl she was talking to would understand. She put her hands on either side of my face and (I think) told me that everyone was about to die!

I smiled, hoping this would calm her down. “Thank you,” I said politely. “Thanks for telling me.” I nodded reassuringly. I closed my eyes then, hoping that if she thought I was asleep, she'd just give up. I could still hear her talking, but I told myself that I wasn't certain she was talking to me. Maybe she had decided to share her important news with the lady next to me.

I didn't go back to sleep, though. I figured all the lady had been probably been trying to tell me, probably was, “Don't sleep! Watch your stuff!” I decided to stay awake and keep an eye on my luggage. The train I had been waiting on was late, though. I stayed awake more. Then it came, finally!

It was raining. I walked to the closest door. Two people were inside, clearly trying to get out. I stood there and waited for them. The handle would jiggle a little and then I'd hear them muttering in some language. I tried to help open the door from the outside. But the handle was wet and I didn't really want to get my felt gloves all wet. “Oh, sorry, it's stuck,” I said unhelpfully as I moved on to another door. I didn't take any chances this time and went to one that was already open. This car looked nicer than the others. This is the thing about the trains over here: unlike books, you absolutely CAN judge them by what's on the outside. The new ones are less dirty, less likely to stink, less likely to have heaters and lights that are broken, and less likely to have been designed during communism using colors that make you want to scratch your eyes out. Oh, and tickets almost never have a specific seat written on them, so you pretty much are stupid if you end up in a gross car.

Well, I had done it. I had picked a nice car. It was a sleeping car. The man in charge of it let me stay there for about half an hour for free before his boss found out and made him kick me out.

Before leaving, the “sleep wagon” man had told me that the next stop was the border. This is what happens at the border: two large men in dark uniforms appear. They knock twice and then immediately bang the door open. They both have flashlights, which they proceed to shine in your eyes and in every single corner of the compartment. Then they say the word “passport” in about ten languages reallyfastsoitsoundslikealloneword. You hand it to them. They flick through it seven times. Then they look at you and mispronounce your name. You nod and smile. They look back at it and pull open their special wooden box they wear around their necks. They stamp your passport in an awkward place and then scribble something on it. They then hand it back to you using only two fingers. You thank them and they nod and they stride off importantly to secure the next compartment.

I remember waking up two times, about 45 minutes apart from each other, and seeing the exact same sign sitting outside the window. It was a station marker. (The name of the place had two slanty lines over an “o.” That meant it was Hungarian.) That is another thing about the trains over here: for no discernible reason, they will just stop. Often it is nowhere near a station. Sometimes they will get going again after ten or fifteen minutes. Other times they will sit there for hours until it is already past the time when they are supposed to be in Budapest. Then, when they are good and ready, they will move on again.

Back to the fact that I like to travel. It makes some people nervous. I admit, things like five minute layovers make me nervous, too. But, I stand by my earlier assertion. I love travelling. Travelling is a bit of an adrenaline rush for me. It's also the only way I get to see most of my friends anymore. It also distracts me from the often depressing struggles against loneliness, confusion, culture shock, and feeling useless that often accompany living in a foreign country.

Most of all, though, I like travelling because I am really, really not in control. It's almost refreshing to realize that I have no power to make the train pick up and start moving like it's supposed to when it's decided to just sit and hang out in the place with two slanty lines over the “o” for three hours. It's refreshing because it's at times like these that I have to trust God completely with where I'm going and how I'm gonna get there. Pretty much no pressure on me, whatsoever. It's at times like this when I start to realize that God isn't just in complete control over how long we spend in slanty-“o”-town or which train doors work and which ones don't. He's that much in control of every little thing that happens in my life. And just because everyday stuff like missing my streetcar or my alarm clock dying in the middle of the night feel like they are partly my fault, doesn't mean He doesn't have space for those little mistakes in His greater plan, too.

Thinking it over, I kinda wish I could apply this “travelling faith” to my everyday life more.

High on a hill was a lonely goatheard...

2009-12-06T04:26:00.000-08:00

Bircii, Romania's only paved road

My school scheduled a welcome, albeit oddly-timed, two-week break from classes near the end of the trimester. Luckily, the break fell over Thanksgiving, and I got the oppotunity to visit a missionary family I went through training with last year, the Roberts. They live in a village the size of a large American high school in the middle of a lot of Romaninan farmland.

It's been incredibly encouraging to see my friends again and to feel so useful out here. Seriously. When was the last time you did something that involved a little bit of physical labor? It's so satisfying. I've helped to do things like shovel "gravel" (read: dirt) to fill some of the ruts in the road, sew curtains by hand, assemble furniture, and fetch water.

The latter has proven the most interesting so far.

While the Roberts have running water (half the village doesn't), it isn't really suitable for us dainty Americans to drink. So, they drive about a mile and a half a couple times a week to fill plastic bottles at a spring.

Except when the car has a flat tire. Then they walk. Like we did on Friday. Paula, Mikayla, and I each picked up two empty 2-liter bottles (except Mikayla, she was brave and took three) and set off. It's an interesting but muddy walk along the rut-filled dirt roads, past the unofficial town dump (a spot by the creek where villagers leave plastic bottles that they don't want anymore), past the orthodox church, and around the big hill.

Yes, I am wearing heels. Because yes, I am a city girl.

While we were filling the bottles, a truck full of men in red jackets pulled up across the street and they got out and started hopping around while the truck played old American songs that had been dubbed in Romanian. They were campaigning for an upcoming election. (Obviously)

On the way back, we started talking about how it's so freeing to get rid of all your old stuff when you move. "It's amazing how God has provided so much since we gave away most of what we owned and left home," Paula was saying when we saw a man running down the hill. He was wearing the same sort of outfit his great-grandfather would have worn as a Romanian peasant 100 years ago. The man ran across our path and over to where several bored-looking goats were sniffing around the dump. (He was a goatheard, in case you hadn't figured that out.)

Now, the thing about two-liter bottles is that once you fill them with water they get kinda heavy. Mikayla especially was kinda struggling juggling her three bottles, so when the lonely goatheard walked up and asked (in Romanian) for some water, she just gave him a whole bottle. "What a great object lesson!" Paula exclaimed. "See? God always provides."

She was right, too. We got the tire fixed the next day and were allowed the luxury of driving to get water once more. So, the next time you drink from the tap...well, just be glad that you can :)

(more pictures of Romania coming soon to my facebook!!)

Velvet anniversary

2009-11-24T08:44:00.000-08:00

Several of you have asked if there were celebrations concerning the fall of the Berlin Wall here (November 9th was the 20th anniversary). While this was celebrated, the even bigger holiday here is the 17th of November, when the students started demonstrating against the oppressive government in Prague. That eventually led to communism falling here too (Prague was the capital of the united Czechoslovakia.)

It was fascinating to hear the stories people had about what they were doing during those days. People started speaking out in one of Bratislava´s main squares on the 17th, too. My landlady said her job was near this square. One of her collegues came in and told them all what was happening outside. Everyone got up and left their desks and went outside to listen. Some famous actor was out there speaking against the government. A microphone and speakers were set up and, for the next six weeks, hundreds of people gathered each day to enjoy the freedom of speech they had been denied their whole lives. Apparently aware of their impending doom, communist government officials did little to stop the growing crowd out in the square.

Another of my friends was a college student in Bratislava during this time. She said classes were effectively cancelled when all the students refused to show up for the second half of November and through December. They went to these protests instead. Her mom called her from Kosice and begged her to stop attending the rallies, afraid her daughter would suffer the same fate as many of the students in Prague (many were beaten by police, although they were unarmed). Like any college student, Viera couldnt resist the excitement and attended almost every day from then until she went home for Christmas.

On November 28th, the Communist government agreed to dismantle the single-party state. A largely non-communist government was appointed, including a new president on December 28th, 1989, and the "Velvet Revolution" came to a peaceful end.

Several of the prominent figures who had spoken out against the oppressive government attended a panel discussion which was aired on national television on the 17th. My landlady was surprised that the current government had allowed this. "There are so many communists in the government again. Have people already forgotten what it was like?" I won´t pretend to know anything about Slovakia´s current government, but I want to thank you for keeping me--and Slovakia--in your prayers!

Something that's predictable...

2009-10-13T06:28:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, autumn began. It was so abrupt—suddenly, for the first time in months, I needed my jacket to go out at night. I've needed it every night since then. Today winter started. I need my heavy coat, gloves, and scarf. I wish I had my hat. How abrupt! Two days ago, walking around my block of flats made me want a shower. This morning, I briefly considered pinching the earmuffs off of the little girl sitting next to me on the streetcar. Here's the strangest part: I'm told it won't get warm again until the spring. Spring. Summer. Fall. Winter. The seasons actually go in that order. Apparently in Slovakia, certain temperatures correspond directly with certain times of year. This weather is so simple that it baffles me. Thirty degrees Celsius (86 F)? Must be summer. Five degrees (41 F)? Winter. Eleven (52 F)? Spring or Fall. Weird.

Precipitation is almost alarmingly predictable here, too: spring and summer are sunny. Fall is rainy. Winter is...well, I haven't really experienced winter here yet, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it includes snow.

The reason I find this strange is because I'm from Virginia. If you attempted to determine the season based solely on the temperature and precipitation in Virginia, you might think the seasons went something like this: winter, winter, summer, spring, winter, winter, winter, spring, spring, fall, winter, spring, winter, summer, fall...and that would just be January and February!

A Slovak visiting Virginia would be so confused, I think. Day 1: “Oh, today it's summer.” Day 2: “Hmm, today it's fall.” Day 3: “Summer again.” Day 4: “Spring in the morning, summer in the afternoon, fall at night.” Day 5: “Summer and fall got in a fight and spring won.” Day 6: “I have no idea what to wear today.” Day 7: “So this is why they all watch the Weather Channel with religious regularity.”

It's a really good thing I don't need the weather channel here, too, because I don't have it. I probably wouldn't understand it if I did :)

The Reason I Now Live in a Blave Attic

2009-10-11T13:07:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I have been looking for a place to live in Bratislava while I attend a post-graduate course in historic preservation for the next nine months. Exactly one week ago, I got on the early train from Kosice to Bratislava and chugged all 6 hours across the country—without knowing where I would be living when I got there. I decided to look at it as an adventure, after all, what was the worst that could happen? Spend the next week in an overpriced Blave hotel? (Blave is Slovak slang for “Bratislava,” by the way.) Not the end of the world.

I figured I had the first night covered. I'd stay with my friend Dominika in her dorm, and she'd help me look at the flat for rent that Karla helped me find on the internet. Oh, and spend the majority of every day in class, starting with the very next day. Everything went great, though! We visited the flat—a spacious, brand-new attic flat with an adorable English-speaking elderly couple living in the house below.

We returned to the dorm in high spirits. They kind of dropped when we saw the guys who check your ID papers at the entrance to the dorm examining every student's papers. Dominika explained that it wasn't exactly legal for me to spend the night there. “But we have a free bed because one girl is out of town and we paid for it!” We stepped aside and prayed that they'd be kind to me, but when the two old men saw that I didn't have student ID papers, we were pulled aside into the little room where they sat and waited for students to interrogate. The room smelled like old men and had a shabby cot on the floor (just in case you were wondering).

Dominika and the ID-checker men talked for what seemed like ages. I understood enough Slovak to catch exactly 0.5% of what was said. Finally, she turned to me and explained that the guy had taken her ID papers and would give them back if we returned in an hour...and complied with whatever verdict he had reached at that point. We hung out in her room for an hour and returned, hoping the man would be more merciful this time. No such luck. She wasn't gonna get her ID papers back unless he saw me leaving the building that night...and not coming back.

After calling around, Dominika came up with a plan. We went to the dorm next door and called at this one window. (It felt very Romeo and Juliet.) Suddenly something fell from an open window. “Take this and show it to the man, but don't open it. Say 'good evening' to him in Slovak, but don't say anything else, and whatever you do, don't say something in English. Oh! Here, follow these two girls in—see you in the morning!” Dominika gave me a quick hug and dashed out of sight. I walked toward the door, praying that the guy didn't ask me to open up the papers...revealing the fact that I look nothing like girl who owned them.

“Dobry vecer,” I mumbled to the man, trying to hide my accent. He glanced at the paper in my hand and said something that I completely did not understand. I decided to walk away and pretend that he hadn't said anything. I hoped he hadn't just asked me something important...or anything at all that required a response. I walked on, suddenly realizing I had no idea where I was going. A girl was standing at the bottom of the steps, so I went over to her.

“Hi! Anna? Don't let him hear us speaking in English!” she whispered. Praise God! I had a place to sleep!

The next day, I ducked out of class as the lecturer was explaining how to write a research paper and called the lady with the flat. “Can I move in in a couple of hours?” I asked. She agreed to let me do it! Some people talk about how we have an “eleventh-hour” God. This felt a bit more like a “three-o'clock-the-next-afternoon” sort of thing, but He had the whole thing under control. Good thing, too, because I sure didn't!

Goodbye, Kosice

2009-10-02T13:00:00.000-07:00

On Sunday I will move to Bratislava, Slovakia's capital city, which is five hours from Kosice, if you take the fast train. I'll be there for 9 months, studying Slovak architectural history and restoration.

Thanks to your prayers, Karla's help, and God's mercy, as of yesterday I am 80% sure I have a place to live once I get there! ('ll let you know how that all looks once I get there!) So, now all that's left is to pack up, decide which train to take, and say good-bye...

Cemeteries of Slovakia

2009-09-05T04:57:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, I went with a Slovak friend and her mom to the western half of the country. We spent a day checking out the school I'm going to go to in about a month, a day in Bratislava (Slovakia's beautiful capital city where I hope to be moving next month), and a couple nights in the town of Piestany (it has accent marks, but I don't know how to type them!). One of the reasons for our cross-country trip was to put flowers on the graves of my friend's great-grandparents. This is an important tradition in many Catholic countries like Slovakia.

I want to tell you a little about our trip to Nitrianska Blatnica, the village where my friends' relatives lived, died, and are buried. First of all, it was raining, so the mountainous countryside around us was all green and misty. The cemetery itself was slightly overgrown so we had to sweep off the grave and so forth. Actually, to say that I just sort of stood there with my umbrella and provided "moral support" as my friend's mom did the cleaning would be more accurate. Cleaning the grave is more complicated that it sounds because Slovak graves are not six feet under, but above ground, encased in concrete. After we (ok, she) cleaned it, they lit a few candles, took a few pics to show relatives back home, and we set off to explore the village.

There was a quaint old church with an even quainter old lady on the front steps. With a slightly perplexed look, she explained that she was waiting for a wedding that should be starting any minute. The only problem was, the church was locked and she appeared to be the only one there. She told us the wedding was at 3pm, and we told her it was only 2pm. She didn't believe us until the clock tower struck 2 and then with a rather embarrassed smile she said, "I think I'll go home and take a nap."

We bid farewell and made our way to the bus stop to go back to town. Like the lady at the church, we were an hour early. Next to the bus stop, however, stood the house where my friend's great-grandmother used to live. Another elderly lady lived here now, and my friends knew her. The yard was full of odd-looking chickens and an invisible goat. I needed to use the restroom, and this village was way too small for public toilets. My friend's mom kindly asked the lady who lived in the house if I could use hers...and where that toilet was. The lady didn't exactly look thrilled to see us. She said something in Slovak and pointed to the back yard.

"She says it's back here," my friend explained hastily. "Let's go," She glanced warily at the unhappy lady and pulled me to the backyard. After poking into a number of cluttered, toilet-free doors scattered around the yard, we gave up and decided to ask again. Truthfully, I was beginning to feel a bit nosy about poking through this lady's collection of old sheds. And around each corner, I began to worry that I might come face-to-face with the mysterious goat that was supposed to live here. I'd open a door, and he'd be there, staring at me with his creepy goat-eyes, munching on grass, and ready to head-butt me...

Eager to avoid that confrontation, my friend and I darted through a side door and found the sickly old lady chatting cordially with my friend's mom. A plate of huge, fresh buchta (jelly-filled donuts) sat on the table between them.

This time, the lady smiled at us. This time, the bathroom was the second door down on the right. This time, she'd figured out that we weren't salesmen and there was a big buchta in it for each of us! She packed us off with a bag full of more things she'd baked that morning, and a new appreciation for Slovak hospitality! I love Slovak babkas (grandmothers)!

English Camp!

2009-08-18T04:12:00.000-07:00

So, English Camp was amazing. I cannot even begin to tell you all about it here, but if you want to get my newsletter with more details, email me your address (klemm.anna@gmail.com).

This is a picture of several of the girls from my Bible and conversation classes. We met for three hours a day in my bedroom and talked about everything from salvation to shopping and just about everything in between! It never fails to amaze me how many opportunities there are at camp to form relationships. From the minute you wake up in the morning (well, actually before that, even...) until you say your 500th good night of the evening and collapse blissfully into your bed, you are surrounded by people. Having lived in a college dorm, this part was nothing new for me. The difference is that every single one of these people seemed to want to engage in conversation! Some want to practice their English; some want to teach you Slovak while you are eating dinner; some are willing to share with you some of their struggles and fears; some are willing to listen to yours; some are wonderful enough to spend 20 minutes praying for you when all you wanted was a bottle of contact solution; some want you to help them find food; some want you to help them find their son/daughter/mother/pet dog/balloon animal; and some wanted...well, I'm really not sure what they wanted because I couldn't speak enough Slovak to understand what they were saying!

As trivial as a lot of these things may seem, God used each and every one of them! Incredibly, He has a place for something as seemingly insignificant as curling someone's hair, or following their child across the street so he can play on the playground.

Realizing again just how much God really does use everything to His glory, it struck me that my prayers are predominantly wish lists: "Dear God, please help me know what to do in situation x, help [random person] get through [their situation x], help me find my favorite hairbrush..." Of course we are supposed to bring our needs before God, but He began to show me that my prayers were a bit lopsided. If I really believe He will work everything to His glory, shouldn't I spend at least as much time praising Him as asking for things? I believe He deserves it, don't you?

In addition to re-structuring the way I pray, God was also able to begin and deepen many, many relationships I have. So thank you for your prayers--I know He was listening!

Things that just don't happen in the USA (part 2)

2009-07-13T12:29:00.000-07:00

So, it's been a while, but I haven't forgotten! Having spent the last two weeks in the US, following through with what I needed to do to get my visa, I noticed a few more things that are different...

One is the fountains. American cities have them, but not like Kosice. This city's center is teeming with the things, and they are beautiful! There's one with an old, beautiful sculpture, one with an ugly, modern sculpture, and one that's flat and doesn't really have any sculpture. There's one that's full of rather large fish, one that's full of rather gross mosquito larvae, and one that's often full of small children. There's a huge one that literally sings and dances and lights up at night, and a tiny one that spurts out of the side of a building. There's one with a lion that spits water, one with a fish that spits water, and one with a dragon that just sits and looks at the water. All these fountains are super-beautiful, but there is one kind of fountain that the city is missing: a water fountain. I was pretty bummed about this until I discovered that the quaint-looking hand pumps that dotted the streets actually worked. Not only that, but the water is apparently good for drinking!

Granted the handles are a bit harder to work than a water fountain crank, but free water is better than none at all! If I start to break out in green spots, you'll know why now...
;)

Things that just don't happen in the USA

2009-06-17T07:23:00.000-07:00

So, I haven't really come up with a theme for today, so we will just call it...well, you can see the title up there. That's what we'll call it.

Firstly, I would like to tell you about the Russian military choir I saw last week. "Alexandrovci" is the name of this group and all 100-odd of the musicians and singers are former members of the Red Army. Some fought as old as World War Two (back when they were on our side, remember?). Anyway, they were playing at what I am told is the largest amphitheater in the former Czechoslovakia. It's quite big, so I didn't expect a lot of sound to be coming from the little stage down there.

Yeah, I was wrong. I know they were helped out by the sound system, but if you have never heard 50 large Russian soldiers singing at the top of their lungs (on key!), you really must experience it! You know that powerful, intense, militaristic-sounding song they always play in the scene of the movie when James Bond or Jason Bourne or whoever shows up in Moscow? Yeah, that's what this was. I've always thought of that marching-type music as the "bad guy" song before, but half the amphitheater was singing along, including the people I'd come with. When you see the little grannies and your friend's mom smiling as they sing this proud song, you realize that not everyone hated the Russians as much as we did. And if they did, well, at least everyone in that amphitheater that night was willing to acknowledge that the animosity was part of the past. Either that or they realized they were outnumbered! ;) I, for one, really enjoyed it. There's something really moving about that strong, almost melancholy sort of music that is definitely worth appreciating.

Another fun thing about life here is how old some of the buildings are! If you're reading this, then you probably know that I first became interested in coming to Slovakia because of the opportunity to work on a 270-year-old manor house ("kastiel"). This past week, I've been able to work on it several times! On Saturday, I went out there with the owner to see something that he had discovered the day before: a hidden fireplace! I know, you are probably thinking, "A secret fireplace, Anna? *yawn* How is that blog-worthy?" Well, if you are thinking that, let me tell you, this is totally blog-worthy. This is the sort of thing most American architectural historians can only dream about discovering.

After knocking a big hole in the wall and opening a panel underneath, we discovered a bunch of little tunnels running through the walls. When you build a kastiel with 4-foot-thick walls, you have a lot of room to hide random things in those walls. Like tunnels, for example. In the process of trying to figure out where this tunnel went, we attempted to find an entrance to it in the basement. There, we discovered several other little tunnels and the funny zig-zagged chimney. The chimney to this basement fireplace sort of weaves around the doors and walls in the upper stories to get to the roof. And, it's all neatly concealed inside those fat walls.

Down in the basement, I found myself perched on a ladder halfway submerged into a long-disused fireplace. I had a spotlight and a shard of a mirror in my hands to help me see a bit more of what lay around the corners of these odd tunnels. I wondered how many of the building's previous occupants had done something like this. Did the servant kids of the original owners ever play around in here? Had the Nazi soldiers ever attempted to conceal anything in this bewildering maze? Had the communist school even known they existed? What sort of traces had these people left in the ashes that were currently dirtying-up my sweatshirt? My first few attempts to answer that last question convinced me that I really didn't want to know the answer to it just yet.

I crawled out, trying not to think of the things that were now falling into my hair. Back upstairs, we discovered what is probably a hidden compartment behind a built-in bookshelf. Ah, mysteries! But, before we could answer any of the questions that had been raised, we had to head back to town. Next time, perhaps...

I know you have a life, too, so I will stop now and let you get back to your job/schoolwork/chores/cleaning/eating/laying around doing nothing or whatever it is you took a break from doing to read this. :)

Part 2 of this to be posted soon...

The Double-0 Secret and Why Umbrellas Really are Romantic: My Trip to Budapest

2009-06-06T05:21:00.000-07:00

Every time you make a mistake while travelling, you try to learn from it. That is what I have decided after numerous travel mistakes, anyway. It keeps me sane, because travel mistakes are usually extremely stressful and often end up costing way more than they have any right to cost. I try to convince myself, for example, that it was worth $300 and half a day in the wrong city to learn that you should always test your foreign friend's phone number and make sure that it is correct.

That lesson is one that I thought I had learned this summer, but it turns out that I needed a little, um, review.

I arrived in Budapest's gorgeous Keleti train station at about 2 in the afternoon. About the time I stepped off the train, I realized that I had just arrived in a country where I literally knew no one, and the only word I could say in the local language (Hungarian) was "yes." This didn't intimidate me one bit, though, because I had the phone number of a friend of a friend in my cell phone. All I had to do was call her, meet her, and then I could spend the night at her place! Easy, right? So, I texted her, to tell her I was there. She would be taking an exam or at work during the day, so she'd call me back when she was done.

The entire, beautiful city was now mine to explore! With no schedule to worry about, and The Fray singing through my earbuds, I could wander the streets at my leisure. I could take as many pictures of the city's fascinating architectural treasures as I wanted! I indulged my nerdy, artsy soul for several hours, before I remembered that I was still sick from the previous week and should probably rest for a while. I sat down on a bench in a park in front of a Gothic Revival Cathedral. I watched a bunch of skinny kittens chase a bunch of fat pigeons and an elderly lady chase them both with something she seemed to think they should enjoy eating. I texted the friend again, but still no answer. Long exam!

I decided to eat some more and a couple hours later, I ended up at a coffee shop. The coffee was good, but I was really starting to get tired. Plus, it was getting dark. I showed the friend's phone number in my phone to the guy that worked at the coffee shop, and asked if it was a valid Hungarian number. He said, yes, it was, but since I had a Slovak phone, I would need a "+" or "00" in front of the number to make it work. Of course. Well, I just added it to my mental list of travel to-do's: "Stick zeros in front of phone numbers when you don't know what else to do."

The next morning, my friend Katie arrived from Slovakia and our hostess took us to the fun market just outside her flat for awesome pastries! We proceeded to see some of the best things on the Buda side of the river (the modern city is made up of two old cities: Buda on the west of the Danube and and Pest on the east). We saw the Renaissance Palace, the fairy-tale-castle-like Fisherman's Bastion, the stunning Gothic Matthias Church, and rode an old tram up the side of the hill before I got exhausted and we ducked into a cafe for lunch.

It rained off and on all morning, and only picked up in the afternoon. We took a bus back to the Pest side of the river and peeked into the stunning Opera House and the paradoxically grand-but-cozy St. Stephen's Basilica. I bought a scarf in a vain attempt to keep my head dry, but Katie really had the right idea. She remembered her little umbrella. I clung to her side like a frightened child, but I was apparently not the only one who thought she had the right idea. As we were attempting to read some Hungarian sign (really, I don't even know why we tried, Hungarian is not related to any other languages that we knew), I realized that someone was standing next to me. At first I thought he was waiting to cross the street, then I realized he just wanted to stick his head under the umbrella. He smiled apologetically and asked, "Can I share?" I just laughed, as he and his friend were obviously very wet and cold.

"Use the hood on your jacket," I said helpfully.

"We pay you for this umbrella!" He produced his wallet, "Two hundred florins!"

"Don't sell it, Katie, we need it!" (I was just full of compassion that day.)

"Why don't you buy one in a shop?" Katie, the voice of reason, piped up.

I wasn't sure if the boys were more interested in flirting or staying dry, and they probably weren't either, but you had to admire the effort...

So, I learned a lot from this trip: the next time you travel, you should be prepared to put zeros in front of any un-cooperative phone number and be sure to pack your umbrella!

Making mistakes so you don't have to,
AK

Budapest!

2009-06-04T13:30:00.000-07:00

So, here are some pictures of my weekend in Budapest--stories to come soon :)
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2301589&id=7811776&l=cca3f1bb9f

Pictures!

2009-05-26T03:38:00.000-07:00

So, I just thought I'd share some of the fun from the past 2 weeks with you all. This is a link to my facebook album about the team's visit. (You do not need facebook to view the album!)
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2298190&id=7811776&l=7f3e1c13ec

Oh, and in case you missed it, here is the link to the album of my first 2 weeks here:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2285683&id=7811776&l=a9a849a791

"Feel the rythm, feel the rhyme..."

2009-05-25T10:20:00.000-07:00

Anyone who lives in Košice will tell you that the city is home to the largest zoo in Central Europe. To this, one of the Thiessen boys will quickly add that it is only the largest in area, not number of animals. They did just get some penguins, though. (So cute!) They also have a pair of female lions, lots of monkey-like creatures, and more odd-looking birds than a Dr. Suess book!

However, more exciting than two lionesses and a handful of penguins is a lesser-known attraction next to the zoo. Known variously as "the slides," "the roller-coaster," and a lot of other things in Slovak that I can't even say, I will refer to it as "the bobsleds." They are not really bobsled, either, though. Luges, really, but who knows how to translate that into Slovak? My first trip, I asked Karla what they were, since her boys were obviously thrilled that we were going. "It's hard to explain," came her reply. "Are you brave?" I replied (somewhat hesitantly) that I liked roller-coasters.

Her reply, which was probably encouraging, was drowned out by the boys suddenly clamoring to tell me their most horrifying stories about these bobsleds. Most of Drew's friends had flipped or tipped at least once. Adam and two of his friends ended up in a 3-luge pileup that fractured both of one guy's hands and gave him a bunch of 2nd-degree burns.

So, I nervously check out these little deathsleds as we come up to the part where you get on. They're about 1.5' x 4' and basically flat with tractor seat-style contours. Something like a joystick pokes up in the middle and I'm told that is the brake. You get on and the little thing locks into a chain that pulls it up this big hill. I cling to the joystick so I don't fall over backwards down the hill. At the top, the track lets go of the bottom of your little sled and you begin to understand why there have been so many injuries: it is easy to pick up a lot of speed as you speed downhill through a series of drops and turns. The only steering mechanism on the slippery metal tube slide-like track is your own ability to shift your weight correctly. I was letting an 8-year-old kid ride with me my first turn and he didn't have the best grasp on the workings of centrifical force (understandably). He leaned in on a particularly steep turn and I almost panicked for a second as I thought we were going to flip! He didn't speak English, so I just grabbed his shoulder and shoved it to the outside. There is no thought given to installing anything like a seat belt, so flipping = falling out. Then, you just hope that the guy behind you doesn't come zooming around that corner so fast that you don't have time to clear off the track before he runs into you!

My second run, I was a bit braver and didn't engage the brake quite as much. I still haven't tried to get air on the drops like the Thiessen boys, but I thoroughly enjoy myself every time we go out to the "bobsleds." If you ever come visit me, I can promise you an unforgettable experience on these!

Check it out:

"And it was all yellow..."

2009-05-02T13:41:00.001-07:00

So, last Sunday my roommate and I returned to our little flat in Košice to discover that something was just a little different out the kitchen window. It didn't take long to figure out what it was: one of the formerly green fields out there had turned yellow, almost overnight!

One of the things I really love about this city is that you never feel that you are completely lost in a concrete jungle. (Although getting lost in the "Jungle" neighborhood is possible. That is another story, however.) There's almost always a patch of green somewhere near the horizon. There are are two reasons for this, I think. One, Košice is really not all that big of a city, and I think it's safe to say that over half of the city's 1/4 million inhabitants are currently housed in the giant, concrete, nine-story, "lego" apartment buildings that I live in. This leaves a lot of room for the green stuff. Secondly, Košice is nestled in a sort of valley, with big hills/small mountains surrounding it on several sides. In the spring, you can usually see a little bit of green from these hills peeking through between the buildings.

Except now, when many of these fields have opted for yellow instead. We may have something like this in America, but I never saw it there. In England, they call this fluorescent vegetation "rapeseed." Here, it is "repa" (sp?). Despite their somewhat disturbing name, these little flowers are quite pretty and I believe they are used to produce canola oil. (There. Now you have to like them. Try to imagine life without canola oil. Not pretty, is it?)

Yesterday, we celebrated May Day by driving out to the kaštiel. It's about a 20-minute drive from Košice, through rolling hills that could easily be part of piedmont Virginia. Except for the yellow. It really looked like a bad coloring book page: like the other kids were hogging all the green crayons, so impatient little Johnny just grabbed his yellow highlighter and boldly splashed the remaining fields with an entirely different hue. It's very bright and cheerful, it just looks almost unrealistic. Or, maybe God knew what a kick I'd get out of this unexpected color-change and did it just for the sake of beauty. Pretty amazing, if you ask me.

Excited to see what colors the fall brings,
AK

Kosice to Kysak...and back!

2009-04-27T15:14:00.000-07:00

April 13. Several small groups from church invited my flatmate Kristen and I on a hike. Kristen calculated that ten out of the fourteen 15- to 30-year-olds we were with spoke extremely good conversational English. Those of you who know me know how much I love to talk, and can probably understand how exciting this was for me! We took a bus to the outskirts of town and proceeded to climb one of the steepest hills I have ever attempted to walk up. The view from the top more than compensated for the steep hike: gently rolling mountains with little villages nestled in the valleys. Then we started the actual hike. After several hours of some gentle and some not-so-gentle inclines, I figured we must be pretty near the top of the world. We weren't. We hiked another kilometer or so, though, and found this rock outcropping that gave a near panoramic view of the valley below. It was complete with tiny toy-like trains, the shimmering blue Hornád River, and a friend that I hadn't seen since the summer! (She was up there celebrating her 18^th birthday. Happy Birthday, Tina!)

I was pretty hungry by this point, so I made my way back down the hill a bit, to where several of the guys had started an (illegal!) campfire. It was at this point I was informed that “taking a hike” in Slovakia actually means “taking a hike, starting a campfire, and roasting sausages, bacon, bread, and onions on it.” It's also BYOK: Bring Your Own Klobasa (sausage). Luckily, everyone was really generous and several of my new friends had brought extra provisions. They even cut the sausage just right so it'd drip plenty of grease. You want it to drip, so you can drop it on the bread every minute or so. If you think that sounds gross, then remember that it's pretty much the same thing as putting butter on your bread. So delicious!

We walked it off, though. Another couple kilometers of mostly downhill hiking brought us to the little village of Kysak (no matter how you pronounce it, it's fun to say!) We took a train back to Kosice from there and I have never been so happy to sit in my entire life! The following weekend, we were out near the spot where the hike began, and one of my friends pointed out the route we'd walked: "We started here, and then walked along that ridge [he pointed to a rather long ridge], and then kept going all the way to the end. You can't even see it from here, because the ridge turns." He estimated the hike was 20 km. No wonder I wanted to drink a gallon of water after I got home!

Hoping that hike will stave off any sort of "freshman fifteen" this new phase of life includes,

Zakopane, Zmrzlina, and Um-hmm's: the honeymoon phase continues

2009-04-27T15:06:00.000-07:00

[This was written April 13]

In the cross- cultural portion of the training I did in Montana, we were taught that there are three stages to adjusting to overseas life. The first of these is characterized by innocent enthusiasm as every experience is new, exciting, and intriguing. Let me just tell you that is not a bad place to be. Here a few a few snapshots...

April 1. I waited for this day for months! This was the day the magical International Messengers (IM) staff conference—that you have all heard so much about—was to begin for me! To top it all off, one of the families I'd gone through training with (and become really close with) was driving up from Romania through Košice, to the conference in Poland. They were driving up with the family they work with and had offered to give me a ride to Poland (actually, I had invited myself), so we'd have more time to catch up! Fun, right? For all its charms, there is one thing that this new life is absolutely not: and that is predictable. A few very short phone calls and third-hand messages scattered throughout the day informed me that the Roberts would be on time...then two hours late...then three...then four...maybe it would be better for them to just spend the night in Košice, as it was still four hours to conference from here?

Karla (the mom/wife of the family that I work with) was already at the conference, and her husband was still at work. He came home around 8pm (that's 20:00 here), to find his four very hungry boys, my flatmate Kristen, and I wondering aimlessly around the house, perhaps hoping that food would magically appear if we looked hard enough. Always a good sport, he greeted us and begin to recount the elaborate April's Fools jokes he'd played on his co-workers. They involved everything from the fire department to an imaginary American guy trying to get some girl's number from her boyfriend. When we finished laughing, there was a pause, and I seized my opportunity: “Um, can we have nine people spend the night here tonight? And, uh, this isn't an April Fool's joke.”

Thus began one of the most fun and refreshing weeks of my life...

April 3. After a breakfast of hot donuts, lunch meat, and the best bread you have ever had (this was breakfast and dinner every day); a worship service in English; and an inspiring message from Terry Baxter (another missionary/speaker with IM), the Roberts family and I decided to cram into their tiny Honda and drive to a nearby town that none of us could pronounce: Zakopane. Another American in Košice had told me that Zakopane resembled a Colorado ski town. I have never been to a Colorado ski town, but this had to be better! Warm, sunny weather made the surrounding snowy mountainsides positively glitter; beautiful buildings that had withstood centuries of everything from communism to blizzards lined the streets; and cute old grandmas sat on their balconies contemplating the traffic.

I went to the Bankomat (ATM) and withdrew some Polish złaty. I never quite figured out if the “ł” is pronounced as an “l” or as a “w.” We found it easier to just call the currency “um-hmm's.” I bought several things: some painted Polish eggs, this mug I'm drinking out of right now, and a chunk of something white that promised to be another delicious pastry...and turned out to be overly salty sheep's cheese. Souvenirs alone could not capture an afternoon like that, though, so I had to take pictures. I hope to post some soon, but you can see them on facebook. Other Zakopane highlights included eating desserts on a balcony overlooking the main street (even though I discovered that I didn't have enough to pay the bill, it was still worth it); boxes literally overflowing with the cutest puppies you have ever seen; and getting glared at by local citizens as we tried to get a glance inside the front doors of the majestic old local church during mass...oops!

April 3-5. Staff conference. Seriously an amazing time! I loved getting to know other people in IM and learning how God is working in other parts of the world! There is no bonding experience quite like accidentally jumping into each other as you dodge the puddles of snow melt the cars try to splash you with as they drive by. Or, getting pulled over by the Polish border police because of your foreign plates. Or staying up later than you should comparing notes on cross-cultural blunders you've made. Yes, this was everything I'd hoped and prayed for. If you're reading this, you probably did something to help me get there. Thank you so much <3

April 7. I learn a new Slovak word: zmrzlina (ice cream). The Thiessens, Kristen, and I spent the days following staff conference hosting other fun people from IM. One thing that I made sure to rave about to all of our guests was Aida, a local ice cream place. Seriously, this is some of the best zmrzlina I have ever tasted—especially since it is now warm enough to really enjoy the stuff. So if you were looking for a reason to come visit me...trying the ice cream is as good as any.

Praying I don't eat too much ice cream,

Kofola, KVP, and the Kastiel: my first week in Kosice

2009-04-27T14:57:00.000-07:00

[I wrote this during my first week here, but wanted to let you know how that all went]

Look at those funny road signs--what on earth do they say? Oh, and the cute little European cars! This is all so fun and different! Just a few steps off the plane, I stood staring out the front door of the airport, just attempting to take it all in. Nothing is quite the same as America. Then it hit me: I live here now.

Oh my goodness gracious!

Exactly one week later, I am still not sure that it has completely sunk in that I'm here! Just a few moments after realizing that I live in Europe again, Karla and Kristen, both Americans with the same organization I work with, arrived. Karla has lived in Kosice for almost 20 years and knows just about everything you could ever need to know about life in Slovakia. Kristen, my new flatmate, is my age and has spent the last seven months in Kosice, getting to know all of the things that I will probably spend the next year trying to learn.

The three of us spent the next two or three hours running (sometimes literally) all over this enchanting old city, visiting about six different offices in order to get my visa papers translated, notarized, stamped, and turned in before 5pm (that's 17:00 here)! Honestly, I don't think very much of the pressure to drop these papers in time fell on me. I had to keep bringing myself back to reality, “Stop smiling at the pretty historic buildings, Anna. You have a lot of important things to do first.” Much of Kosice's downtown was around before George Washington and many of these buildings have yet to be completely restored: a historic preservationist's dream!

As I was still wrestling with jetlag, I can't tell you very much else about that day, except that pizza and a visit to the church were involved. I think I drank some coffee and maybe some Kofola (the Slovak version of coke). Several friends from my summer trip to Slovakia sought me out at church and I am really looking forward to deepening those friendships! I cannot help but feel that I am on the brink of something impossibly huge; in more ways than one!

Kristen took me back to our flat that night (a "flat" is an apartment, for all you curious Americans!) It's in the KVP district of the city (I think those letters stand for the Slovak words for “Kosice building project” or something like that.) Not only is this flat bigger than I imagined, and very comfortable, it has one of the most amazing views of city lights at night that I have ever seen! Kristen has also informed me that some re-decorating is in order here. Just when I thought this day couldn't possibly get any better! Before I collapsed under the fluffy down duvet in my new room, I couldn't help but wonder at the vast number of my life goals that I had seen God bring to reality in that one day. Moments like this remind me that our God is not kidding when He says He will give us the desires of our hearts when we follow Him.

Saturday, I got to go out to the kastiel and see all of the work the Thiessens have done on it since I was there this summer. All I did was plant flowers, but the next months promise that I will be able to help with the painting, plastering (I even get to climb up on the scaffolding!), and most likely work with a professional Slovak preservationist!

But, as amazing as all of this has been, it is not about me. Not even a little bit. Not even when people are making a big deal of me and I'm so happy to see them again. As great and fulfilling as this past week has been, I know that all these amazing things would be totally empty at the end of the day if done only for my own enjoyment. The ultimate value of these things lies not in their status as items on my life's to-do list, but in my heart's attitude when doing them. Am I visiting this person, or writing this email, or buying this strange foreign dinner for His glory or mine? Am I truly “taking every thought captive?” Those questions must be answered for every individual. But, the next time that God brings you one step closer to (or even farther away from) one of your life goals, remember that He cares about your heart, ultimately, not your accomplishments.

Trying to keep my heart His,

First Post!

2009-04-27T13:07:00.000-07:00

Good Evening from Kosice! I'm going to start this blog off by posting a few notes that many of you may have already seen, but you can just pretend they are new and exciting, right?

A little background: I've been living in Kosice, Slovakia--easily one of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen--for a little over a month now. The short version of what I'm doing here is helping research a beautiful old manor house ("kastiel" in Slovak), learning Slovak, and teaching English. Most exciting of all, though, is making friends in this fun new city! I'm living in a flat with another American girl (though she leaves in 3 weeks) in a very generic-looking apartment building. Picture a very large cinder block with many windows. One of those windows on the 6th floor is mine! We even have a balcony!

Well, I am supposed to teach my second-ever English class tomorrow, and I had better go and decide what we will discuss! Good night and happy reading!

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