Let the Panic Commence...

While fear might have been our travel partner, there were only a handful of times when sheer and utter panic griped me and shook with all of its might. Walking the streets of Copenhagen at 4am was one of those times.

Before going to bed on our last night in Copenhagen, I asked our hostess what the quickest route to the train station was from our inn. She rattled off some information, I nodded like I understood and bid her farewell.

The first sign was the feeling of dread in my stomach, then the radiator kicked and knocked.
Jeff, why is the radiator making that noise? I never heard it do that before.
It's amazing the superhuman strength one has when their sympathetic nervous system kicks in. I was dressed, packed and we were out the door within fifteen minutes of waking.

We should have waited for the bus.

Dragging our baggage along the dark, cold streets of Copenhagen was probably not one of my better decisions. I knew they were after us, though. The hostess and her two male boarders were after us.

After what seemed like hours, we boarded the first train to Roskilde. It was an old Viking settlement that housed a small museum and some artifacts.

We hopped off and hopped right back on the next train back to Copenhagen.
Too dark, too early, too cold.

Finally, we were off to Hamburg, Germany. Scratch that, Berlin.

Trains rock me to sleep. Cars rock me to sleep. Planes rock me to sleep. Sitting in the Social Security office rocks me to sleep.
I can't help it.

Needless to say, Jeff is not a fan of my little naps while traveling together. It is rather annoying, I miss out our intellectual conversation and beautiful scenery, or in this case, watching the train I was on being loaded into a boat.

Whitney, get up. Get up! We're on a boat.

Why does he have to do this? Just ask me to get up and talk, don't lie to me. I opened my eyes out of annoyance, only to find us on a boat.

Umm, uh oh.

The train came to a stop and everyone casually got up and started crowding at the doors. The scene out the window went from windmills on farms to steel walls and bars. We followed the crowd: to where, we had to idea.

We found out the train rides into the belly of the boat, from there they unload the passengers and usher them upstairs to a cafeteria. After a twenty minute ride, the passengers are reloaded, the train repositioned on the tracks and back on our way: in Germany.

From there, aside from the beautiful views out our train window, the trip was relatively uneventful.

We arrived in Berlin late in the afternoon, to rather bleak weather. With all the stores still open, we were able to purchase a Berlin map and have a friendly tourist guide point us in the right direction for the Holiday Inn Express.

We opted to walk. Walked with all of our luggage. Walked to the other side of Berlin.

Walked and walked.

After an unexpected detailed tour of Berlin's park (i.e, being lost), we arrived.

My goal is to blog about our trip to Europe, writing daily about the events which took place on that same day, a year ago. So on this day, December 17th, one year ago:

After some much needed sleep in a real bed, things didn't seem so dire in the morning. We dressed, received a key to the backdoor of the apartment and headed out to navigate the city.

Carrying around a little notebook, jammed with receipts for hotels we've yet to stay in, directions and print-outs of must-see sights, I had a little itinerary for the day. First stop: Carlsberg Brewery, a few blocks from the inn were we staying at.

The brewery had a mix of architecture, from the new skyscraper to the arch which dated from 1881.

Copenhagen is a perfect city to use pictures to tell of our travels.

One of our first stops: Tivoli Amusement Park. It's located across the street from the train station, in the middle of the city. It was beautifully decorated for Christmas and interesting to see. However, we made the mistake of eating hot dogs. Will we ever learn?

Copenhagen delighted us at every turn. We walked the entire length of the city, with the exception of one subway ride. According to my itinerary, we had to see Christiania. Christiania is the hippie haven, which has recently been under a lot of fire from the city, they wanted to close it. Right before entering in, I wanted to snap a photo of the entrance, and not realizing until afterward, that I snapped a photo of a man getting hit by a car!
FYI: After a walk through the area, I can honestly say I can see where those officials are coming from.After seeing Christiania and the fact it was getting extremely cold and dark, not to mention my feet were insanely throbbing, we started our trek back.

Half way back to the inn, I could not do it anymore. At all.
There were tears.
There were fears.
There were new shoes. All was okay, again.

Plus a can of Carlsberg Christmas beer helped a little, too.

Let the Learning Begin.

Traveling is a learning experience. Here are a few tips we learned in only our first few days in Europe:

1. Be sure to know the times the sun rises and sets: plan accordingly.
2. Do not wear heels, no matter how small or cute the heel is.
3. Traveling overnight on a train is extremely efficient, however uncomfortable it may be.
4. Do not eat street-vended sausages.

We arrived back in Oslo, with little rest. Bright lights + loud people + old sausages = no sleep.

After unlocking our luggage, we headed out to explore Oslo itself and the Viking Museum.

Oslo is a beautiful city and easily accessible with public transportation. We initially planned on seeing Vigeland Sculpture Park when we arrived back in town. After a few wrong trolleys, we finally found the park. However, considering it was 6am and did not appear too safe, we boarded yet another trolley in pursuit of breakfast.

We found a cute cafe and settled in. After choosing our am goodies and some much needed coffee, Jeff attempted to pay.

'Please head down the street to an atm and we'll hold this food for you.'

Two hours later, after a lesson in Norwegian banking and etiquette, consumed with fear that we would we boarding the next plane home, we come to find out that banks only allow you to withdraw a certain amount each day. In the US, that's easy to determine. In Norwegian krone, it's a littler harder.

After our little run in with the bank, we skipped out on our cafe.
Come on, you know they didn't save our food for almost three hours!!
Anyways, we boarded a bus and headed over to the Viking Museum. Interestingly, the group of people who sat with us were British, as well. Jeff and the older Brit of the group were like two little boys, explaining to each other that since childhood they had wanted to see this museum. I was waiting to see if they skipped to the entrance.

The museum was amazing, though not very big. The clean lines of the building allowed all the attention to be drawn on the ships, showcasing their detailed artwork.

Realizing the time and when our train was departing for Copenhagen, we knew we had to head back to the train station immediately.
'The bus back to the station comes every fifteen minutes,' the lady at the admission counter informed us.
Jeff and I exchanged worried looks and headed outside. There was a bus... leaving!!
We ran, we ran like we never ran before, we ran like we had had a good night sleep, like I wasn't wearing heels and it wasn't sleeting.

Back at the train station, we boarded the train and headed for Copenhagen, Denmark.

After a rather boring trip and a 5-minute layover in Sweden, we arrived at our destination around 9ish at night. Here's where our travel companion, fear decided to throw in his two-cents.
We had vague directions, no map and the bus turned us away because our money was too large, he didn't have change. After another hour of pacing and harassing the Danish, we finally were able to board the appropriate bus and head to our inn.

We jumped off the bus and realized we were in a residential section of the city, streets with few lights and lined with apartment buildings and beggars. We followed our emailed directions and were led to a dilapidated apartment building. 'Jeff, let's go. PLEASE. Let's go, now.' We were buzzed inside and greeted on the stairwell by a rather tall, thin lady who directed us up the stairs into her apartment, filled with Christmas decorations and children. She waved us through the apartment and opened a door on the other side of the room. We were staying, for two nights, in a bedroom, in her apartment. When I read inn on the Copenhagen travel website, this was not what I imagined. We shared her kitchen and bathroom with her, her children and two other boarders.
We will be forever haunted by the smell of the unusual food cooking and the grimy bathroom, but hell, we had free internet!

We skyped home that night: 'How's your trip?'
After exchanging looks, 'Fine.'

Potential Energy

Potential Energy: 'The energy of a particle or system of particles derived from position, or condition, rather than motion. A raised weight, coiled spring, or charged battery has potential energy.'

Another form of potential energy: me.

And it's starting to take a toll on my body.

For example, right now, aside from freezing, my mind is racing. However, this page is blank. I have so much I would like to share and the thoughts, the feelings are preparing to jump, bracing themselves to be splattered all over this page and yet... nothing.
Potential energy.

The feeling is unreal. It's almost as though you are thousands of miles away but are being forced to have your body stay in one location. I look in the mirror and am surprised at the girl who stares back. In my mind, in my researching, in my readings, I have created this person who is always waiting to reveal itself.

Waiting for the time to be right.
Waiting to move to another location.
Waiting for the money to come in.
Waiting to graduate.

Waiting.

I love when people say they are going off to 'find themselves' or some nonsense. I know where I am, it just depends on which part of myself I am looking for. My body is right here, physically cold, physically clothed, physically unfit. My mind, well what part of that are you looking for? The part that shares a story or two with you or the part that laughs at your tale? Sure, that part jumps out immediately, wanting to be liked. I just cannot get the rest of it to budge.

Honestly, why wait? Why have I waited and continue to wait? Ready to make a move, ready to pounce... yet, nothing.

I think it boils down to fear, among a nice pesto of other ingredients.

Like a fortune cookie once fortuned: If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always gotten.

I guess, still, after all of this I don't know what to do.

In essence,

I'm still waiting.

And Travels...

I smiled across the table at Jeff as the older Scandinavian couple sat down next to us. They were small-framed and clothed in hiking attire, carrying a small notebook, tote bag, travel guide and a thermos. They never spoke to each other nor us, instead reading or occasionally staring out the window at the snow-covered terrain.

Jeff and I were like small children, pressing our faces against the cold train window, pointing out Ikea-esque buildings and quaint farms. We exchanged few words, but the looks of excitement spoke more then any conversation could have.

I know at some point during our train ride across the country of Norway, we ate lunch. Oddly enough, I do not recall what it was. Apple, perhaps? I can tell you, however, the interesting lunch our Scandinavian friends ate:
Multi-grain brain
Slices of a Swiss-like cheese
Fruit
Hot beverage
Without saying a word to her companion, the woman pulled out a handkerchief from her nap sack and the thermos. She arranged lunch on the train's plastic table, pouring the steaming liquid into small cups and placing the food on colorful linens. They ate silently, hardly exchanging looks. Isn't it amazing what sticks with you?

We finally arrived at our destination, Mydral. Realizing we had arrived and there was over a few feet of snow on the ground, fear gripped my stomach. What if we came all this way, over the Atlantic, over the snow-covered countryside of Norway for our trip to be canceled? As you're probably beginning to see, fear plagued me early on and I allowed it to become our travel partner.
We stepped out onto the platform into the frigid air and followed the few people who exited along with us: over the original platform, across a small patch of land and onto another train platform. After exchanging a few quizzical looks, everyone boarded a smaller, older train. After choosing seats towards the front of the vessel, the conductor began the train and our tour.

This old-fashioned train, complete with the chugging and the choo-choo, wove in and out of mountains overlooking small towns and farms. The views from the train were breath-taking, as well as the height and cold air.

The conductor pointed out historical facts and would stop at frozen waterfalls and overlooks, allowing everyone time to exit, snap a few pictures and board again.

The train reached it's destination at Flam, where a small gift shop, post office and internet awaited us. After sending out a few much needed emails (not about the camcorder, of course) and mailing out post cards, we walked around the property overlooking the fjord. After an hour, Jeff and I boarded our ship, along with another couple from England. With it's four passengers, the ship disembarked on its journey through the fjord.

We headed for the deck, braving the harsh wind to watch the ship navigate waters the Vikings frequented hundreds of years ago. The Norwegian winter is not a kind one, blistering winds and an early sunset, whose combination soon made standing on the deck impossible.

The British couple, Jeff and I headed for the lower cabins, but as the evening drew nearer, watching out the windows, soon too was not an option. We had a pleasant conversation with our traveling mates, but eventually the four of us were rocked to sleep in the belly of our Norwegian boat.

After our brief nap and docking, the four of us boarded a bus which wove through the other set of mountains to another train headed for Bergen. The bus ride was part of the tour, but due to their early sunsets, the ride became an opportunity to learn a little more about our British companions and bus driver instead of picture taking.

We boarded yet another train and headed into the night for Bergen, which rests on the western shore of Norway. Anxious to explore, we set out to tour Bergen by moonlight.

We traveled through the old town, taking in the Christmas decorations which illuminated store fronts and streets. Jeff and I knew that food was soon a necessity, so we stopped at a little street vendor for sausages and free lemonade. The free lemonade soon have been a give away as to the quality of food we were consuming. Unfortunately, it was not until our overnight train ride back to Oslo did we realize.

A Small Bite of the Big Apple

'Okay, we'll drive up over night Tuesday night when I get off of work. If we take turns driving, it shouldn't be too bad. We'll leave directly after seeing them. PLEASE.'

There was no way my mom and sister was turning this one down. I don't know why I added a 'please' on the end, I should have ended the statement with, 'your car or mine?'

After a five-hour shift at the local steak monger's, pedaling steak to the masses, we were on our way to NYC at a bright and happy time of eleven at night. Okay, it was bright and happy to us!

I'd like to get something out in the open right now: AAA lied. They drastically lied. We were looking forward to a brief seven hour drive. It was more like twelve. I will say this though, the Delaware Water Gap is amazing.

Anyways, we arrived. We arrived tired, wrinkled, stiff and cranky; but we arrived none-the-less. After finding a parking spot, primping in the car, a brief argument and train ride, we arrived at the World Trade Center stop.

I had left my mom to the navigational end of this trip and I was pretty shocked to end up at the World Trade Center subway stop, our first stop ever in New York City. Riding through the construction of what was the towers and what is going to be Freedom Tower/ 7 World Trade Center, an eerie feeling washed over me. As the train rocked back and forth, I tried to picture the chaos. I tried to feel the fear and anger. Looking out the rain-washed window, watching light filter through the cracks in the walls and in the construction, I imagined the light as hope.

Hope in the future, but most importantly, hope in America.

One or Two?

Okay, you have to see this video.

Isn't the cutest thing ever?

Inspiration Paper

On the same note as yesterday's post, I've once again taken my mother's advice.

She told me a while back about finding a swatch of material that I really liked and use that as my inspiration for decorating. Since I seem to have a problem with following advice word for word, I chose stationary as my inspiration for the wedding party.

This time, I did it again. I chose scrap-booking paper I found online as the inspiration for my kitchen. I absolutely adore it. I think it's name is one of it's major selling points. Dutch Woodwork. It just seems so quaint and vintage, all wrapped up in one.

Not only does this paper have an awesome design on it, but it incorporates all the colors Jeff and I love.
Did I ever mention Jeff loves red?
Or my obsession with green? Does a green apple KitchenAid pop into mind?

Unfortunately, inspiration is one thing and motivation is entirely different.
Come on, Mom- I need some advice for that!!

I'd love to hear yours, as well.

Another Shot...

We're planning on having a party to celebration our marriage and when better to have it, but on our one-year anniversary.

As I begin the process of planning this event, I would like to share with you the little details. I know how easy it is to get caught up in all the hoopa-la and never appreciate the little things. I hope you don't mind!

I found this stationary for the invitations. I've decided to use this for the 'theme.' Sometimes, my Mom comes up with the best ideas!

Another Step...

I had such a good idea for a blog post today, along with my sister's move. It was so awesome, so creative! I was walking to my lab today, rehearsing what I wanted to post this evening and even thought, I should write this down so I can rewrite it word for word.

I didn't.

I forgot.

Unless I remember, while I write my other thoughts on today, I guess I'm going to have to wait for those creative juices to flow again another day.


Ah, Lindsey's move. I really did not expect it to hit me like this. For months, I watched her pack. I watched her make purchases here and there for her new place. She has new plates, new coffeemaker, silverware and root beer. Today, after class I came over to help. My parents, Lindsey and I moved a few of the little things and basically prepped for the rest of the move tonight. My Mom and I returned home to finish packing the rest of Lindsey's stuff, while Lindsey went to class. When I was home, stuffing her belongings into boxes, the reality of this decision really hit me.

I've seen other people move. It's not a big deal. So you move. You pack up all your stuff, buy new stuff and acquire more "stuff" to pay for. What's the fun in that? Paying $800 a month, just to be able to sit in your underwear, eating ice cream, watching a movie, all by your lonesome? All on your dollar? Having people come over and trash your bathroom, drop pizza on your white carpet and tell you 'you're awesome?'

It's so much more then that, especially for women. It's a right of passage. It's the ability to be who you are and show it.

Why am I trying to cover this up?
I'm sad.
I'm sad to see the end of another time.
I'm sad to be growing up and with my growth, comes loss. The loss of memories and experiences that will never happen again.

I'm sad that now, instead of two little girls "playing apartment," it's now the real thing. Instead of pretend letters, real ones. Instead of stuffed animals, real dogs.

This is going to take some getting used to.

Playing Catch... Up.

Wow.

I cannot believe it has been over two months since my last entry.

I had myself completely convinced that I would blog daily, or at least every other day. These entries were to either mark events in my life, projects or just log my trip to Europe. Alas, I did not fulfill my promise to myself.

As I look over my blog and think of my current situation, I see a recurring theme. I always mess things up the first time and always want to go back and re-do things of the past and never really move forward. I'm always in an attempt to make up for my mistakes but, as a result of living in the past, I make the same mistakes in the future.

It's an ongoing game of catch up.

I'm going to try this again.

Thanks for hanging in there with me.

Continuing on the Path...

I decided yesterday to re-start my dress project.

After promising a stop at Chipotle and to drive, Jeff agreed to make the trip to the material store with me. Since I ran out of material on my first attempt, I had to make sure I purchased enough this time. After opting for a light green and white design, which also happened to be on sell, we headed off for some quality time over Chipotle burritos.

In order to visualize the dress in my mind, I had spread everything all over the kitchen table. I decided immediately to change the pattern for my dress. I didn't think the new material would look as great as a pocket-ed summer dress as that bright yellow material did. I knew I had drawers full of vintage patterns, I figured I would find another that would fit me much better the the one I had previously selected. I did, almost immediately upon opening my drawer.

I loved it. I needed it. It was thee one.

Alas, it was not. Hence the penciled wording on the outside of the package, it did not contain the dress pattern, only the jacket pattern. The lack-there-of, of the perfect pattern was not the clincher. My shoes were.

A few weeks ago, before starting the original dress, I made a trip to the department store for one specific purpose: fire engine red lipstick. I had decided that red lipstick would be my (to quote Jeff) toe-hold on the horizon of my new life. It would be my inspiration. With my red lipstick in hand, while leaving the department store, these shoes called out to me. They were colorful, vintage, and on sell. Plus, they matched the yellow material perfectly.

With fire engine red lipstick and new shoes, I knew life was going to start going my way.

Until this whole dress-making crap.

It was starting to lose its initial spark. I lost all interest in it at that point. Did I need to make a dress, when I could go out or hell, order online, have it dropped off at my house, put it on and leave. No measuring, hemming, adjusting, making sure the pattern was on the grain when I cut it out, nothing. I could be sitting, quite contently and finish reading my book.

Instead of giving up like I normally would have, I decided to press on. Despite the original set-backs, the dress is almost completely finished as we speak. There is only one thing, the original pattern called for neckline and armhole facing, which doesn't fit. After another trip to the material store for even more material, the dress should be complete for Saturday.

Inspiration Comes In All Shapes and Sizes...

'Elements from the Past and the Future. Combined to make something not quite as good as either.'

I cannot begin to tell you what draws me in. Possibly the music? Or maybe the touch of British 'Monty Python-isc' humor? Whatever it is has me hooked, no possibly, shall I say obsessed?

You could bet one hundred smackers that when I turn on a computer or sit down to one, the first page I'll navigate to is youtube.com. I just type in those four little words: mighty. boosh. top. ten. Any where, time or place I can guarantee my response will be giggles.

I. can't. help. myself.

On a more serious note, the show has been some weird form of inspiration for me. Aside from the five or so main characters, each episode is completely different then the next. Completely random would probably be a better way to describe it. It's sort of the British, Post-Modern, Monty Python-Style Odd Couple. Howard is a jazz-lover and intellect versus Vince, the punk who's in love with punk music, clothes and his hair. Not only is this a comedy, but they incorporate music into every episode. It's amazing to see the wide range of music these individuals follow in order to produce such songs or 'crimps.'

A little history on The Mighty Boosh: it started out as a British radio show, traveled as a theater act and eventually landed a spot on BBC3.

Sitting here, trying to describe why I am so fascinated with this show, only brings me to tears... from laughter, that is. I love the setting, Camden. Camden is located outside of London; a hip area lined with eclectic shops and block-long markets filled with vintage clothes and tattooed Chuckies. I love Howard. I can relate to his personality, of wanting to fit in but always choosing the least likely of various options. Vince is who I would like to be like; good hair, good clothes, has all the friends and lucky!

Perhaps, I'm just looking into this too much...

And Travels...

'Whitney. Get up. Now. Whitney!' What could he possibly want? It was so early and the bed was so comfortable...

The camera was gone. Not just any camera, my Mother's camcorder. The one she hand-wrote instructions for and personally packed. Charge it every night, like we did while we were in Alaska. Jeff, this camcorder and Whitney are precious cargo. Here we were, thousands of miles from home, after we swore allegiance to my mother to protect her camcorder through rain or snow, through sickness and in health, as long as our trip lasted. We failed on the second day. Jeff was devastated. The five-hundred-dollar camcorder had been his responsibility, while the twenty-pound-Olympia was mine. Needless to say, the Olympia never left my neck during the remainder of the trip, which probably could explain these terrible neck pains I've been having since we returned. Hmm.

I guess there is another thing I should mention before I continue on. I am a slave-driver. Not always, only in rare occasions where I only have a month to travel twelve countries. Waking up at 4am to catch a train, force marching twenty miles without eating or visiting three cities in one day is child's play when it comes to me getting to see everything and I do not like to settle for less.

On that note, the Lord and I were repacked, bundled and at the train station before 7am. Here's another awesome fact about Norway, the sun does not come up until 10am either. So, yes. The sun only shines between the long hours of 10am and 3pm.

After purchasing our tickets and stowing parts of our luggage in the train station's lockers, we boarded our train. Our destination was the Lord's real reason he came on this trip, the fjords. When we did our planning, he had only one request: to travel to somewhere in Scandinavia and visit the fjords (okay, that was two, sorry). Not only were we in Scandinavia, but we were taking a train across the country to the fjords, and...


we got to experience all the land of Norway had to offer.

And Travels...

I wish I could tell you the flight from Pennsylvania to Copenhagen, Denmark was entertaining, delightful and exciting. Alas, it was not. It was so unremarkable that I've sat here for twenty minutes writing and rewriting that fact.

Copenhagen Airport would have made Ikea proud. I wish I had taken pictures, but my feet were hurting and I had to carry my heavy luggage from one side of the airport to the other. The last thought on my mind was opening my suitcase, whipping out the twenty-pound camera and snapping a few shots. All I wanted to do was get to Oslo. I was so disappointed in myself for not soaking it all in. I will say though, I was thoroughly surprised that the gate 'guard' was a young woman, probably not even as old as I, and very attractive. You don't typically see women in those positions in America, let alone an attractive one. Scandinavia held lots of surprises for me.

We arrived in Oslo after a brief flight, probably around 5ish. Let me let you in on a little secret, Norway gets dark at 3pm in the winter. I know, I know, I'm sure that comes as a shock to you, with them being in the same longitude as Alaska and all.

I think the best part of the Oslo Airport was not the fact that the whole place was made of windows, or that it looked like a log cabin, it was however, the little television above the baggage claim contraption. As we stood there waiting for our luggage, we were entertained with a little cartoon man, dancing and displaying himself. When I say displaying I do mean that, he was making it dance.

Now, this whole getting-dark-early-business would not have been a problem had I secured our umm lodging a little better. I hate to admit this now, but we were to stay in some guy's house. It was only one night and he had a website!! I'm sure it would have been safe, but as fate will have it, we could not reach the man. He had asked us to call when we arrived, however, operating a Norwegian telephone is a little different that operating an American one.

Well, 128.86 Norwegian Krone, or $20 bucks later and some help from one of the train station ladies, we were frantically searching for a place to stay. Everything was closing, it was about 15 degrees outside and okay, okay... I was frantic. Calm down, imagine what Melissa would do in this situation.

Outside the train station was a little tower where, inside, one can place reservations in any of the local hotels and hostels. You explain to the lady where and how much you'd like to pay and they call, reserve a room for you, help you to find the location, and then you pay them a hefty sum. Oh, and they were closing in five minutes. She smiled, called around, secured us a room and our money and we were on our way.

After a ten minute walk, up hill, with all of our luggage, we finally found the little hotel she had arranged. The Lord and I exchanged ... looks... and went inside to check in.

After the initial fear of the Italian mob in the lobby and the antique elevator, we can honestly say this hotel was one of the best we stayed in during the whole trip. It was clean, warm, and hell, they heated the bathroom floor!

We headed straight for the bed, completely dressed, and did not stir for hours. At one point, I do recall waking up to the television. In some half sleep, I must have turned it on. Before allowing another wave of exhaustion to take me, I remember watching a few moments of 'Back to You' dubbed over in Norwegian...