We are in Cork and today we took the side trip out to Blarney Castle and visited the Blarney Stone. A beautiful are and great castle ruins and a con scam to get tourists to stand on their head, get tipped over the side and kiss the outside of the castle wall. Emrys did it. As for me- well, I passed. Pressing my face up to a wall after who knows how many others had been there, not my cup of mocha. But I did take lots of pictures and wandered the grounds which were beautiful. It was a fun day and tomorrow we're off to Galway!
sjt
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Monday, July 10, 2006
A Perfect Mocha
After a walk though the woods in a chilly summer drizzle, taking in the remains of the small Ross Castle next to a lake and walking back to town, it was time for something hot to drink. So while standing on a corner trying to decide which way to go we spotted Murphy’s Dessert Shop. And the clouds parted, angels sang and a beam of light… well not really. But we went in and ordered drinks and I got the best mocha I’ve had in a long time! A perfect blend of coffee and chocolate- neither out-doing the other and the creaminess of the steamed milk not lost to the richness of the others. Chocolate shavings on top and this was purely divine! Emrys said his cocoa was pretty good too. Murphy’s in Killarney, if you’re ever in the neighborhood.
~sjt
~sjt
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Beer Tour 4 & 5
Most drinkers of beer recognize the name of Guinness as representing the quintessential stout brew. It is an Irish brew, and its home is in Dublin. So our visit to Ireland and Dublin would not be complete without a stop at the Guinness brewery. Dublin is a very small city, so everything is within walking distance. We walked down to the city block where several huge silver columns rise up out of the ground—silos used in the brewing process. We saw the old wooden doors that led into the original courtyard of the place where Arthur Guinness began the production of this world-famous beer. And we saw that the admission fee for a brewery tour was 14 Euro.
14 Euro? For a tour and a half pint? Hey, we’re on a budget here!
You can get two pints at the pub for half that price, and remember the last time we went through a brewery. After all, in the words of my sister-in-law, “If you’ve seen one brewery, you’ve seen them all.”
Now, it’s all well and good to call it a “beer tour” when you’re in central Europe, where beer is the poor man’s water. But here in Ireland you can’t stop at beer. You have also to honour the deep tradition of the “water of life”: whiskey.
Jameson whiskey also hails from Dublin, Ireland. So, for the sake of those depending on us for the motivation of their future travels to Europe, we made a pass by the old site of the Jameson whiskey distillery. (Don’t worry—we’re actually going to visit one in Scotland.) We couldn’t go for a tour, both because of budget constraints and also because the place was jam-packed due to the World Cup madness. They’ve got a pub, you see, and during the World Cup all pubs become sardine cans of football junkies.
But for those of you more interested, perhaps, in a good whiskey than a good lager, there it is: Jameson distillery in Dublin.
~ emrys
14 Euro? For a tour and a half pint? Hey, we’re on a budget here!
You can get two pints at the pub for half that price, and remember the last time we went through a brewery. After all, in the words of my sister-in-law, “If you’ve seen one brewery, you’ve seen them all.”
Now, it’s all well and good to call it a “beer tour” when you’re in central Europe, where beer is the poor man’s water. But here in Ireland you can’t stop at beer. You have also to honour the deep tradition of the “water of life”: whiskey.
Jameson whiskey also hails from Dublin, Ireland. So, for the sake of those depending on us for the motivation of their future travels to Europe, we made a pass by the old site of the Jameson whiskey distillery. (Don’t worry—we’re actually going to visit one in Scotland.) We couldn’t go for a tour, both because of budget constraints and also because the place was jam-packed due to the World Cup madness. They’ve got a pub, you see, and during the World Cup all pubs become sardine cans of football junkies.
But for those of you more interested, perhaps, in a good whiskey than a good lager, there it is: Jameson distillery in Dublin.
~ emrys
A Week On Camp
It was an interesting week. We were helping out with Dublin Christian Mission’s Family Camp. Families come out to the camp for a week of holiday and camp experience. It was a very different from the camps that we were used to. Camp was comprised of a field, a portable kitchen, tents and port-o-loos and recreational equipment that you’d expect to have around. Worship sessions were optional for campers and everyday was a different outing off of camp. Sara was in the kitchen most of the time and Emrys was doing games and stuff with the kids. We were also two of the three heading up the evening sessions for the youth- or those who showed. For those who came, we had great times of discussion about all sorts of things. After the first night I decided that if the kids showed up and had something to say, we were doing good.
With roughly 75 people at camp ages 3 months to 67 years old, there was a lot going on all the time. From 7:45am until all hours of the evening and early morning we were serving the camper families. Sleep was in short supply and by the end of the week, we were exhausted! All in all a good experience and this is just a nutshell version- but that’s all for now .
~sjt
With roughly 75 people at camp ages 3 months to 67 years old, there was a lot going on all the time. From 7:45am until all hours of the evening and early morning we were serving the camper families. Sleep was in short supply and by the end of the week, we were exhausted! All in all a good experience and this is just a nutshell version- but that’s all for now .
~sjt
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Crying Babies
When you take as many train and airplane trips as we have in the last few months you’re bound to end up in certain inevitable situations. For instance, you’re bound to be kicked out of your first-class seat because you’ve only got a second-class ticket. You’re bound to be caught on a platform with a bunch of football hooligans. You’re bound to be stuck in an embarrassing situation with an acute lack of toilet paper.
And you’re bound to be sitting for several hours in the same cabin with a crying baby.
I’m not a parent yet, so I can’t really speak or reflect from that point of view on the phenomenon of crying babies. But I’ve known several new parents and have the requisite cultural knowledge of the infant state. Conversations with said parents and general knowledge, combined with a few recent experiences involving crying babies in tight spaces, lead me to reflect a little on this remarkably human situation.
Babies cry because they have a need, either real or perceived. They need something, and they cannot communicate the specifications of this need in linguistic terms. Therefore they do what ultimately and almost unerringly commands the attention of all adults: they cry. There is something particularly poignant about the crying of a baby. Perhaps it is a deep-seeded pity for the fact that a baby has very human needs but cannot yet articulate them. Perhaps it is a more visceral, animal resonance that reminds the lower parts of our brains of our own experience as babies. Perhaps the Lord designed our inner ear to hear more sharply the particular pitches and tenors of babies’ cries. Whatever the case, it strikes a certain chord in my heart. That chord is dissonant, however; the consistent crying of a baby grates on the heart and the nerves.
There seem to be times when the need that gives rise to a baby’s cries cannot be identified. We may see no symptoms of teething; the mother may try unsuccessfully to nurse her child; the father may get no results from rocking the child in his arms; the temperature may seem to be just right. Yet the baby continues to cry. The only thing that is clear is that the baby suffers for some reason, some unfulfilled need.
As I sat at different times and in different cabins occupied by crying babies, I wondered why adults don’t cry as babies do when their needs arise. Conversely, at what point do children learn that inarticulate crying is not the best way to summon the meeting of their needs? Several tools come to the aid of developing individuals: articulate speech allows us to ask for specific things like food, blankets, or the toilet. Certain gestures achieve the same effect: witness a toddler who gets her mother to pick her up by looking up and raising her arms (instead of simply crying). Another tool for getting one’s needs met is the recognition that certain people can fulfill our needs and certain others cannot. I have never seen a toddler ask her baby brother if she could have a cookie (she asks her parents, of course); a baby will cry for everyone to hear.
There are exceptions, of course, to the development of the ability to communicate need. Even beyond the age when they will cry because they are hungry or cold, children will give inarticulate cries because of physical pain. Witness a child falling down on the concrete; there is pain and there is surprise. There is a need for comfort, but that need is expressed not by linguistic expression but by crying. (Of course, there is the strange instance of the child who, when adults are present, will scream bloody murder when he falls; but if no adult is paying him any attention, he’ll stand up and get right back to what he was doing. I suppose this is a different kind of need.)
At some point along the journey of life, we learn how to suffer in silence. Somewhere along the line we learn (or decide) that expressing our needs in an outward fashion will not get those needs met. There may be thirty other people in the train car with that crying baby. Ten of them may be quite tired; twelve of them may be hungry; five of them may be experiencing physical pain from wounds old and new. But none of them is crying like that baby. Most of them are not telling anyone that they suffer. Many of them, I’m sure, will not tell anyone at any time about their suffering.
I wonder if, too, there does not come a point in the life of many people when all suffering is done in silence. Even those sufferings that clearly result from a difficulty in human relationships (which may be worked out if spoken out) or from a basic physical dysfunction (which may be taken to a physician) are borne in silence. This seems to be the exact opposite of the crying baby situation: instead of crying out loud to all the world that she is suffering, the silenced adult cries out in no form to anyone. And whereas a crying baby will attract the attention of everyone in the train car, the silent adult will attract none. Perhaps this is the purpose: just as people often get annoyed by crying babies (rightly or no), people are afraid that their own words of suffering will be deemed annoying or bothersome. But what a horrible life to live, the suffering of silence!
~emrys
And you’re bound to be sitting for several hours in the same cabin with a crying baby.
I’m not a parent yet, so I can’t really speak or reflect from that point of view on the phenomenon of crying babies. But I’ve known several new parents and have the requisite cultural knowledge of the infant state. Conversations with said parents and general knowledge, combined with a few recent experiences involving crying babies in tight spaces, lead me to reflect a little on this remarkably human situation.
Babies cry because they have a need, either real or perceived. They need something, and they cannot communicate the specifications of this need in linguistic terms. Therefore they do what ultimately and almost unerringly commands the attention of all adults: they cry. There is something particularly poignant about the crying of a baby. Perhaps it is a deep-seeded pity for the fact that a baby has very human needs but cannot yet articulate them. Perhaps it is a more visceral, animal resonance that reminds the lower parts of our brains of our own experience as babies. Perhaps the Lord designed our inner ear to hear more sharply the particular pitches and tenors of babies’ cries. Whatever the case, it strikes a certain chord in my heart. That chord is dissonant, however; the consistent crying of a baby grates on the heart and the nerves.
There seem to be times when the need that gives rise to a baby’s cries cannot be identified. We may see no symptoms of teething; the mother may try unsuccessfully to nurse her child; the father may get no results from rocking the child in his arms; the temperature may seem to be just right. Yet the baby continues to cry. The only thing that is clear is that the baby suffers for some reason, some unfulfilled need.
As I sat at different times and in different cabins occupied by crying babies, I wondered why adults don’t cry as babies do when their needs arise. Conversely, at what point do children learn that inarticulate crying is not the best way to summon the meeting of their needs? Several tools come to the aid of developing individuals: articulate speech allows us to ask for specific things like food, blankets, or the toilet. Certain gestures achieve the same effect: witness a toddler who gets her mother to pick her up by looking up and raising her arms (instead of simply crying). Another tool for getting one’s needs met is the recognition that certain people can fulfill our needs and certain others cannot. I have never seen a toddler ask her baby brother if she could have a cookie (she asks her parents, of course); a baby will cry for everyone to hear.
There are exceptions, of course, to the development of the ability to communicate need. Even beyond the age when they will cry because they are hungry or cold, children will give inarticulate cries because of physical pain. Witness a child falling down on the concrete; there is pain and there is surprise. There is a need for comfort, but that need is expressed not by linguistic expression but by crying. (Of course, there is the strange instance of the child who, when adults are present, will scream bloody murder when he falls; but if no adult is paying him any attention, he’ll stand up and get right back to what he was doing. I suppose this is a different kind of need.)
At some point along the journey of life, we learn how to suffer in silence. Somewhere along the line we learn (or decide) that expressing our needs in an outward fashion will not get those needs met. There may be thirty other people in the train car with that crying baby. Ten of them may be quite tired; twelve of them may be hungry; five of them may be experiencing physical pain from wounds old and new. But none of them is crying like that baby. Most of them are not telling anyone that they suffer. Many of them, I’m sure, will not tell anyone at any time about their suffering.
I wonder if, too, there does not come a point in the life of many people when all suffering is done in silence. Even those sufferings that clearly result from a difficulty in human relationships (which may be worked out if spoken out) or from a basic physical dysfunction (which may be taken to a physician) are borne in silence. This seems to be the exact opposite of the crying baby situation: instead of crying out loud to all the world that she is suffering, the silenced adult cries out in no form to anyone. And whereas a crying baby will attract the attention of everyone in the train car, the silent adult will attract none. Perhaps this is the purpose: just as people often get annoyed by crying babies (rightly or no), people are afraid that their own words of suffering will be deemed annoying or bothersome. But what a horrible life to live, the suffering of silence!
~emrys
Friday, June 30, 2006
An Amendment
After further discussion with our German friend and some thought on my part, I’m making an amendment to an earlier post, the one entitled “Du bist Deutschland!”
In the earlier post I suggested that an ambiguity in the national pride of Germany results from the fact that Germany was defeated in World War II. However I have been shown that the deeper, more effective source of ambiguity is the nature of German national pride during World War II: the spirit of Nazi-ism. The Nazi party, while it was in power, equated German national pride with the destruction of all “impure” German races, including and especially the Jewish people. It is this equality, still heralded by contemporary Neo-Nazis and still remembered by most people in Europe and North America, which really makes the idea of German pride and nationalism seem awkward.
I was reminded that losing a war is not necessarily a long-term embarrassment. But the desire to violate such a deep-seeded principle as respect for other faiths, ethnicities, and nationalities does produce such embarrassment. Losing the battle was not the sin of Nazi Germany; what they fought for was. It is for this reason that we still shudder to think what the world would be like—especially what Europe would be like—if the Nazis had not been defeated.
Now with the World Cup in Germany and all those flags flying, I wonder how the German sense of nationalism will evolve and find new expression. It’s a shame we can’t remain in Germany to find out first-hand.
~ emrys
In the earlier post I suggested that an ambiguity in the national pride of Germany results from the fact that Germany was defeated in World War II. However I have been shown that the deeper, more effective source of ambiguity is the nature of German national pride during World War II: the spirit of Nazi-ism. The Nazi party, while it was in power, equated German national pride with the destruction of all “impure” German races, including and especially the Jewish people. It is this equality, still heralded by contemporary Neo-Nazis and still remembered by most people in Europe and North America, which really makes the idea of German pride and nationalism seem awkward.
I was reminded that losing a war is not necessarily a long-term embarrassment. But the desire to violate such a deep-seeded principle as respect for other faiths, ethnicities, and nationalities does produce such embarrassment. Losing the battle was not the sin of Nazi Germany; what they fought for was. It is for this reason that we still shudder to think what the world would be like—especially what Europe would be like—if the Nazis had not been defeated.
Now with the World Cup in Germany and all those flags flying, I wonder how the German sense of nationalism will evolve and find new expression. It’s a shame we can’t remain in Germany to find out first-hand.
~ emrys
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Paris
We just spend two and a half days in Paris. What an enchanting city! The Eiffel Tower at night is truly captivating. Our first night we went out and spent the evening going up the tower, watching night fall and the tower come to light. It was awesome and we got some great pictures. On Tuesday we did “Paris in a day” type of sight seeing. We saw the Louvere (it was closed), the Sorbonne, the Notre Dame, the Arc de Triomphe. We walked down the Champs Elysees and along the river. All that and then it was off to meet up with Geoff & Krissy who arrived that evening. Wednesday morning we met up with other brother George who arrived and then we went to see the Sacre Coeur Bascilica and the Moulin Rouge area. We got into the Lourve and saw the Mona Lisa and Venus di Milo and others. Followed by dinner and visiting, it was another full day. So now we’re off to Dublin. We have a day and a half to our own devises and then from Saturday to Saturday we’ll be at camp- and offline. Have a great week!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Trains
We’ve been traveling around western Europe on trains. The ease of such travel and the comfort of the conditions on a train still impresses me, even after five such journeys in less than three weeks. There are no security checkpoints to go through, as with airplane flights. Also unlike flying is the fact that you can arrive at the station five minutes before departure and still get your seat. Unlike driving, there’s no need to worry about directions or getting lost; plus you don’t have to stop the train for restroom breaks.
I think somehow we missed out on something in the United States. Somewhere, somehow, trains just didn’t catch on as a reliable, fast, and extensive network of transportation. Having traveled Europe in this fashion, I now sense the lack of trains in the United States and I mourn it. I know there are planes and automobiles that will get you from point A to point B just as safely, but give me the slight rock and roll of a TGV speeding through beautiful countryside anytime.
~ emrys
I think somehow we missed out on something in the United States. Somewhere, somehow, trains just didn’t catch on as a reliable, fast, and extensive network of transportation. Having traveled Europe in this fashion, I now sense the lack of trains in the United States and I mourn it. I know there are planes and automobiles that will get you from point A to point B just as safely, but give me the slight rock and roll of a TGV speeding through beautiful countryside anytime.
~ emrys
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Four Countries in a Week
World Cup, Mozart, Reformers and IronMan all in a week. Last Sunday we were exploring the countryside of Berlin with Karen. Monday was off to Salzburg where we took in Mozart’s home town. From there it trains to Geneva where a huge water feature, spouting water about 100 meters in the air was the featured attraction. That and of course all of the history of Reformed Theology. I followed Emrys around as he took in the places and people he’d spent so much time studying in seminary. I enjoyed the architecture and sights; he knew the history so his appreciation was a bit deeper. Friday night in Geneva brought mayhem as Switzerland advanced to the Round of 16 in the World Cup. Honking horns, whistling and screaming reigned over the night and early morning as the Swiss celebrated. (We’d had the same sleep interruption in Dresden when Germany won their match. France plays on Tuesday night- we’re planning on staying up late. Just in case.)
On the daybreak side of early on Saturday morning we were back at the train station heading for Nice, France. Our mission: a day at the beach. Blue Mediterranean waters on the French Riviera were calling. We arrived on Friday afternoon, witnessed the setup for the IronMan triathlon and lots of construction and went to find dinner. Since the night before had been so short we crashed and had a lazy morning on Sunday; which was followed by a lazier afternoon as we slopped on the sunscreen and headed surfside. With books to entertain us we spent the afternoon in and out of the water and generally relaxing. I know- it’s tough. A romantic dinner out, and a stroll along the coast, punctuated with fireworks made for the perfect beach holiday. Next time I think we should stay longer!
Where to this week you ask? Arriving in Paris on Monday and Dublin on Thursday. Saturday it’s off to camp for a week with Dublin Christian Missions as volunteer staff. You can keep us in your prayers as we minister with DCM to inner-city families taking a week’s holiday.
Internet connections are in and out so our response time on e-mails and Skype may be longer.
~sjt
On the daybreak side of early on Saturday morning we were back at the train station heading for Nice, France. Our mission: a day at the beach. Blue Mediterranean waters on the French Riviera were calling. We arrived on Friday afternoon, witnessed the setup for the IronMan triathlon and lots of construction and went to find dinner. Since the night before had been so short we crashed and had a lazy morning on Sunday; which was followed by a lazier afternoon as we slopped on the sunscreen and headed surfside. With books to entertain us we spent the afternoon in and out of the water and generally relaxing. I know- it’s tough. A romantic dinner out, and a stroll along the coast, punctuated with fireworks made for the perfect beach holiday. Next time I think we should stay longer!
Where to this week you ask? Arriving in Paris on Monday and Dublin on Thursday. Saturday it’s off to camp for a week with Dublin Christian Missions as volunteer staff. You can keep us in your prayers as we minister with DCM to inner-city families taking a week’s holiday.
Internet connections are in and out so our response time on e-mails and Skype may be longer.
~sjt
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