Barcelona: Unfinished Business

I remember playing a classical piece on the piano and playing every note but the last chord, leaving others in the room unsatisfied at the ending since they were expecting to hear the chord that finished the song. That is how I felt when I left Barcelona - there was so much left undone to feel finished. It is definitely a city I would like to visit again.

We arrived late Thursday evening and took a cab to our hotel called Hotel Jazz. It was located near the University area, not far from the Las Ramblas, and close to the Latin quarter and a short walk from the beach. The hotel had a rooftop pool and bar and overlooked the University area. We dropped our suitcases and immediately walked to Las Ramblas for some tapas and sangria. I had heard that the food was not so great on the Las Ramblas because it was a touristy area, but either because we were hungry or the food had some spice, it was tasty to us.

The next morning we walked through the Gothic Barrio to Plaça Sant Jaume to meet Austin, Texas based Fat Tire bicycle company for a bicycle tour of the city. We did the same in Berlin and knew that it was the best way to get a feel for the city, as well as a way to get some exercise. It was a four hour tour and included some highlights of the city, including the government area of town in Placa Sant Jaume and the nearby Plaza del Rei where Christopher Columbus accepted the funds from Queen Isabella for his voyage west (to actually what is now Bermuda and an island called Hispaniola - not North America as most people think). Queen Isabella is reported to have had a personal relationship with Columbus, but also struck a deal to get 10 percent of the trade that he sold.  It felt amazing to be in this historic plaza.

We then rode to the Catedral in the Gothic barrio,  to the beautiful historic Palau Musica (music palace), then onto the  Parc de la Ciutadella which was first a fort, then turned into a park and a zoo. We stopped for photos before riding to the other side of the city to the La Sagrada Familia Catedral designed by the famous architect Gaudi. It was the first glimpse of this church and left us wanting for more. The style of this church from the outside was impressive, but we only had time to see one side and no time to go inside at all.

On the way to the Barceloneta beach, we rode through heavy traffic to find  lunch at another Tapas bar (Tapa Tapa). The beach was busy on the sunny day and we had time to enjoy our Spanish wine while watching the locals sunbathe.  Paul quickly downed his lunch so he could get some photos of the beautiful beach and perhaps a peek at the topless sunbathers. We finished our ride by seeing the Arc del Triomf, the Olímpica village of Barcelona, the eclectic El Borne neighborhood with restaurants and boutiques, and we finished our tour with the Basílica de la Santa Maria del Mar. We were impressed by the diverse offerings of the city and got a glimpse into the history of Barcelona.

After our ride, we returned to our hotel and spent the afternoon with drinks on the rooftop pool which overlooks the city. We relaxed and then showered and walked to the El Borne area to dine at a Mexican restaurant called La Hacienda. We were thrilled to find a restaurant that offered margaritas, spicy nachos, and fajitas. and ate outside on the terrace to watch the many locals shop in the boutique shops in the area. After we ate, we walked to the Santa de Mar Basilica to hear a concert of Spanish
guitars. As in Budapest, the churches have concerts as fundraisers to provide for the maintenance of the church. The trio of Spanish guitars bounced off the stone walls in the sanctuary and the candle-lit, low-lighting of the church was magical. The Basilica was built by the people in a simplistic style and the construction of this church only took 55 years (from 1329 to 1384). It was destroyed by earthquake soon after it was built and then after restored, destroyed again by fire during the civil war. This historic church is a prominent icon in the Gothic neighborhood.

Saturday, we had breakfast and strolled in the Gothic barrio. We then negotiated the underground trains to go back to the La Sagrada Familia with tickets to visit the inside of the church. We have seen quite a few churches in our travels, but this one was extremely impressive. It is not unusual to build these European church for 200 years. I felt privileged to see this church in progress. They have been building it for over 100 years and expect to finish it in 20 years. It is a work in progress in modern times, but majestic none-the-less.

One side of the church features the nativity of Jesus and the Holy Family and the other side has the facade featuring the Passion. It is impossible to describe the detail involved - it must be seen.  The inside of the church has many facets and the colors in the windows were brilliant. The best feature of this church is the altar area. A crucifix hangs over the altar in a ring of candles. Above the crucifix is an opening in the ceiling that opens into one of the towers. In my mind, this is what the opening of heaven must be like.

I sat in meditation and cried at the beauty of this sacred place as I felt bathed in the Holy Spirit near the altar.  We visited the museum under the church that told of the building of it and featured the design of Gaudi.

We left this area and pondered what to do with the rest of our afternoon. The funicula was broken that takes one to Mont Juiic to get a view from the top of the city so that was not an option without hiking shoes. We considered shopping in the El Born district, but had no room to take anything back in our suitcases. It was too nice of the day to go inside to the Picasso museum and we didn't have enough time to visit Montserrat, a beautiful Benedictine monk mountain retreat about one hour North West from Barcelona by train. We considered renting a bike to ride along the coast line to the Maresme beaches 1 hour away.  However, Paul had crashed his bike on the ride the day before and his elbow was hurting and his leg still had road rash.

We walked by a couple of Gaudi houses in the area, Casa Battlo and La Padrera (but didn't go to the Parc Guell where more houses are located) and strolled the Las Ramblas to return to our hotel. We returned to the rooftop bar at the hotel to research whether or not we could hear live music at the Palau Musica and they were sold out for the night. We then went back to the same Mexican restaurant for dinner (did I say that the Mexican food was a real treat for us after 6 months without?). We left early the next morning to return to our European home. Yes, we will go back to Barcelona to finish up the final notes to complete this symphony.

Budapest: Renewal

Budapest is the "most foreign" city to which I've traveled. There were many things that didn't feel familiar, the language, the currency, the food, but most importantly -  the feeling that freedom is not something this country has experienced until recent years. We traveled on September 11th and freedom may have been ever present on my mind as we arrived in the city. It was a bit unsettling that week to travel because of the anniversary of 9/11 and the fighting between Russia and the Ukraine had intensified. Hungary is on the border with Ukraine, though the opposite border from Russia.

When we arrived, we walked around the center of Pest - the east side of the city near our hotel and I observed several things: the new Jewish memorial for the Holocaust victims, the beautiful St. Stephen's Basilica lit at night, and the dark vibrant street of ethnic restaurants close to our hotel.

Many policemen and women were near the Holocaust memorial and a woman came up and gave us some literature asking us to please read. The protesters thought the memorial ignored and glossed over the Hungarian government's participation of the Jewish extermination. Instead of looking at the government memorial, the protesters asked us to consider looking at the makeshift memorial that the Jewish families put at the base of the government statue which contained victims' personal belongings and photos. It was indeed a poignant testament to the lives that were lost in extermination camps during WWII.

Early the next morning - in the rain, Paul and I traveled to Szechenyi Baths, a Turkish style bathhouse with 3 outdoor pools and 18 indoor pools with medicinal natural hot spring waters, complete with steam and massage rooms. These baths were built in 1913 and the buildings surrounding the baths were very ornate. We had an appointment for massages and also wanted to relax in the baths. Our massages allowed us to unwind. Afterward we went outside to the hot spring baths to watch some older gentlemen playing chess on the built-in marble chessboards, probably something they have been doing for decades. We spent an hour or two under the fountains and in the healing warm pools of waters to people watch and enjoy.

On the way home, we went by St. Stephen's Basilica - an active Roman Catholic church completed in 1905 named for the first king of Hungary (year 975) who offered his crown for the good of God and the Catholic church. His right hand is a relic located in the church signifying the importance of performing God's works. We found there would be a concert that night in the church with the pipe organ, a trumpet and a mezzo-soprano vocalist. The concerts enable the many musicians in the city to perform and also allows the church to pay for the preservation of the Basilica.

After dinner at a hummus bar, we arrived at the church to a sparsely lighted sanctuary with magnificent artwork and Carrara marble statues. One painting caught my eye by Benczur - St. Stephen offering his crown to the Virgin Mary with baby Jesus. The lighting surrounding Jesus's head was brilliantly white, even in the darkened church. During the concert, the mezzo-soprano vocalist sang three versions of Ave Maria and many other classical pieces that were performed in my daughter Stephanie's wedding last year. The music was extraordinary. Between the darkened environment of the church, the lighted artwork and the brilliant music, I found myself crying during much of the concert as the music washed over me.


Paul and I went across the Danube river the next morning to Buda - the city that was united with Pest in 1873 to see the older part of the city. On our way over, we saw the memorial of the shoes on the river banks.  It honors the Jews who were killed by fascist militiamen in Budapest during WWII. The people were ordered to take off their shoes, and were shot at the edge of the water so that their bodies fell into the river and were carried away. This memorial represents their shoes left behind on the bank. I could only imagine the tears that fell into the river that day.

Across the river is the Grand Palace, which is now filled with museums and exhibits since there is no monarchy. The President's offices are also on this side of the river. We walked around the cobblestone streets and it started raining. We found shelter at the top of the hill at a cafe which overlooked the valley below. We drank some Hungarian Budweiser (very different than the US kind) while it rained. We booked a river cruise for the evening to see the city at night from the Danube. It stormed during much of the evening, but we stayed sheltered inside the glass roof of the boat to watch the lightening show over the magnificent city. 

On our last morning there, we returned to St. Stephen's Basilica to go to a Hungarian mass. The mass is the same all over the world - except for the homily - whatever language it is spoken in. It was a chance to be inside the Basilica again - a place that felt like home. We left for the airport after mass and it was still raining. It occurred to me that in coming to visit Budapest, I felt renewed. I don't know if it was the water from the spas, being on the banks of the Danube river, crying during the concert, or just getting wet from the rain, but I felt cleansed. Travel - and being renewed -  allows me to open up to new ways of thinking and feeling and it leaves me with a quiet soul. I am glad I have the freedom to travel.

Definition of a Hero

I've known many World War II heroes in my life. But most of them didn't emphasize this often little-known fact about themselves to others. The years they spent in the war never came up in conversation, except sometimes incidentally. My Dad, three of his brothers, and three of my mother's brothers served in WWII and came home with medals. In my Dad's case, he received a Purple Heart, two Oak Leaves (essentially 2 additional Purple Hearts), four  Presidential Unit Citations, the European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign Ribbon, and a Combat Infantry Badge.  He also came home with a piece of shrapnel still behind his ear. He never talked about it.

I don't think my Dad ever knew the profound impact his years of service had on the world. There are two kinds of heroes. Heroes who shine in the face of adversity, who perform an amazing feat in a difficult situation. And heroes who live among us, who do their work unceremoniously, unnoticed, but who make a difference in the lives of others. My dad was a hero in both regards.

Last week, I was able to spend some time in the company of WWII veterans who are also heroes.  They came to the Netherlands to commemorate the 70th Anniversary of the Liberation of the Netherlands. One American veteran named Armando Marquez, 90 years young, was in the 101st Airborne and dropped into the Netherlands in 1944 during Operation Market Garden. He was flown by the Dutch government from El Paso, Texas to the Netherlands with his wife Christina of 66 years and his daughter Martha to attend the week-long ceremonies to commemorate the 70th anniversary of the Liberation. I met with him at a lunch stop in a tank and military vehicle procession and got to know a little bit about him. We bonded as fellow Texans, he said he was glad to know someone from home. This was his first trip back to Europe since the war. In coming back, I think he was starting to know the impact his service made on this world. His regret was that from his company, he was the only still living.

Many attending the procession wanted Armando's autograph, some wanted to ask him questions about the war, and others just wanted to say thank you. During our conversation, we were interrupted many times by others who wanted some of his time. I commented to him that he was like a "rock star", considering the following he had among the attendees. I asked his wife if he told any stories of the war and she mentioned that he wouldn't keep quiet about it. Armando leaned over and said he only told the good stories.

Armando's first jump during combat was in Normandy and his second jump during Operation Market Garden, when he landed in Son. He lost his helmet during the jump and grabbed one from a soldier who unfortunately would not need his after his jump. In Armando's home in El Paso, he has a photo of a German tank in the streets of Eindhoven, newly decorated with American flags after the liberation.

Later, I asked Armando if he realized that these people thought he was a hero. I mentioned to him I talked to a gentleman during the procession who was a 8-year-old boy during the Liberation of Eindhoven 70 years earlier. This man remembered the tanks and military men in the streets that day and in his mind, those men saved his family and his country. Armando smiled and didn't answer for a while. He said that he supposed that perhaps they thought he was. His smile was slow. It is worth celebrating 70 years if for only to let one veteran know that his courageous efforts and service in the World War II really mattered. Armando is an ordinary hero from Texas whose actions 70 years ago defined greatness.

Berlin - The Presence of Absence

So far Berlin might be my favorite city in Europe. Paul and I decided to go there on a whim when our bike ride from Munich to Prague was canceled the week before we were supposed to go (that's another story . . . ). In Europe you can just jump on an airplane for the weekend easily and cheaply. And so we did. We arrived on a Friday afternoon and stayed at the Hotel Am Steinplatz in the Steinplatz neighborhood of formerly West Berlin. The hotel is decorated with a 1920s theme, There are videos playing in the hallway and lobby that were shot in 1920s Berlin in the neighborhood that we stayed in. Our room had a photo of a 1920s Berlin flapper on the wall. Germany had fought in WWI which ended in 1917, but the videos of the city at that time didn't show any effects of the war.

 We walked around the neighborhood and found nice shops and many outdoor restaurants. The neighborhood had a vibrant feel to it and the restaurant our first night was at a tapas bar called Mar Y Sol. The food was tasty and uniquely prepared. In a funny way, we felt like we were home. Berlin is a green city, the vibe was alternative and edgy, and there were bikes and street musicians everywhere. Except for the language difference, it almost felt like we were in Austin, Texas.

And then we noticed 4 inch by 4 inch brass nameplates
in the sidewalks in front of many houses and at the corner of many streets. These plates had the names of the Jewish person that lived in that house prior to being murdered by the Nazis during WWII. There is a concept called the Presence of Absence, introduced by Micha Ullman when Berlin started to be restored. What used to be there, isn't any longer. The people that used to live there had their lives cut short by evil. And the absence - what was lost by war - is noticeably present in the way the city was rebuilt. One monument had the shelves of a library with no books on them. Hitler had a book burning in 1933 in one of the central areas of town that was known for being an academic area. 40,000 people participated and they burned a total of 25,000 books identified by Hitler as being anti-German. Scars of Nazi Germany still exist throughout the city.

The next morning we jumped on the train and got off in the Alexanderplatz - in former East Berlin where we met a group from Fat Tire Bike Tours to tour Berlin. We met under a TV tower that was built by communist Russia who occupied East Berlin, to show off their advanced technology to West Germany. Communist East Germany had to have it's own broadcasting system to restrict the programming that it allowed it's citizens and to show West Germany that it didn't have a monopoly on new technolgoy. We could see in the sunlight that the shape of the ball at the top allowed for a reflection cross to be portrayed onto the ball of the tower. The West Berliners called this the Pope's Revenge. We were fitted with our bikes quickly and we were off.

Fat Tire Bike Tours is based in Austin, Texas and has a shop also in London, Barcelona, and Paris. Neal, our guide was very knowledgeable about the history of the city and was easily able to answer all of our questions on the 3-hour tour. We knew we would be very interested to see how the city has been restored after WWII, both in East and West Berlin and to see the differences between the two parts. We knew the city had been rebuilt after the Russians bombed and pretty much destroyed the entire city at the end the war.

On our ride, it was intriguing to me to see how they rebuilt the city to make it look old. The stone for many building restorations was burnt before it was cemented in place to give it a centuries old look. There were several churches restored after the war, but they were used as museums, not churches in Communist Berlin. Several buildings still had the evidence of artillery fire from the war - 70 years earlier. We saw the area where Hitler's bunker was located. Hitler committed suicide May1, 1945 and he had asked that his body be burned so that it wouldn't be hung in effigy as Mussolini's had been in Italy. There is a dirt parking lot where his burnt body was found. The bunker was later  destroyed and was so thick that it had to be bombed out of the ground.

We visited 2 of the 3 remaining stretches of the Berlin Wall. Like many Americans, I've always just taken freedom for granted.  In Berlin, the concept of freedom,  and how precious it is, permeated just about every block we traveled.  

There is an imprint of where the entire wall used to surround the city embedded in the streets as we rode along. The remaining sections of wall are almost entirely covered with graffiti, some of it very nice artwork. When Reagan said the famous words "Mr. Gorbechev, Tear down this wall", it was not taken down by government officials or a wrecking crew. It was taken down by the people in the streets who were reclaiming their freedom. My husband Paul thought the graffiti on the wall was a bit disrespectful of something historic, but I saw it an expression of freedom by the people that tore it down. A person affected by Communism, who was walled off from freedom, has the right and privilege to be creative on the very wall that restricted him for 28 years. In riding through Tiergarten, a large park and garden in the center of the city, many men were sunbathing in the nude in the open field. This might be another edgy expression of being free. 

We saw Checkpoint Charlie and the site of a museum that stands where the offices of the Stasi (SS) used to be. It's called the Wall of Terror, and is a memorial explanation of what the Nazi SS did in Warsaw, Poland. It's staggering the evil and destruction of so many lives that were caused by the Nazis. He oversaw the killing of 11 million people, 6 million of those were from Poland. This museum let the horrors be known and felt that were the result of the evil of Hitler's empire.

We rode by the Jewish Memorial. From the outside, it gives the impression of undecorated grave markers. To go into the memorial gives a very different experience. The floor of the park is created in rolling waves, and the stones are very tall. To walk along the rows, you get the feeling of not having sure footing and it's a bit disconcerting to not know what is around the corner as you turn. I felt it was a beautiful way to memorialize the Jewish people that were murdered.  Hitler also killed homosexuals, Roma Gypsies, as well as Jehovah's Witnesses, priests, and ministers of all denominations and the disabled. There are several more memorials throughout the city. I have been in many parts of Germany, but I was deeply impressed in Berlin to see the honor, solemn respect, and apology that is given the victims of the war. In the rest of Germany, it is hardly spoken about.

To visit Berlin is to have hope.

The practice of rebuilding, forgiveness, and healing gives Berlin a very unique soul to be enjoyed when visiting. Healing those wounds in history is the central story in all of Europe. Berliners are acknowledging the evil of the past, but are also letting hope, not the hurt, shape it's future.

Visiting the Ardennes looking for more WWII History

My Dad was in the infantry in WWII, serving in the Africa and Sicily campaign under General George Patton, then in Normandy and finally in Germany, where he was located in the Hurtgen and Ardennes forest during the Battle of the Bulge. Last summer with my sister, we retraced his steps in Normandy and Germany and I have blogged about our experience there. Next summer we are going to find the spot near Mt. Etna in Sicily where he was injured the first of three times during the war. In recreating my Dad's steps in WWII over the last 15 years, I have become extremely interested in learning about the war, and what his experience may have been like when he served, as well as the experience of other soldiers and civilians. (Several blog posts previously posted about my Dad serving in WWII:  WWII blog posts about retracing my Dad's steps in WWII )

When my friends Kate and Lee from Austin came to visit, we took a weekend to visit Luxembourg and Bastogne, Belgium to see the area when the majority of the Battle of the Bulge was fought in the Ardennes forest and also to visit the American Cemetery in Luxembourg where Patton is buried.

We started in Luxembourg City. We had previously booked a bicycle ride in the Moselle Wine region to visit some

wineries. This was cancelled right before our trip, so we ventured in to Luxembourg City to see what we might find there. What a treat it was! Luxembourg was started in the early Middle Ages because it was at the crossroads of two Roman roads. A huge castle was built and over the years, it became an important fortification in early Europe. It has been occupied by the Burgundians, the Spanish, the French, the Spanish again, the Austrians, the French again, and then the Prussians. Germany invaded and headquartered here during WWII and finally after the war,  it was restored as it's own nation. There are tunnels, walls, gardens, an old abbey,  viaducts, and a Catholic church dating back to the 12th century. The topography drops over 230 feet (or 70m) and it is very picturesque. 

Walking through the area, it is a bit like a 3D maze because of the topography of the area. It is possible to look out across the city to see where you want to go, but have no idea how to get there. We climbed and descended the landscape to uncover all the treasures in the city. The best part of the day was finding the elevator and the biggest surprise was hearing the screeching air raid sirens to commemorate the 100 years since the start of WWI in Luxembourg. The noise was ear-splitting and it is always a bit scary to hear air raid sirens. We later enjoyed a typical Luxembourg dinner (passed on getting the pig knuckles) and local brew. A couple of bachelor parties found us and whatever the tradition is, we were given a carrot by the future groom. I am not sure I want to know what that might signify.

The next day we started early to visit the American Cemetery in Luxembourg, the second largest WWII cemetery in Europe. It is also where Patton was buried after his early death due to a car accident in Luxembourg shortly after the war. In paying respects to the soldiers of the war, I noticed a couple of brothers that were buried near each other, many graves of unknown soldiers, and a ceremony where a family had come to place flowers on the grave of a loved-one. Patton was originally buried among his soldiers, with the tradition that in death officers were buried alongside their troops. However, Patton's body was moved to a special area in the cemetery after nearby graves were trampled because of the traffic due to visiting Patton's grave site. I believe my Dad had seen Patton when Patton was his commander in Africa and Sicily after reading some After Action Reports of my Dad's unit in Africa and Sicily, though I don't know for sure. Patton spent much time in front of his troops to get them ready for battle.

After a short visit, we set off for Bastogne, Belgium to visit the Bastogne War Museum and Mardasson Memorial. It has been recently reopened in March of this year after extensively renovations. It focuses exclusively on the Bulge campaign and the story is told from the viewpoint of 4 characters: an American soldier, a German soldier, a female schoolteacher who was a member of the Belgian resistance, and a Belgian school boy who grew up during the war. It was only at the end of the museum tour that we realized that these characters were not made up - they were true stories about the lives of these four people during the war. I had been a little confused about the Belgian experience of WWII and this museum perfectly explained how Belgium was affected by the war and how they participated though defeated early by the Germans. I saw at the end what I believe to be the gun that my Dad started the war with - a Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR) machine gun which is a two-person assembly (one for the gun and the another for the stand and water cooling apparatus that is required). The Mardasson Memorial nearby talked specifically about my Dad's unit during the Battle of the Bulge.

We left the Museum to find some original foxholes and to also see the area that was featured in the documentary "The Band of Brothers". My Dad told the story of getting in trouble and reprimanded by an officer because either the manner he dug his foxholes or jumping in the foxhole that was dug for an officer.  While crossing the Meuse River at Hastiere, Belgium, all of my Dad's unit was lost (except my Dad who was in the hospital after he was hit the second time in the war). My Dad arrived in Monschau, Germany after his second hospitalization and integrated new soldiers and officers into his unit. From what we've read of the battle, we believe he was the only veteran soldier left in his unit. Dad must have been devastated to know that his Army buddies of three years were gone. He also must have been affected to know that he would be away from home for his third Christmas.

We don't have the details about the story around the beginning of the Battle of the Bulge, but we have surmised that his officer apparently tried to tell him how to dig a foxhole. My Dad had actual war experience that the officer did not. My Dad dug the foxhole as directed, but also dug another foxhole to HIS specifications. When the air strafing started by the German Luftwaffe, my father jumped in the foxhole that he dug that he thought would better protect himself during the fighting. He faced discipline from his officers for not using the specified foxhole, but he survived the attack by using the one he dug the way he thought it should be done. Also, at one point, my Dad told me that he had a profound belief in God because every time he was hit in WWII, he knew that morning while rising from his foxhole that day, he would be hit that day. It was important for me to see a battle field and some actual foxholes.

As Patton said, "Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. It is the spirit of men who follow and of the man who leads that gains the victory." Living in Europe gives me the opportunity to try to understand the war that took the lives of many and that changed the lives of all.

Belgian Beer Tour - A Pilgrammage to Westvleteren and Saint Sixtus Abbey

It is a small world. We are fortunate enough to actually know people in Europe before we moved here. Our son-in-law is from Belgium and his parents live only 2 hours away from us in Holland.  We love our son-in-law for many reasons, but the added bonus when he joined our family was getting to know his parents, who we consider to be our very good friends.

We really enjoy being with Vera and Joos. Even though we speak different mother tongues, we have similarities that surpass all cultural barriers.  We both value our families very much, we understand the importance of serving God and others, and we are adventure seekers. Our last adventure was to explore a Belgian Trappist brewery and additionally a non-Trappist brewery by bicycle tour.

In 1997, eight Trappist abbeys—six from Belgium (Orval, Chimay, Westvleteren, Rochefort, Westmalle and Achel), one from the Netherlands (Koningshoeven) and one from Germany (Mariawald) – founded the International Trappist Association (ITA) to prevent non-Trappist commercial companies from abusing the Trappist name. They have guidelines to be able called a Trappist beer. Only beer brewed in a Trappist monastery under the supervision and responsibility of the monks may be called a 'Trappist beer'. The monastic community must be involved in the brewing, the choices of ingredients to include in the brew such as hops, barley malt and yeast and the water used to brew it, as well the marketing of the beer. The beer is sold only for financial support of the monastery and for other benevolent causes. Usually then, a limited quantity of beer is made - enough only to support the monastery and the monks within it.

We rode our bicycles with Joos and Vera to visit the Westvleteren brewery. It was founded in 1838 inside the Trappist Abbey of Saint Sixtus of Westvleteren, not far from the hops-producing town of Poperinge,  and the medieval city of Ieper where Joos and Vera live. We arrived at the abbey in time to join a prayer service with the monks and a few locals who were present.  We walked through the halls of the monastery, through the garden to the chapel. Prayers commenced when a monk rang the bells in the entry way. They interrupt the beer making to have prayer services four times a day. It was a very special experience to be able to observe and participate in the prayers of the monks. They were praying the Psalms and I guess I have picked up enough Dutch - as well as know enough of the Psalms - to be able to follow and sing most of the prayers during that 20 minute service. On our way out of the abbey, we quietly passed the guest rooms that are available for people who would like to make a silent retreat in the monastery.

The brewery currently employs three secular workers for various manual labor tasks, however the primary brewing

is done by the monks only. It is the only Trappist brewery where the monks still do all of the brewing. Of the 26 Cistercians who reside at the abbey, five monks run the brewery, with an additional five who assist during bottling. All of this is to support their prayer life and the buildings they live in.

We walked over to the tasting room to buy lunch and beer - a bruin Westvleteren 12 for me with 10.2 percent alcohol. It is known to be the best beer in the world by a percentage of beer aficionados and judges. It's by far the best beer I've ever tasted. Only a little bit of extra beer is sold outside of the tasting room in small quantities weekly from the doors of the monastery itself, to individual buyers with reservation only. Thanks for our hosts, we were able to come away with six bottles of the world's best beer, which we are securely guarding in an undisclosed location until we can consume it.

After lunch, we then pedaled to another little village in nearby Watou (across the street from the French border) to  St. Bernardus brewery. In 1946, the St. Bernardus brewery was granted a license to brew beer under the St Sixtus name. However, this agreement ended in 1992 and then St. Bernardus re-opened as a non-Trappist brewery. They still brew beers of similar style to Westvleteren, but now under their own name and without the Trappist seal. We miscalculated the time involved to travel from the Abbey to our second brewery, so we rode quickly on our bikes to be able to take in a tour of the brewery at our appointed time. Our tour guide was our son-in-law's Latin teacher from high school. Our guide was gracious to offer the tour in English as well as Dutch so that we could understand the brewing process. We tasted the St. Bernardus beers and also got a souvenir drinking glass with the sampling of beers to take with us. The saddle bags on the bikes were filled to the brim with very good beer - our reward for cycling for over 60km for the day.

Next Up: Aachel is very close to where we live and we have ridden our bikes to the Sint Benedictus Abdij - De Achelse Kluis where the Achel beer is brewed. We are not able to actually visit the abbey there, but the brewery shop is open for tasting. It is a good atmosphere to relax and enjoy a good beer as well as help the monks financially support their monastery, They do have a window to allow viewing of the some of the process. We watched the cleanup one day at the end of brewing.

We have also ridden along the canals to Tilburg in the Netherlands, but missed a visit to the Koningshoeven Abdij, where Trappist monks brew La Trappe beer, the Netherlands only Trappist beer. We will return there to taste the La Trappe beer made by the Trappist monks.

Saying Yes

My husband Paul loves to ride his bike. I rarely joined him in Texas, citing how uncomfortable I felt on the roads near Austin. He and his riding buddies ride on the side of the road right next to the cars and trucks. It scares me to ride there.

I feel differently about cycling after our move to Holland. Cycling is very easy here, with as many cycling roads (actual separate roads) here as there are for cars. Bikes have the right of way most of the time at intersections and if not, then there is a separate light for them. It is very flat in the Netherlands and the weather is cool - even in the summer. They have bike route system to travel the entire country, and maps that make it easy to use. I have a bike with bell and I feel like a kid again.

Paul's German biking buddy Stefan (joining Paul on his last 8 MS150 bike rides from Houston to Austin) cooked up a proposal for Paul and myself, his wife Petra and of course Stefan to bike the newly created cycling route from just outside Munich to Prague along the rivers. It is a total of 440km going along the Danube, Moldau, Malse, Otava, and  Vltava Rivers. The elevation from Munich to Ceske Zleby is more than I was comfortable with, so we agreed to start after the climbs and will ride 315 kilometers over 5 days to Prague. We'll carry our stuff in panniers, and stop in pensions or zimmers along the route. These are usually a room in a private home with breakfast in rural areas, literally a bed and a breakfast. That also should be a part of the fun.

It took me several weeks to agree to this. Even with the ease of cycling and the enchanted idea of riding near rivers and castles, the thought of doing this terrified me. I spent countless hours finding and translating details about the ride. I got out the calculator and figured out the steepness of the climbs. I read blogs and heard about the busy traffic along parts of the route. I spent much time wondering how fit I am and could I even do this? After all, I was the fat kid in gym class. It finally came down to this question: What am going to regret more? Am I more afraid of dying or am I more afraid of not living?

I said yes.

I've been riding on weekends and several times during the week to get used to the bike seat and the miles. I've made a packing list that includes the essentials (after all, there is only room for what is essential). This past weekend Paul and I rode 68 kilometers in the rain to Tilburg on the cycling paths from our apartment. We rode along the canals for much of the ride, passing through the woods to windmills, and area farms with goats, and miniature horses and baby deer.

I still don't know if I can do this ride, but I'm open to the experience of trying it. The biggest adventure might be conquering those inner struggles rather the miles on the bike and the inclines. Stay tuned  . . .

Going Home

I recently went back home to the place I grew up - northwest Ohio. I've been in Texas 35 years and in Europe  seven weeks. Going back to my childhood home always lets me see the place I came from with new eyes - and lets me see the people there with a new heart. Coming back to where you started is very different than never leaving.

In the span of 10 days, I visited a new grand-niece and grand-nephew and went to my nephew's wedding (I just missed two other niece's weddings). My youngest sister and her husband both turned 50, and we gathered to celebrate them. There were two recent graduations in the family to commemorate and Father's day was a family BBQ with six fathers gathered to be honored.

Seeing family - and really being with them - in small  progressive snapshots of time makes me appreciate the precious nature of this quick-moving life we lead. I hold those moments in both of my hands. My siblings live close to each other and I observe that gathering together seems routine to them. But getting together with family to celebrate all those life's occasions turns simple

acts into dramatic scenes. Small conversations are given more importance because they are the connections that bind
us all together. Just as in "Our Town", I can step outside the ongoing, seemingly ordinary and repetitive conversations and watch the truly extraordinary and beautiful transience that occurs. I see it from afar.

When traveling, I use my map and experience to figure out where I am going. Sometimes knowing how to truly get back home is the better adventure.