God vs. Man

So far, the natural wonders of our trip have taken center stage. From Iceland's mysterious molten landscape to Norway's idyllic fjords to Ireland's sheer cliffs to Italy's Cinque Terre, they have all been amazing and have all been made by God. Until now. The last three days we were in Florence, Italy. In the center of art in Italy, and perhaps the world, we viewed frescoes by Giotto and The Birth of Venus and sculptures by every famous Italian who ever lived. It seemed as though each block had a new museum, or a church turned museum, to walk through and view the most timeless pieces in art. One, however, took the cake. Walking through the crowds of Carnival Cruise Line tourists, I was focused only on getting in to the Accademia Galleria with as little wait and effort as possible. We had wisely reserved our tickets (thanks again, Rick Steves) so we walked right in. Michelangelo's work began immediately, his unfinished 'Prisoners' a work in progress, making the viewer much more aware of the time and effort it must have taken to create something beautiful and soft out of the marble slabs with which they started. It seemed such an awesome task, one undertaken with the most unwavering confidence, to start with the block of stone and finish with something beautiful. A few minutes glancing at these pieces and their descriptions was all the more we took. The main event was awaiting at the end of the hall.

While I was aware of the centerpiece of the gallery, I was not prepared for it. David stood there, bathed in natural light, a masterpiece, a mammoth, an incredible beauty. Now let me preface here. I am not an art lover. Some of the minutes in those museums were painful as I peered into yet another beautiful, but meaningless to me, face of the Madonna. And yet, when I saw Michelangelo's work, his deep eyes gazing into the Florentine future with a yet unseen optimism, I was struck. I truly was taken aback.

Another Rick Steves suggestion was to eavesdrop on the tour groups' guides, imparting all of their analysis and wisdom into us art novices. Yet I didn't want to be bothered by the history, by the critiques, by what the artist was trying to communicate. It seemed to me he was telling me something. David was strong and optimistic and powerful, but he was (as I knew from Sunday School) a simple shepherd with nothing but a sling to bring down the greatest of foes. I simply wanted to soak up the beauty of this work and listen to what it said. So we did. We sat for 45 minutes, gazing at this amazing work, and then wandered bleary eyed through the rest of the museum, every sculpture that followed seemed a simple, innocent attempt at beauty compared with the work already seen.

Bidets for Beginners

How To Eat Italian

Here's another YouTube link for all you video lovers. Enjoy...we sure did. :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMuaLNXMwvU

Livin Liguria Loco

Cinque Terre, Italy

The last two days have been essential Italy. We basked on the beach, while munching foccasia bread. We ate cannolis after gnocchi after bruschetta. We had gelato for, and between, every meal. We walked the cliffs between each quintessential Italian village, stopping often to gaze at vistas of sea, stone and city. It has been a breath for us. Barcelona was big and confused. It was filled with sites and people and a size we couldn’t quite wrap our backpack-loaded selves around in just three nights. But here, in the Cinque Terre, the pace allows you not only to get a glimpse, not just to feel a little sample, but to truly immerse yourself in the classical Italian feel. This post will be short, because each day is basically a repeat of the last, with perhaps a few different views and different flavors of gelato. We have truly enjoyed it, however, and decided to stay an extra night. So we’ll continue in this dream for a couple more days, until its back into the real world, the busy streets, the sites, back to being a tourist. But for these few days, we have almost felt…Italian.

Update: Since we haven’t gotten internet, I haven’t posted. Today is Thursday, the 25th and we spent all today hiking the trails connecting the Cinque Terre cities. Faith, Whitney’s sister, is with us for the next few days and was here all day today. We can’t wait to continue to spend time with her in her ‘home away from home,’ Florence.
Also: here are the flavors of gelato we have so far sampled: coconut, multi-fruit, strawberry, frutte de India, and coffee. We’ll keep the count going and update you on any crazy flavors we come across. Ciao!

Sagrada Familia

Reflections on September 21, 2008
Barcelona, Spain

Ireland was speckled with an array of ancient sites. Buildings created by means which we can only guess, their functionality, precision and beauty both mysterious and awe-inspiring. As we toured those sites, from the Rock of Cashel to Dun Aengus to Newgrange, I had a sinking feeling. Those grand works, I thought, created in a manner that surpassed that of which we thought the people of the age were capable, were legacies, memorials and markers from a civilization long gone. And yet, I thought, what do we have that will be the same to those who follow this generation? What architectural wonders, built with the care, precision and love of these structures, do we have today?

In Barcelona, my fears were allayed. Unknown to me before yesterday, the Sagrada Familia, Antoni Gaudi’s masterpiece and life’s work, fit the bill. The church (it is a church, but the word seems too simple), is still under construction. It was started in the mid-1800s and taken over shortly after its inception by Gaudi, the master architect and dreamer. A quote from Gaudi sums up his work, he says, ‘my audience doesn’t care when its finished, he has all the time in the world.’ (I’m paraphrasing, sorry, but he means God) Gaudi took that very literally, knowing that when he started the project, he would never finish, but be forced to pass it on to his apprentices. The building itself is a marvel, the details in each nave and aspe and chapel are minute, beautiful and overwhelming. It is built in a ‘modernista’ style, where color and shape are wild and eccentric and yet the contrasting stone arches blend to create an atmosphere of grand praise to a God revered and feared. The city hopes to have the masterpiece complete by 2020, as it is just over 50% finished, this is a tall order for the organization behind it. A piece of La Sagrada Familia that makes the undertaking more grand as well as more meaningful is that every penny going to purchase each stone has been donated by individuals who believe in the project. I think those people have a vision that reaches far beyond most capitalists of today. They want to be a part of not only something that lasts from this generation onward, but something that is a gift to God, one that uses all the resources that we have available to us today. It is not just a beautiful building, not just a memorial or a marker, but proof that we, of the 21st century, of the era of fast food, fast cars and fast lives can slow down enough to make something truly beautiful, something not quite worthy of an incredible God, but as close as we can come.

Comida en Catalan, Por Favor.

So I think we've stayed pretty positive in this blog. Like I said way, way back, I never wanted it to appear as though we, the troubled, weary (spoiled!) travelers, were complaining and whining. It has been, and will continue to be I am sure, an amazing journey thus far. However, as in life, traveling has its ups and downs, its highs, its lows, and its very lows. Yesterday had a little bit of everything, bear with me through this lengthy post as I try to convey our evening.

So let me set the stage...As you may have seen, in the YouTube post below, we began our quest for Barcelona at 12:30 in our sleepy beach paradise, Salema, Portugal. We heaved our packs (not getting any lighter as the trip goes on, by the way) onto our backs and hiked up the hill to the bus stop. Trip #1: bus from Salema to Lagos, 30 minutes. We walked a few minutes to the train station in Lagos and shortly boarded our train to Lisbon. Trip #2: train from Lagos to Lisbon, 3 hours. Arriving in Lisbon, we wandered around the beautiful and too huge station until we found some help at Informacion (that's Spanish for information). We were informed that from 6-7pm the international tickets sellers take 'lunch break.' Sitting in the waiting room we...waited. Trip #3: waiting room, 3 hours. We then purchased two tickets on the overnight train to Madrid. We decided to go the mucho-comfortable route and bought two tickets in a sleeper car. Trip #4: overnight train from Lisbon to Madrid, 9 hours. Trip #5: Madrid to Barcelona (after a few more hours of waiting, of course), 3 hours. Trip #6: Barcelona Sants Station to Penditente Station, 30 minutes. Trip #7 Penditente Station to bus stop to Anita's Bed and Breakfast, 30 minutes.

So...I'll do the math for you, we were traveling for a grand total of...29 hours. And that's just the beginning.
As we hadn't eaten anything but pretzel sticks and granola bars all day, we were famished. We settled into our B&B and ventured out, trying to be the savvy traveling type that we've always hoped to be. Sidenote here: I, Michael, have come to Europe equipped with every imaginable piece of technology to make our trip more enjoyable: iphones, computer, video camera, digital camera 1, digital camera 2, gps, a digital watch and all these devices' chargers. So, basically, I think we're pretty much invincible when it comes to navigating a city. Walking up the street, we head towards what was to be a satisfying Mexican meal and an early night to bed. Within seconds of deciding where we were going, the first rain of the last 4 days starts in. We wouldn't let it stop us, though, so armed with the gps, we continued. Taking the last final curve, after several thoughts of turning back and giving up, we spotted the restaurant we had hoped for. The view was great, the place was packed and we thought we had struck gold. Getting closer to the entrance, however, we realized that this fine establishment served only drinks. No worries, the restaurant across the street looks just as good. Another sidenote: Welcome to Spain where restaurants OPEN at 9:00PM...so we grab a drink at the adjoining bar and wait it out. After 45 minutes and $12 worth of drinks (that was TWO drinks, mind you) we mosey over to La Venta...and they're booked. Booked solid. Not a table in the place till morning. Wow. But its okay, because Michael's ready, he's got his GPS and he'll find a place! The nearest one seemed to be just a mere 1.5km away, so back down we went (this time making a scary, but practical shortcut through an abandoned park), and out onto what we thought would be the main drag. We spotted a taxi around the next curve and, in frustration, got in and told the driver to take us to 'el restaurante.' That's right, any restaurante you want, we don't care, just get us some food. He knew just the spot and a short 15 minutes later we arrived in the heart of Barcelona at the Salamanca Restaurante. After 29 hours of travel and 2 hours walking around an unknown city, the Salamanca was an oasis. Traditional Spanish fare, coupled with a sweet old man and his accordian, we loved the following hours. We came away the real tourists too, bought a picture of us at the table and a couple of roses from a street vendor. What suckers we were, I guess you could say our defenses were down after such a day.

It was a rollercoaster of a day. There were, as I said, highlights and lowlights and lower lights, but as we curled up in bed at the end of it all, I knew that the morning would bring a new adventure; new sites, new stories, new uncomfortable moments and hopefully a new me, changed by all that I had seen and lived.

Off to Barcelona now, to meet some old friends and share some new experiences. Adios.

P.S. Below you will find a picture of the cutest couple, our hosts in Salema.

The Portugese Pair

Here's To You Gina and Chelsie, A Night On The Sleeper Train

We don't know how to embed video yet, so copy this into your browser for a video of us on our sleeper train from Lisbon, Portugal to Madrid, Spain. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M2j-GzukvOM

A Day In Salema, A Journey Through Pictures

Start the day with some coffee and pastries and the "Snack Shop."



Scout our spot out at the beach.



Set up camp with my awesome squirrel towel.



Walk back up to our "quarto."




Hang out on the rooftop terrace for a bit.



Out to a seaside dinner...




And off to bed.

Lost in Translation

Today was the most insecure I have been about our travels. We have crossed into foreign territory, literally and figuratively. Until you are in a place where no one speaks your language, you really don’t understand how much comfort it gives you to know that you can be easily understood. Now, as I type this, we are in the home of a couple whose names we will never know. Not that they are absent, or unfriendly or have no desire to get to know us. Quite the contrary, actually. They are friendly and kind and so happy to have us renting one of their “quartos” just a few sandy cobblestoned yards from the mighty Atlantic. It is simply that we don’t speak a word of Portuguese and they don’t speak a word of English. They thought Whitney was Italian. That should paint a picture of how well we are communicating, here. We didn’t find the place, the place found us. I guess more like the man found us. We arrived in Salema, on the 7:00pm bus from Lagos. We left Dublin Days Hotel just over 12 hours prior and had a long and motion-sickness filled journey. As I said before, not knowing any of the language, much less our way around, made the trip to the cozy beachfront village a little unnerving. We kept our eye out for that ‘Salema’ sign, but soon realized the crashing waves and salty air would be our cue to hop off the bus. The town was exactly what we had hoped for. Small, quaint and chock full of seaside charm. Our welcoming crew was a single, small man, his weather-beaten skin browned from constant hours in the sun. Probably a retired fisherman, born and raised in the town, turned innkeeper. He shuffled over to us and pulled out a small card, laminated, yet worn, from his shirt pocket. It read ‘room, zimmer, quarto’ on it. As if we needed clarification, he rested his leathered hands under his chin, as a pillow, and closed his eyes. Yes, we replied, we did indeed need a room and how convenient that you just happen along when we are disembarking from our disorienting hour long bus ride. With our defenses down, we aimlessly and helplessly followed our new guide up and up and up the narrow lane. He kept pointing, as though his place was next, and yet up we climbed. At one scary moment, he pointed to an old door, broken, faded and rotting and Whitney looked back at me with an ‘absolutely not’ in her eyes. Fortunately (or not) that wasn’t his, we were still not quite to his humble abode. When we arrived, however, we were pleasantly surprised. A perfectly spotless room, bathroom included, was ours for the taking. Now, just to figure out a price. Or figure out what he’s even saying. We jotted notes, we motioned, we spoke clearly and loudly as annoying travelers so often do and we pulled Euro out of our pockets in a frenzy. Finally, after a few startling moments when I thought he wanted to take our passports from us, we came to an arrangement. He wanted 30 Euro. That’s right, 45 American dollars for a bed near enough to hear the waves crashing against the sand. Near enough to smell the salt and see the moon’s reflection in the water. We couldn’t believe that we had paid almost double that for a fisherman’s shack in Norway, where the view was the walls closing in around us not 6 inches away. And here we were, in paradise. We settled in and walked the beach. The sand here is beautiful, the buildings worn and comfortable and few. We have stumbled upon what just could become one of our favorite places. Tomorrow we’ll see if there’s as much sun as they promise and then we’ll have a true verdict. And hopefully some sunburn.

P.S. Whitney has felt tragically bad about her lack of blogging. Please know she loves you all and is thinking about you. Although many are under Michael's name, it is always a team effort.

The Dingle Peninsula

Here it is...in all its glory. Click on the picture to enlarge.

A Picture Is Worth…

We have found a place where neither the photographer’s lens, nor the novelist’s pen can capture its striking, natural wonder. As quaint as Dingle town is, so majestic are its shores and landscapes. We stayed two nights here, at the Dingle Harbor Lodge, and capitalized on the few rain-free hours to tour the incredible surroundings. The two hour tour around the Dingle Peninsula, The Ring of Kerry’s smaller and less well known sister circle, was breathtaking in many ways. While I already said neither a picture nor a paragraph can do these scenes justice, maybe with the help of both, I can give you a glimpse.

Ireland’s southwestern landscape is one like I have never seen. I have seen mountains and hills and cliffs. I have seen forests and lakes and oceans. But these ingredients have never combined to form the dramatic panoramas that plaster themselves along the entire peninsula’s coast. Twisting our way through winding roads that drop off drastically just feet away from your tires, I saw lush hills of green on my right. The hills of Ireland aren’t a single constant hue, they are instead a patchwork; greens knit into deeper greens knit into browns and then, scattered like buttons across the entirety, are the greys of the boulders and the whites of grazing sheep. And yet the hills are just one piece of the quilt. Ahead of me, the black road winds through these hills and I can peer over to my left (just for quick glances, don’t worry Mom) I can see out over the ocean. This expanse seems, at first, a broad brushstroke of blue, but when we stop to take a closer look (see, safety first) we can really see. The water on this day was crashing itself aggressively against the sides of the cliffs, the clash of water and earth resulting in white surf, spouting high into the air and collapsing again on itself. The water, which seemed so clearly and vibrantly blue from afar, shows its depth upon closer look, where the blues and greens and blacks swirl together. The most stunning aspect of this vista, however, is simply the combination of the two. The hills jut out of the water, not just where they ‘belong,’ but hundreds of yards into the ocean, scattered like forgotten crumbs.

At one pull-off, I just couldn’t help it. I sprinted (ok, maybe awkwardly crawled) to the top of a nearby peak. Although it was a small peak, yes I’ll be honest here, from it I could see out over the ocean, over the hills, over the islands and over a small town nestled amidst the protective landscape. And I truly couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that beauty like this existed and that I was there to see it. It made me want to see more of it and see it everywhere, and that new sense of perspective, that renewed sense of wanting to see, may be the most beautiful thing of all.

P.S. Sorry for the delay in writing, it has been very difficult to get internet...

Rain, Rain Go Away

We would love to say the last two days have been JAM PACKED with fun, exciting travel-type things. Seeing amazing sites, taking incredible tours and just generally doing the things that one is supposed to do on trips like this. Well, things haven't quite gone our way the last couple of days. Ireland has, unfortunately, had the rainiest summer in 50 years...and its continuing. Almost every morning we have woken up to pouring rain, cloudy skies and general dreariness. We have pretty much maintained our high spirits and positive attitudes, donning our rain gear and slopping through the slippery cobblestone roads. However, this morning we hit a wall. Whitney called into me from the bathroom saying 'is someone vacuuming outside our room?' I replied, 'No, that's just the wind and horizontal rain hitting the side of our hotel (I use that word loosely). It should let up...next week sometime.' So all that to say, we are pretty much running from dry spot to dry spot, attempting to keep our newly cleaned clothes (we did laundry a couple of days ag0), clean for as long as possible.

While we are (apparently) sitting amidst one of the most beautiful landscapes in Ireland, we have not been able to get quite as many picturesque views as we were hoping for. The sun set, last night, over Dingle Bay and it was a stunning sight. The rain had cleared and the clouds were drifting away from the sleepy town. We sat and watched it disappear over the horizon from our little bay window view. However, we think we may have had enough of the weather and from what we have heard, it doesn't look like it will change any time soon. So, we are planning to change the itinerary a bit and seek the sunnier and warmer spots of Portugal and Spain. We will be doing the Waterford Crystal Factory here in Ireland tomorrow, but then venturing to Dublin to return the car and fly out.

As I posted in my original post, I never want to appear as though this trip is drudgery or painful, but with that said, life continues. We have our ups and downs each day. Whether it be hiding from the weather, or trying to make it to our train on time, or munching bread and meat from the market rather than sitting down to a three course hot meal, this trip brings with it trials like any other day. Let me explain. When we began planning this trip many, many months ago, I (Michael) felt as though all my worries and cares would disappear if I put an ocean between myself and my previous life. Instead, worries, trials and annoyances seem as frequent here as ever. I have come to a more clear understanding that my goal should not be to seek a place where the worries are less, but rather seek the best way to deal with those worries. I think I am on the cusp of learning an incredible lesson, one of the many (hopefully) that I learn abroad. Dealing with worry is not the same as eliminating it. I have stopped praying as much for God to remove my worries, as to help me see Him through them. Knowing that my end goal is to be shaped by these experiences, I realize that coasting through an incident free six months will do little for that goal. With that in mind, we are trying to embrace, rather than avoid, the annoyances, the worries and the problems we face. We hope then, that God will work in our lives, grooming us for better things.

The Ancient Side of Ireland

Well, the music in this internet cafe is atrocious and doing nothing for my concentration so bear with me through this post. Yesterday was a breath of fresh air. First of all, it wasn't pouring down rain the entire day, so that was a nice change. Second of all, as it was our last chance to say goodbye to all of the Greystones favorites that we had come to know (or at least love), we made a stop at the YMCA where I had done my studying while at Taylor. Hoping simply to drop off a note for one of my New Life Academy students, instead we spent an encouraging and heartwarming two hours with Lisa and Jon, the leaders of the Y. They were both interesting and interested and we were able to speak candidly and comfortably while sipping a cup of coffee. I think we both felt refreshed, so the delay in our departure from Greystones wasn't so bad. We were heading to Galway, which is as opposite from Dublin as we could be, straight west coast. On our way we were planning a stop at New Grange, the site that is actually older than the pyramids at Giza, chalk one up for the Emerald Isle on that one! After driving on roads the width of American sidewalks and going up and down hills like American rollercoasters we finally arrived at the tourist center of New Grange. It is a site that if you were completely ignorant of its history would, quite frankly, be a little boring. But with some enlightenment from our very Irish tour guide, Rory, we grew to appreciate the incredible complexity of the site. New Grange is over five thousand years old and it is believed to be either a tomb or a temple having a very special regard for the sun. That's right, back in the day the people didn't have weather forecasters telling us (or should I say guessing) what the weather will be like tomorrow. With the absence of these invaluable persons, they were pretty much crossing their fingers every fall that come springtime, the sun would actually show up again and give them all of the life-giving type things that the sun gives. So this temple was designed in such an incredibly precise way that every year during the five days of the Winter Solstice a steady stream of light, shining for 17 minutes around nine in the morning, pierces the otherwise black darkness of the inside of New Grange. With this information, and a slightly claustrophobic and startling moment of darkness inside the tomb, we were able to better understand the neolithic people as well as better appreciate the mathematical-type precision with which they built this structure.

We arrived in Galway around nine o'clock, after more of those grrrreat roads I mentioned, and were greeted by our incredibly gracious and kind host, Theresa. We took a small walk down the street and decided we had had enough for the day. Waking at the earliest hour since our horrendous 3:45 in Norway, we rolled out of bed around eight this morning and scarffed down some of Theresa's incredible breakfast. Our sights were set on the Aran Islands, a picturesque place, practically untouched by time and the only remaining place in the world where old Gaelic Irish is still spoken. After a bus ride and just under an hour on a ferry, we rented bikes and wandered all across the island of Inish Mor. The landscape was unique. Stone fences, dividing up plots of land like a broken and tattered checkerboard, lined the roads as well, guiding us up through the hills towards the highest point around. The cliffs from that site were incredible, over 30 stories high, and the kind of place you don't want to be if a stiff wind were to come. We took tons of pictures and turned back, coasting down the hills, sometimes quivering in our bike seats, fearing for our lives as the tour buses twice as big as the roads seemed to accelerate towards us. Anyway, we made it back into Galway and had an incredibly Irish meal at the local Supermac's (you may think that sounds a bit like a fast food joint and you might be right). Not sure what's on the agenda for tomorrow, but somewhere on the list: saving some $$$! This exchange rate is brutal! Nighty, night then...

Some Pictures! Guiness Factory, Aran Islands and Powerscourt

Staying in Greystones, Home Away From Home

Well we've drank a Guiness, downed a meal of fish and chips and tried blood pudding...we must be in Ireland! Arriving to Dublin yesterday morning, after 7 hours of travel and a 3:15 am wake-up call, we left the airport and headed for Powerscourt. This is one site that you have surely seen already, even if you haven't stepped foot on the Emerald Isle. The picturesque courtyard is a stunning scene from The Count of Monte Cristo, we walked the same steps that the count landed his hot airballoon on. The beauty cannot be conveyed through film, nor through our camera lens (although we sure tried!), the landscapes are immaculate and inventive. We strolled leisurely through forests, Japanese gardens and flowerbeds, even a pet cemetary! We then made our way to Greystones, home of Whitney's study abroad program in college, and settled into our somewhat musty, but comfortable-enough B&B. It looks right over the Greystones Harbor. We walked through the town, gobbled down our Fish and Chips and washed it all down with some Club Rock Shandy. It was a perfect Irish ending to our busy and strenuous day.

Today, the Guiness Factory was number one on our To-Do list. We are pretty much brewmasters now and are thinking of taking over Mr. Guiness' operation. The museum was amazing, informative and how can dislike a tour that ends with a free brew? Whitney didn't partake, a Coke sounded more refreshing. We sit and sipped while viewing the city of Dublin from high atop the seven floors. Hopping back on our very touristy bus, we rode it to the Kilmainam Gaol (pronounced Jail for those of you non-Gaelic speakers) where several of the rebels from the 1916 Easter Uprising were executed. The committment to their cause was staggering and inspiring. We wondered what we would do under such strains. This is being written from an Internet cafe, our first in Europe, but we're about to miss our train, so off we go!

Uff Da! Beauty in the Land of the Vikings.

Well, as Whitney so sensitively described in her previous post, the start to our Norway leg was a little rough. After I recovered what little pride I had left after forcing my bride into our 7X7 ft. room (is it getting smaller every time we talk about it?), I coerced myself into enjoying what was left of our fun in fjords. Let me tell you, it wasn't a difficult task. Upon waking in Flam, the landscape of the previous evening, mostly just large peaks shrouded in the looming darkness of the late hour, turned to a breathtaking beauty with the break of dawn. Guided by our new Irish friend Mr. Bannon, we dipped our Cigg water bottles into a nearby stream and tasted some cold, fresh Norwegian water. After checking out of our hotel, we grabbed a $13 cup of coffee and parked ourselves on a bench with a view. We watched the tourist groups come in and go out, watched the sun scribble new pictures across the mountainside every hour and sipped in utter amazement. What we saw from the shore became simply more stunning from the water. Once on the ship, we headed for the very Scandinavian-sounding village of Gudvangen. The two hours at a snails pace was perfect; Peaks jutting straight up, off the cool, deep green-blue of the fjord; "Towns" of three houses and a barn, nestled in cool patches of green grass between hills; And on, and on it went. From Gudvangen to Voss by bus (views continued) and from Voss to Bergen by train. This time I had taken absolute charge and not only did we have a place to spend the next three nights, it was a NICE place. From where I sit, I can see directly out into the fjord on which Bergen sits. We could smell the fish from the moment we arrived and while today was rainy and spent mostly bustling from one tourist trap shop of trolls and wooden horses to the other, yesterday was gorgeous. We rode the funicular (a train, set up at angle to crawl up the steep slope of the mountain) to the top and overlooked the city. We met a man, with whom we chatted for hours, but that story is for another day. Come check out the fjords someday, you will not be sorry. Oh and we're leaving at 3:45 am tomorrow for the Emerald Isle. So...goodnight.