It's not over till...it's over

I'm writing this from Dulles Airport, where we're getting ready to board our final flight home to Sacramento.  After nine weeks abroad, we're equally excited to return home and at the same time depressed that our once-in-a-lifetime vacation is over.

Approaching the Rashplin

Just to pay tribute to the last two days in Switzerland, I offer cheers to my fabulous and always-elegant aunt Yvonne, who hosted us for an afternoon at her mountain home called the Rashplin.  To reach the Rashplin, you either need to take a four-wheel drive car up a steep, windy road; or, more desireably, hike up a gravel and dirt path for about 15 minutes, through the woods and amidst a few cow pastures until you spot her 100+ year old chalet perched on the top of the hillside.

When we arrived, Noel, Godebo and Bereket made a beeline for the nearby woods where they built a fairly impressive lean-to using branches and ferns.  The rest of us enjoyed wine and pastries surrounded by Yvonne's voluptuous garden.  We enjoyed her stories about the various wildlife she studies and nurtures, like a hedgehog for whom she built a little house out of a wine crate, and some frogs whom she  raised in her small pond from tadpoles.

Dining al fresco

Later we dined on a typical Swiss meal created in large part with ingredients she had grown herself. On the menu were two types of fleishkaese (a type of meatloaf made with finely ground veal), potato salad, tomato salad and a green salad adorned with edible flowers from the garden -- a feast for the eyes and the palate, for sure.  I could go on by describing how the Swiss ladies in the group (Yvonne, Madeleine and my mom) later entertained us with some hearty Appenzeller yodeling, but that might embarrass someone, so I'll refrain.  Let's suffice it to say we stayed until the last embers of daylight allowed us to make our way down the mountain, satisfied in every way.

Our last day in Switzerland was spent in Roschach, a city on Lake Bodensee (also called Lake Constance), which was hosting a sand sculpture competition.  My uncle Werner and his wife Daniella joined us to watch the sculptors from all over the world completing their creations for the final judging.  Then the kids took a dip in the lake and tried their hand at sculpting their own sand castle.  We dined on pizza and lounged on the cool grass by the lake.  On the stroll back to the car, we stopped for gelati (Swiss gelato).  A very relaxing way to spend our last day.

My cousin Corinne hosted us for our last dinner, so we were able to say our last goodbyes to her, my parents and aunt Madeleine. They have all worked so hard to make our stay special. And I'm thrilled to say that Corinne, Thomas and their kids are planning to visit California next summer, so we'll be able to reciprocate their hospitality.

Now it's back to reality, with school starting in only two weeks, soccer practice already underway...well, you all know the drill.  We'll check back in a few days in record some reflections, once the fog has cleared from our minds and we've had some time to process.

High Alp-titude

I suppose I shouldn't speak for all Swiss people, but my relatives from these parts are extremely fit and most definitely take their mountain sports seriously.  So we knew when they planned a day of hiking for our family that we had to prove our stuff and, of course, uphold the reputation of outdoor-loving Americans everywhere.  They seemed a bit skeptical, especially when they saw that our best footwear consisted of running shoes and Keens.  But after borrowing a few hiking boots and poles from friends and neighbors, we were ready for a day in the mountains.  And let me just say right from the start that the Chapman family came through with flying colors.  

Isabel and Jeff joined my cousin Ralph at 6 a.m. for the more strenuous hike, an uphill climb to the highest peak in the region, called the Santis (2,502 meters above sea level).  Some of this climb involved walking on steps up a rocky slope, with a rope on one side and a drop of 400+ meters on the other.  After reaching the peak, it was another steep climb down the mountain, during which Isabel's borrowed hiking boots literally lost their soles.  Ralph, luckily, knew the owners of a restaurant along the way, so they were able to borrow boots for Isabel to wear on the way down.  Along the seven hour journey, they soaked in spectacular views, as well as spottings of a whole herd of mountain goats and a herd of pigs being directed by (I'm not making this up) a female shepherd who barked like a dog.  I'll have to let them tell you about this later.

Meanwhile, the rest of our crew -- the three younger kids, plus my mom and my uncle Theo, hiked uphill for almost three hours to reach Ebenalp (1,644 meters).  Many people take the gondola to this destination, but I swore my kids could do the climb, which they did with gusto and minimal complaining. When we reached the top, we met up with my aunt Madeleine and my dad, who had taken the said gondola since my dad is really under the weather with a bad cold. We ate our picnic lunch -- crunchy rolls with ham, salami, dried beef and cheese -- while we watched hang gliders leap off the mountain into the endless blue sky.  Wow, was I jealous to watch those hang gliders ebb and dip in the gentle breeze, with all those green and gray mountains as their backdrop!

After lunch, my group did some shorter treks around the top to a very lovely chapel in a cave (Wildkirchlli) and then had a cool drink at Ascher, a restaurant built right into the mountain.  Then we headed down to Seealpsee, a pristine, cool mountain lake, where the kids stripped to their underwear -- it is Europe, after all -- and I to my lycra running pants and sports bra, and we dove into the clear green water to refresh ourselves before Jeff, Ralph and Isabel met up with us for the final leg of the hike.

There may be some of you who don't think hiking is your cup of tea, but a day like today would surely change your mind.  The Swiss are hard workers, hard hikers, efficient and determined in all they do. But they also love to enjoy life, and we stopped numerous times along the way at the many mountaintop restaurants to enjoy a cool drink, an ice cafe, or a glass of wine and take in the breathtaking scenery.  Everything was so very clean, every sound gentle and pleasant, and every passing hiker friendly with their Swiss "grutze mittenand" ("hello to everybody").  You really must see it to believe it.

One big, international family

Enough ice cream to share

Gathering for the reunion

The theme over the last few
days in Switzerland has definitely been family, family and more family.  On Sunday, 50 members of the Eggenberger family (my mom's side) gathered for a feast of medieval proportions at the restaurant and inn owned by my cousin, Ralph.  (Can you imagine -- almost 20 more relatives couldn't make it?  This is a BIG family.)  Ralph, his wife Yvonne and his staff prepared a salad bar featuring at least 15 gourmet salads, then followed up with a barbecue station including lamb, various sausages, veal, steak, pork ribs, corn, baked potatoes, grilled vegetables...  Did I remember everything?  No, I forgot the enormous ice cream cones topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.

Appenzeller singers

On top of this, Ralph and Yvonne arranged for a special Appenzeller singing group to surprise us with it's harmonic yodeling that is especially typical of this region.  In case you don't know, Appenzell is the area of northern Switzerland marked by rolling green hills and very happy cows and goats that provide milk for the  special Appenzell cheese made here alone in the world -- sharp and smooth at the same time, and absolutely mouthwatering.  The history in Appenzell goes back hundreds of years, and traditions are held with tremendous care and pride.  So this music offered us a little taste of this land and its people, who of course, are part of my heritage as well.

How interesting also that that my family history is being impacted by an increasingly diverse population in Switzerland.  At the reunion alone, in addition to Bereket and Godebo, were relatives from Ethiopian, Haitian and Thai descent.  Nothing like the melting pot of the U.S. yet, but quite interesting for such a small, insulated country.

Peruvian cousins

Yesterday and today were spent with still other relatives:  my Peruvian cousins Alan and Eduardo.  Alan now lives in Spain with his wife Marianna, and Eduardo lives in Norway with his wife Roxanna.  So the two brothers met us here for a couple days of rest and sight-seeing.  My mom's brother, Hans, gave us a fascinating tour of St. Gallen yesterday, including some really spectacular architecture such as the city's characteristic carved wooden window boxes, and a peek at the Stiftsbibiliothek St. Gallen, the library of the former Benedictine monastery of St. Gall.

Go St. Gallen!

In the evening, Jeff and the kids accompanied Thomas Hug, my cousin's husband, to a professional soccer game in St. Gallen. They really enjoyed watching the very-enthusiastic St. Galler fans (called "hard cores" by the locals) cheer on their team, which beat the Lugano team 1-0.

We are quite tired from so much activity, but Switzerland remains enchanting, and my relatives thoroughly enjoyable.

Living in a picture postcard

View of Stein

As we close Day 4 in Switzerland, I'm realizing there's something deep within me that cannot get enough of this beautiful place.  This is my fifth visit here, and every time I'm just amazed at how much Switzerland matches a picture postcard: lush green hills bordered by the rocky Alps, and Swiss chalets spilling their hanging pink and red geraniums from balconies everywhere you turn.  There's something about Switzerland that resonates with my nature -- the sportiness and love of nature, the orderliness of things, and the unmatched efficiency and high standards.  There aren't many places that make you say "wow" after you use a public restroom, but this is one of them.

Feeding the rabbits

Of course, the main reason we are here is to visit my relatives, and they are some of the most fun, most hospitable people you'd ever meet.  We're staying in the town of Stein with my cousin Corinne, and she has spoiled us with everything from Swiss chocolates on our pillows to fresh-baked bread in the morning. She has also allowed us to partake in her daily activities, including feeding the rabbits and ducks she raises, a task Bereket has especially enjoyed.

Hiking along the Klangweg

Every day has featured a gorgeous hike in the area, which is one of the things Swiss people love best -- staying fit while enjoying their beloved mountains.  Today, we took a ski lift up to a trail called the Klangweg, which featured stops at 24 interactive musical installations created by local artists.  We blew strange-shaped trumpets, pounded on hollow logs to hear the echoey thumps, and pulled strings to clang cow bells of all sizes.  The kids hardly knew they had hiked at least 5 km by the end of the day.  We stopped for a picnic at one of the fire pits stocked with nicely dried wood, and roasted St. Galler bratwurst until they split their crispy skins to reveal the juicy, white sausage within.  When eaten with the local bread rolls, also crunchy outside and pillowy soft within, it's truly gourmet dining in its purest form.

Madeleine, Mom and I in front
of my grandparents' house

Yesterday we visited my grandparents house, where my mother and her eight siblings were born and raised.  Another family lives there now, since my grandparents have passed away, but they sweetly respect the Eggenberger family history by allowing us to pass through their halls and reminisce. They even keep a few black-and-white photos of the family in their hallway, which I find especially touching.  After the tour, we walked up the hill to a nature preserve where my grandfather used to enjoy taking his grandchildren to see the deer, mountain goats, lynx and wild boar housed there.  My grandfather and I never spoke the same language, but somehow his warm hand around mine and gentle way of pointing out the animals connected us in a special way.

Floating opera set

Another special treat was joining Isabel, my parents (who are also visiting) and my Aunt Madeleine to see an opera in Austria, which is only an hour's drive from here.  This opera company, called the Bregenzer Festspiele, is known for its elaborate stages that float on the water of the Bodensee, a giant lake.  The set, which I was able to photograph before the performance, moves and evolves thoughout the performance, so Isabel and I were kept thoroughly entertained, even though the opera ("Andre Chenier") was about the French Revolution, with lyrics in Italian and subtitles in German.  I don't often visit the opera, but this was a lovely treat, made even nicer by a typical Austrian meal that we enjoyed at an outdoor cafe along the lake.

Tomorrow we will move into the apartment my parents rented for us about 20 minutes away in Urnish.  I guess the privacy and space will be nice, but we've so thoroughly enjoyed spending time with my cousin Corinne and her husband, Thomas, and getting to know her young children, Cyrielle (6) and Cedric (5), that it may seem a bit lonely on our own.  Luckily, we have more fun planned for the next week, including a 50-person family reunion on Sunday, so we won't hurting for fun things to do.

Seaside in Cinque Terre

While planning our trip to Italy, some well-traveled friends and relatives suggested we should not attempt more than one big city, given the heat of Italy in August and the ages and attention spans of our kids.  That’s how we ended up following three days in Rome with three in Cinque Terre, which is a region of five villages (literally translated “five lands”), on the Mediterranean coast northwest of Rome.

Boy, am I glad I headed this advice, because our days here spent hiking, swimming and sunbathing have been the perfect “yin” to the “yang” of bustling, history-packed Rome.  The tourist crowd here consists of classy older couples, honeymooners and other young lovers -- mostly from Italy, it seems -- and a host of laid-back backpackers from around the world. We’re staying in Riomaggiore, one of the quietest of the villages, so the nightlife consists mostly of fashionably late diners in outdoor cafes, relaxing over a glass of Italian wine and plates of the region’s renown seafood dishes.

The balcony of our third-floor apartment overlooks the main street and has a bit of a glimpse of the sea, which makes for a lovely place to eat meals, people watch, soak in the sunsets and reflect over our last seven weeks of travel.  Tomorrow we leave for Switzerland, where we’ll meet up with my parents and visit with many cousins, aunts and uncles.  

We’re finally starting to feel the tug of home -- I’m dreaming about it almost every night. I’m hoping I can still savor each one of the next 10 days.

Arivederci, Rome...for now

We leave Rome today after three full -- and I mean full -- days of experiencing her majesty and charm.  All six of us have fallen in love with this bustling, colorful city.  We marveled at the Colosseum, imaging all the terrible and fantastical events that made that place the center of Roman social life. We stood, mouths open, before the breathtaking works of art in the Vatican Museum, the high note being the awe-inspiring Sistine Chapel, with Michelangelo's famous creation paintings.  And yesterday, we felt goosebumps descending into the cold and mysterious catacombs, where the first Roman Christians buried their dead in secret, since Christianity was outlawed in its early days here.

One of the highlights came unexpectedly yesterday, when our bus to the Catacombs arrived (after 30 sweaty minutes) too packed for us to fit without risk of suffocation.  We decided to switch gears and head to the Villa Borghese Gardens instead -- which many call Rome's Central Park -- and let the kids have some fun outdoors.  We had planned to rent bikes to explore the enormous park, but Isabel and Noel begged to rent two rickshaws instead.  What a payoff!  We laughed so hard as we tried to peddle these shaky, semi-motorized vehicles over dirt paths and up hills with tour buses and taxis on our heals.  Bereket found great delight in being the "bell girl," ringing the small bicycle bell to alert pedestrians and small children in our path.  I'm so glad we made what could have been a frustration into a delightful opportunity.  (Bev Ginn, you are exactly right.  Flexibility is key to traveling!)  We did eventually end up at the Catacombs of St. Cecilia, so nothing was lost in the end.

I'm determined to get back to Rome one day, because I would love to spend more time savoring the incredible art (without kids, preferably, whose attention span is approximately 90 seconds), exploring the smaller delights of the city, and just sitting at cafes with my Italian coffee (as I am right now!), watching those beautiful, well-dressed Italians wander by, linking arms and chattering away in their lovely Italian.  Aaah, this city is not to be missed.

Today we're off to Cinque Terre, a set of villages along the coast, for a few days of swimming and hiking.  We're expecting a nice change of pace before we head to Switzerland for my family reunion.

Rome wasn't built (or found) in a day

It was inevitable that during nine weeks of traveling we would endure at least a few of the glitches that can occur when one launches out without a tour guide and (let’s just admit it upfront) rookie travel skills.  So July 30 and August 1 will go down in Chapman history as two very long, very bad days.  

Waiting for our ferry

It all started when we arrived much too early in Durres, Albania, a large port town six hours northwest of Erseke, because we were nervous about getting lost somewhere in Albania and missing our ferry.  We had to kill six hours in this hot, less-than-lovely town with only limited lek (Albania currency) to spend.  Our ferry was supposed to leave at 11 p.m., and we had splurged on two sleeping cabins so we would get to Rome refreshed (cue the foreshadowing).  However, when we passed through customs around 8:30 p.m., the security guard told us our boat was delayed, and wouldn’t even arrive in Durres until 11:30.  So we were shuttled into a long line of cars and massive trucks all waiting for the same boat.  And our kids endured yet more waiting, with the choice of either trying to sleep in our very packed car, or sitting on filthy, cigarette-strewn pavement for several more hours. The boat finally arrived at 12:30, and we didn’t board until around 2 a.m.  Can you sense the state we were in at this point?  

Needless to say, we got a very late start driving through Italy (five hours late, to be exact).  Which is the moment when we discovered the cell phone we had borrowed from our friend Ruth did not have service in Italy, so we couldn’t call Giuseppe, the man renting us our apartment in Rome, to tell him we'd be late.  All along the five-hour drive, we stopped at small towns and rest stops, trying to find a working pay phone or Internet service.  No luck.  Finally, around 5:30 p.m., we entered the Rome area, with our Mapquest directions clutched in our hot little hands.  We had poured over these directions for at least an hour back in Albania, mapping out the most ideal route, but the directions were off, or we missed something, and suddenly we were driving through the outskirts of metropolitan Rome, with only our inadequate tourist map to guide us, and very little patience in our tanks.  We’re not really the “Be quiet, you kids! We’re trying to drive here!” types, but this was survival, people.  Our best parenting techniques had flown out the window somewhere back in Naples.

We stopped at several pay phones to call Giuseppe; no luck.  We stopped for directions, (“First you take a left-e...or is it a right-e then go some kilometers, then a right-e at the second light-a, near Santa something or other...”)  Oh, it was miserable!  Finally, around 9 p.m., we spotted a hotel and begged the man behind the desk for two minutes on his phone.  “Giuseppe, so sorry, so sorry, we’re very lost!”

And, wait, there’s one more thing, our ATM card was not working in Italy, so we couldn’t pay Giuseppe for the room.  As we found out later, our bank had put a stop on our account because we’d made a number of quick withdrawals in Albania to stock up on cash.  Poor Jeff had to stay up past midnight sitting in the car in an internet “hot spot," Skyping our bank to work out the problem.  

Well, now we’re here in Rome, day two, enjoying all the wonders of this amazing place.  Our apartment is located in one of the best neighborhoods in the city, Trestavere, and last night we literally groaned as we ate the most fabulous pasta with bacon and fresh pecorino cheese, crusty mouth-watering bread and, later, the most remarkable gelato you could imagine.  We were absolutely giddy in our relief and delight.  All good things come to those who wait, I guess.

Yesterday, we sweated through the Colosseum, which was fascinating and remarkable.  Today we'll coax our kids through the Vatican Museum to see the Sistine Chapel and St. Peters Basilica.  (Don't worry, we're paying them off with pizza and gelato.)  It's worth all the pain in getting here, but oy what a journey!  I hope that will be the last of the big bumps in the road.

A tribute

Our six weeks in Albania end today.  When we woke this morning, Jeff asked me whether I was ready to leave, and I replied that I am.  "It's not because I didn't enjoy or appreciate this time," I told him. "But it's like a very satisfying meal, when you push your chair back after eating the last bite, and drinking the last sip of fine wine, and say with all honesty.  'That was delicious.  I'm totally, completely satisfied.'"

So today we packed, cleaned the apartment we've been calling home, and enjoyed a last dinner at the  home of the Stoschers, the dear friends who've become even dearer to us as we tasted a bit of their lives and ministry here in Erseke. And I feel it fitting that this last post be a tribute to the Stoschers, because they have played such a large part in making our stay comfortable, interesting and meaningful.

Mark and Ruthie Stoscher

If you're like me, you didn't know much about the lives of missionaries.  In fact, I've met very few missionaries in my life, even though I grew up in the church.  It's probably also fair to say I had some stereotypes about missionaries, as you probably do as well.  But being around the Stoscher family has given me such a love and appreciation for what missionaries do in places around the world like Albania.  They truly give up their own national identity to live in a new country long-term, where they will probably never feel completely at home.  They learn difficult languages.  They put up with less-than-perfect living conditions and learn to live without many of the comforts that we take for granted in the U.S.  And, they dedicate their lives to being the light of Christ to the "least of these," the poor, the sick, the lost, the broken.

In Mark and Ruth's case, they host individuals and groups almost daily for meals. They allow teenagers to take over a room on the first floor of their home, even when it's loud and messy and inconvenient.  They open their gated playground every day to allow the town's kids to play, even when they have to stop what they're doing to supervise.  They loan out just about anything not attached to the floor (furniture, tools, car, appliances), and give away even more.

Once, I asked Ruthie for a bit of popcorn (you can't find popcorn in Erseke stores), and she was joking with me that she didn't have any popcorn to give me.  Of course, we both knew Mark had just brought her a giant bag from Tirana, the capital city. But Abi Stoscher (15), who didn't know that, exclaimed, "Mom, for a minute I thought you were serious. But I know you would never say that because you would give your last bit of it away, even if that's all you have!"  Wow, can you imagine your teenager saying that about you?  It really convicted me to think about all the things I have that I wouldn't give away, because "it's my last bit." But that's how our friends the Stoschers live, holding loosely to the things of the world, and sharing generously with everyone around them.

Mark, Ruth, Abi, Beka, Jamie and Stephen, thank you for sharing your lives with us for six weeks.  Thank you for showing us the beauty of Albania in its land and people.  Thank you for demonstrating a life lived richly in all the bet senses of the word -- rich in faith, rich in character, rich in generosity, and very rich in love.

An unexpected gem: Macedonia

Many people we've met in Albania enjoy vacationing in a historical town called Ohrid (pronounced OH-crid), just over the border in Macedonia.  Ohrid sits on a lake by the same name, which is said to be the oldest and deepest lake in the Balkans (about 940 feet at its deepest).  Last week, we decided to take the 3-hour trip and spend a few days exploring this lovely city.  Of course, it's tourist season in Ohrid (never knew there was high-season in Macedonia, did you?), so the town was quite overrun with people like us seeking a pleasant place to swim, sunbathe and explore.  We found two very quaint apartments to rent on the same floor of a small building in the heart of old-town Ohrid.  (I'm embarrassed to say it, but one of the best things about this place was the cable TV!  We couldn't help soaking up a couple of National Geographic programs and a Scooby Doo episode in between site-seeing.)

Some of our favorite moments were exploring the old castle in the city, which dates back to the 10th century; visiting a few lovely Greek Orthodox churches featuring well-preserved tile mosaics of saints and Biblical characters; and, of course, swimming in Lake Ohrid, which is calm and sparkling in the morning but whips up some vicious waves every afternoon. Some of the not-so-lovely memories involved  European tourists with large bellies and very tiny bathing suits.  But some might say we were fortunate that they were wearing any bathing suits at all!

In any case, we highly enjoyed Ohrid, and felt proud that we could navigate an entirely new country with yet another language (Macedonian), currency (denar) and culture (good coffee, bad beer, so-so service), without too much trouble.  I think we're ready for the next leg of our journey, Italy, where we'll arrive on Monday.

We conquered Gramozi

Ever since we arrived in Erseka, Albania, we have been staring out our window at the breathtaking mountain range called Gramozi.  And if you know Jeff even a little bit, you will not be surprised to hear that one of the first things he said when we arrived here is, "I've got to climb that mountain before we leave."



So, yesterday, we did it.  Jeff, Isabel, Noel and I, joined by Mark, Beka and Jamie Stoscher, conquered the highest peak on the Gramozi range, which at its ragged, stone-capped peak is about 7,000 feet in elevation.  That meant a climb of about 4,000 feet from the mountain's base in Erseka.  It was a grueling, nine-hour day, made especially challenging because there is absolutely no trail to the top, unless you count the aimless, zigzag ones created by the many herds of sheep that graze on the mountain.  To hike Gramozi, you have to forge your own way and figure out the best path as you go, a somewhat confusing task since we couldn't always see the peak from where we were standing.  Even Mark, who has climbed to the peak once, stopped a few times to scratch his head and say, "I think that's the right way." or sometimes, "This doesn't look familiar."

Much of our day was spent trudging through knee-deep thorny plants that scratched our ankles until they bled and swelled. We scrambled on all fours over slippery piles of shale and sharp, shaky bolders.  And at the end, we clung to the side of a steep ravine and scooted cautiously, using narrow hand- and footholds, toward the very top.  (I believe that's when Isabel finally shouted, "I'm never going hiking again!")

But wait. Let me interrupt at this point to assure you that the hike also had abundant moments of beauty and joy.  Along the way, we stopped to pick chai mali, a flower that Albanians dry to make a tea they claim can heal just about anything. (That's Beka holding a bunch at right.) We dug up wild artichoke (above left), which Mark patiently stripped of its spiky leaves and cut into pieces for everyone to eat crunchy and raw.  We sucked the nectar from some wildflowers resembling hollyhocks, and marveled over numerous bugs, including giant beetles and grasshoppers.

And, of course, the most thrilling moment of all: Perched at the very peak of the mountain, we gazed triumphantly down at Albania on one side of the mountain and Greece on the other, with even the eagles flying below us and the clouds nearly close enough to touch.  We called home to the Stoschers and had Mark's oldest daughter, Abi, look up this verse to read over speakerphone: "We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character, and character, hope.  And hope does not disappoint us."  (Romans 5:3-5)


As we stumbled down the mountain, every muscle aching, I decided that this day reminded me most of the endurance of childbirth.  It even had those moments (ladies, you'll relate) when you think to yourself, "I cannot possibly get through this," but then you realize it's too late for that decision, and you're clearly in it for the long run.  Yesterday, our group was in this journey together, with a very specific goal in mind, and there was only one way to accomplish it -- by mustering all the strength and courage, and yes hope, we could muster.

I don't think I'll ever want to climb Mt. Gramozi again.  And yet it was awfully satisfying to gaze up at that mountain this morning with a great amount of admiration and respect, and say, "It's very nice to know you."

Oh yes...the kids!

Some of you have asked me how our kids are doing with this trip.  So I guess I should stop being an ego maniac about all my thoughts and observations and fill you in about our foursome.

Our kids have adjusted fantastically to life in another country.  Especially thrilled to be here are Noel and Godebo, who have made fast friends with the Stoscher boys, Jamie and Steven.  They get along swimmingly, and can be found most days playing Monopoly, Capture the Flag, soccer or a number of other games.  Many times we add two Albanian boys to the mix, Samuel and Joseph, whose parents have brought them up to speak both English and Albanian.

Bereket sometimes integrates into the boys' games, but her preference is to play with some of the local girls, such as Rysa and Esther.  These girls don't speak any English, but this bothers Bereket not at all.  She just takes them by the hand and goes off to swing on the swings or ride the teeter-totter in the Stoscher's playground.

Isabel has enjoyed getting to know the Stosher girls, Abi and Beka.  However she's also fine hanging out with the grownups, which has always been her way.  Like our boys, she survived a week of camp here in Erseka and was very proud of herself for making the best of it despite the fact that she had a few awkward moments with some of the Albanian campers, like when her roommates decided it would be fun to take pictures of her while she was sleeping.  Isabel is the quintissential good sport, and she handled it all with grace and good humor.

There have been so many great moments for our kids, but also hard ones.  Godebo and Bereket have endured endless strangers -- both kids and adults -- staring at them and touching their hair without asking.  As you can imagine, they don't get too many dark-skinned folk around here.  Campers and even counselors, even complete strangers, have taken pictures of them or with them.  And lately, local adults have taken to rushing from their stores or coffee-spots to give Godebo a high-five, for some reason.  I'm not sure if they think that's what black Americans do...high five all the time???  We try to help Godebo deal with the awkward moments by telling him he's "famous like Justin Bieber."  It helps to laugh about it.

Albanian kids can be hard on each other.  They are very competitive and knock each other around a bit more than the average American kids, or at least the kids I've known.  The longer we're here, the more our children have had to deal with this, like having their hats knocked off their heads or having kids mock them.  It's not all the Albanian kids, but some.  And the Stoschers tell us one reason for such behavior is difficult home lives, so we must be sympathetic.  Luckily, this has had the effect of bonding our four children together, as they defend one another.  They feel strong when they're united.

Here are a few photos of our kids enjoying one another, and the simple things in life: taking walks, picking wild strawberries and savoring the sunset.

Are you superstitious?

I've always been fascinated by the superstitions found in different cultures, and Albania is as good a place as any to find some curious ones.  For instance, many people here still believe in the evil eye, so they hang windmill-type things on their houses or rear-view mirrors with drawings of a single, piercing eye, which is meant to ward off any bad spirits.  Also, many houses and buildings in Erseka have stuffed dolls or animals wired to their fronts.  Ruth said this is a common practice, especially during construction of a new home.  The bad spirits are apparently supposed to confuse the stuffed animal for the actual residents of the home, and so do their shenanigans on the poor, weather-beaten stuffed bear or monkey instead.  Here you'll see some examples just within a few blocks of our home.


Other superstitions and traditions here have to do with birth and death.  It's considered very bad luck here to hold a birthday party for someone before his or her birthday, because it might cause that person bad luck before the birthday actually arrives.  You also can't hold a baby shower before the baby is born, nor can you visit the family of a new baby until 40 days after the birth.  Yup, that's bad luck too.

When someone dies, many families believe the person's spirit wanders the earth for 40 days before being put to rest.  So they hold two ceremonies: one immediately after death and one 40 days later.  In between, you should not visit the family, lest you "catch" the bad luck of the family and spread death to your own.

Ruth said it's very hard to convince members of their church that God is bigger than these traditions, which seem quite obviously based on trying to control the uncontrollable in life.  Last Sunday, Mark actually preached a bit on this, albeit gently, talking about some of the superstitions and then pointing to scriptures where Jesus tells us "Do not be afraid" (Luke 12:32) and "I am the good shepherd" (John 10).  Mark's church is very young. Maybe the next generation will put their trust in the Lord, rather than in superstitions.  But it will take a lot of change.

About a year ago, a family in the Erseka church lost their 15-year-old daughter in a terrible accident.  The youth group was hiking in the nearby mountains when a large boulder dislodged and rolled into her, killing her.  When we recently asked Mark about the family, he said they no longer come to church, nor do they participate in community activities.  "It is considered disrespectful to celebrate or sing joyful music for at least a year after someone loses a close family member," Mark said. "They almost never leave the house, except to go to work."

Can you imagine this, being so ruled by tradition (or superstition) that you cannot even process your deepest grief with the help of your church and community?  Having to dwell in your misery, for years perhaps, and never taste all the beauty and joy life still has for the living?  I felt so very sad for that family, and resentful of the cultural mores that bind them.  I know it's important to respect everyone's right to his or her cultural practices.  But I can't help wishing for this community that hope will conquer fear and life will conquer death.  I believe that's the life God wants for us here and now, even when hardships strike.

This is the scripture I've been memorizing and meditating on during our time in Albania, trying to let it stick to all the corners of my mind that otherwise tend to spin around like my own evil-eye talisman of worry and dispair: "Rejoice in the Lord always.  I will say it again, Rejoice!  Let your gentleness be evident to all.  The Lord is near.  Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hears and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Colossians 4:4)

Shopping in Albania

(Note: Thank you to those who pointed out that you couldn't click on the photos to enlarge them. I did some research and figured out how to fix that problem in future posts. Let me know if this works.)

One of the most challenging and yet enjoyable things about living in a country for six weeks is having to shop for what one needs from day to day. This can be especially entertaining in Erseka, since this is still a land where English is nearly useless. Perhaps because Albania was completely closed and isolated under communism, most of the people in smaller towns like this know little English, and not even my limited Spanish and German helps a bit. That means we do a lot of smiling, pointing and saying "po" (yes) and "yo" (no) -- and trying not to nod or shake our heads, because those motions are opposite here. A nod actually means "no," which gets me into so much trouble, you couldn't imagine.


Today we ventured to the weekly "market," which is a flee-market-type gathering in the middle of the town. Locals from Erseka and surrounding villages don their best clothes and walk up and down the rows of stalls, purchasing things like used clothing, socks and underwear, fruits and vegetables, pots and pans, a few tools here and there, and pretty much the gamut of Chinese-made knicknacks. Shoes are very expensive in Albania, so many people were rummaging through the piles of used shoes, which local cobblers spiff up and sell for a great deal. Same with clothing. Ruth picked up some used shorts for $2 (she would have gotten them cheaper, I think, but the vendor heard us speaking English). We also bought dish soap, tomatoes and deoderant.  Kind of like an Albanian Walmart, right?

Normally, however, I like to visit the small stores located on every block of this town, often right next to each other.  These stores are very similar to one another, leading me to wonder how they manage to stay in business.  They all carry pretty much the same produce, which is very fresh and yummy but lacks a lot of variety.  Inside the store, you'll find some basic types of frozen meats, milk in boxes, rice, pasta, one or two types of jelly, one kind of cheese and exactly two kinds of cereal -- corn flakes and Coco Puffs.  Ruth showed me where to find a few specialty items, like some tortilla-type things; thick, Greek yogurt that substitutes for sour cream; and boullion cubes to make soup. I have narrowed my shopping down to three stores where the shopkeepers know me as the helpless American and always write down the cost of everything by hand (no cash registers here), so I know how much to pay.

I have great admiration for these shopkeepers, who literally work from dawn until dusk.  They are mostly middle-aged women, but you'll often see their older parents helping out, or their grown sons and daughters, leading me to believe these are truly family-based businesses.  Best of all, the business owners here are reputed for their honesty.  Despite the hard-scrabble life they lead, they earn each "lek" in a clean, respectable way, not even taking advantage of a gullible foreigner like me who takes out a large bill and waits wide-eyed while they count out my change.  Before I go, they pass out a candy to each of my children, kiss me on the cheeks and send me on my way.