Mondo Munchy

Our European Holiday

2008-06-05T22:28:00.014+10:00

On May 6 a gorgeous Aussie Bloke called Paul (who I personally find a bit of a spunk), arrived at Charles de Gaulle airport for the second time this year. This time I was waiting for him, no surprises. He stayed with me and the Remeau family in our boring little town of Lagny. Hector and Edgar loved having a guy around to play rowdy games with in the back yard. I think they loved it best when he pretended to be a motorbike, revving and scooting across the trampoline with them on his back.
Edgar had his third birthday on the 12th. I made the cake as both his parents were at work all day. It was chocolate with strawberries through the middle and on top. Edgar's favourite present was the squashy AFL Swans footie Paul bought for him. Paul was proud.

Paul and I spent a week in France helping out the family and doing some relaxing things in the surrounding countryside and also in the city. This included exploring parks in Chantilly and Ermenonville (the scene of our first reunion in February) and a cruise along the Seine River in Paris. Isabelle's parents, Mamie and Papi (grandma and grandpa) arrived not long after Paul did to take responsibility of the boys, so we were free to travel.
A two week adventure through the Czech Republic and Austria followed. Our first stop was Prague. We encountered many strange hair-dos there. The men seemed to have a liking for long, rock-starish pony tails, or worse still, pony-tailed mullets. It was like walking back in time. There were also plenty women sporting David Bowie-type short mullets and looking anything but feminine.
I had been to Prague once before on my previous world trip. That was three and a half years ago and back then it was covered in a magical layer of snow. I fell in love with the city then and seeing it in spring just made me fall deeper in love. My highlight was the sports hall restaurant down the road from our hostel. Although tackily decorated and smoky inside, it served up the biggest and best quality meals. Paul had a mixed grill both times we dined there, and I opted for the pork and cabbage filled potato pancake the first time and a enormous chicken schnitzel with cabbage salad and mini potato pancakes the second. Thankfully many delightful walks along the Vltava river at sunset kept our fatty meals from having any negative effect on our figures. On the down side, Prague did throw a few sneaky people in our path. We were ripped off by a tour guide up on the Hradcany hill, short changed at a hotdog stand in Wenceslas Square, and also short changed at the Asian supermarket across the road from our hostel. There are many more stories we could tell of our time in Prague (maybe one day you could ask us about 'cake boy', 'owl man', 'the beggar' and 'angry pizza man').
After five nights in the Czech captial we headed south for three nights to the medieval town of Cesky Krumlov. This gorgeous village nestled in a loop of the Vltava has been found out! The amount of Aussie accents were heard was surprising. But this didn't stop it from being my favourite part of our trip. We tourists were well catered for. There were plenty of cute little souvenir stores with non-tacky wooden toys and trinkets. It was in one of these stores that Paul found a wooden pencil case in the shape of a giant pencil. He chose a blue one. I believe this purchase was the highlight of his trip.
Although it rained most of our time there, we enjoyed exploring the town museum, the castle gardens, dinning at a medieval and at a classic Czech restaurant, plus lounging around in our cozy hostel making pancakes and watching Czech films (with subtitles) in the common room.
A shuttle bus and train ride later, we arrived in a cloud covered Salzburg, Austria. It had been a dream of mine since high school to visit this Austrian town, all thanks to that classic 1965 film 'The Sound of Music'. Paul and I were both a bit disappointed our first day there. Our hostel was a huge place, invaded by German speaking school groups who ran around early morning and late at night banging doors and keeping us awake. We also did not like being growled at by a scary lady from the hostel kitchen when she saw at breakfast, that we had wrapped up two bread rolls to take with us for later. Thankfully we didn't understand what she was crying at us and avoided her the following two mornings.
On Friday night things picked up. After spending a day up in the historic fort on the hill, we were rewarded by our decision to dine at Maccas and won two free desserts through a Euro UEFA Cup 2008 competition (the Cup is being held in Austria and Switzerland and starts this weekend). The sun came out as we were walked across a bridge from the old town, another lift to our spirits, and we were pleasantly entertained at the marionette theatre by a performance of 'The Sound of Music'. The following day we went on a four hour Sound of Music bus tour which showed us many sites from the film, and told us the true story of the Trapp family as well as stories from the making of the film. The 'hills' and lakes surrounding Salzburg were glorious, although not so filled with pleasant music as our tradition costume-clad, very gay and friendly tour guide tried to imitate 'Do-Re-Mi'... unsuccessfully.
Our last two nights were passed in Vienna. Well and truly museum-and-palaced-out, we didn't attempt to engage with the city's history. Instead we were intrigued by the mass of Emo youth filling and destroying a beautiful park on Sunday afternoon, and by the many street performers in the main pedestrian district. We watched a violin-playing statue argue with three drunks who mocked him, a group of Hungarian break-dancers spin and whirl whilst making bad jokes and convincing the audience to give money, and native American Mexicans dance in front of a big placard with a message we didn't understand. We also managed to find an English cinema and watch the Indiana Jones movie - another disappointment, although not without some enjoyable moments. Our final night we dined out at Figl Müller, a place I had heard about three years ago. I still remembered its name and where it was located. I'm glad I did. We both had schnitzel, I chicken and Paul the house specialty. His was bigger than his plate! It was a great end to the trip.
Three more nights together in Lagny passed quickly. Our last night together we went into Paris, had great pizza and sat under the Eiffel Tower. We missed the last train back to our dead-end town, (a very stressful occurrence), and had to catch another train to the airport and then a taxi home. We were four euros short of our fare, but Praise God, the taxi driver settled for the thirty we gave him.
May 31: Saying goodbye at the airport was a little sad. I didn't cry. As I walked away from Paul towards the train station, I did blink back a few stinging tears. But I kept telling myself that it was our last goodbye and next time we saw each other it would be to stay together for good.

New things...

2008-05-04T04:18:00.002+10:00

Yesterday Lily the cat gave birth to 5 kittens! Isabelle found them at 5am. Woken by sweeky meows, she searched around her bedroom and found them in a pile under the wardrobe. Now reunited with their mum and in a little cat bed, they are safe and healthy. Good news. Bad news is there are now 7 cats in the house: Lily, the famous Gaston (who, turns out, really is a boy cat) and the kittens. You know how much I love cats! But the little ones are so cute and helpless.

Other news things in my life today include:

Sunny hot day in Paris, a massively welcome first
Eating an icecream in Paris
The RER trains being stiflingly hot
Smelling B.O., result of the heat rises on public transport
Wearing a skirt

Farewell Winter

2008-04-30T05:53:00.013+10:00

To all those who have been checking this page or hassling me about it, please pardon my laziness and inconsistency in keeping you updated on my life in

France

Since my last online blogging presence, I’ve been a few places. In February I was beginning to feel very far from Paul and family. The winter greyness was weighing down on my spirit. But the last weekend of the month, a little colour was added to my life.

On Friday the 22^nd I caught two trains from Paris down to Grenoble, a university town surrounded by mountains and close to the Swiss boarder. I stayed there until Tuesday with Mia and Roger Dambach. (Mia and I went to church together for a few years in Sydney. She moved over to France after marrying Roger two years ago and has since mastered the language and adapted to European life.) It was a really uplifting time. Not only did I get to see the sun and learn to cross-country ski, I was encouraged my Mia and Roger as Christians and the fellowship I had with them and the people from their small French church. I loved going to a French church. It was my first time. (I’ve been going to an English speaking international church in Paris) There is something wonderful about hearing God praised and prayed to in a different language – a language that I actually understand now! I also really enjoyed Sunday afternoon after church. Mia and Roger invited two English exchange students – Harriett and David – for lunch and an afternoon ‘walk’ which turned into a 2 hour hike including scaling the walls of an old, ruined fort.

Monday I spent exploring Geneva while Mia was at work at the UN. Although just across the Swiss boarder, I found the city had a distinctly different feel to the French ones I have visited. I really appreciated the break from the French men and the French dog poo on the foot paths. Almost everywhere I went I could see a little doggie-bag dispenser. I noticed that there were lots of clocks, that there were more blue-eyed people, that the Swiss accent was much slower and wider than the French, and that the people seemed very orderly and less impassioned than their French neighbours.

Tuesday morning was a relaxing time of shopping with Mia. I was happy to be with someone who loved shoes and handbags as much, if not more, than me. Before going to the train station and leaving for the north, I was treated to a killer chocolate charlotte cake as a birthday celebration.

Back in Lagny le Sec, the next day dawned and I was feeling miserable with a heavy cold and sorry for myself. Paul was apparently away from Sydney for work and out of mobile range, and mum had told me that she’d call on Thursday. These people knew it was my 22^nd birthday. Didn’t they know I’d appreciate a bit of love?! Bertrand was home with the boys and I was hiding in my bedroom. He asked if I wouldn’t mind looking after Hector and Edgar, as he had to go to work for an hour and a half, and then he’d be back. Off he went leaving me with the crazy little ones. When he returned I was trying to feed them pasta for an early lunch so I could shoo them off to their nap-time and get some rest myself.

“What are you doing? Come on, we’re going out for lunch. Isa’s organized something.”

Oops. I’d totally misunderstood his French instructions that he gave me when I’d stumbled out of bed that morning.

We hurried into our coats and boots and as we reach the car, for some strange reason, I went to the driver’s side thinking it was the passengers. It was the first time I have done that since being in Europe. Australia was on my mind.

“Sorry.” I tell Bertrand, “I’m really sick. Don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re sick?” He asks, “Don’t worry. I think we have the medicine for that.”

“Oh... I don’t need medicine.” I reply, totally missing that he wasn’t being literal and thinking I should protest against the French’s love of medication and pharmaceutical cures for tiny ailments.

We drove off in the direction of Ermonville, a gorgeous little town 10 mins away, and I asked Bertrand how work was. He told me a story about how frustrating all the paper work is that he has to complete before his next work trip as an military flight instructor. I also asked him about the ski trip we were going on the following weekend.

“Who’s coming?” I enquired.

“Us, our friends Michel and Cecile and their daughter Charlotte, plus Emilie, (the 20 year old daughter of Edgar’s daytime nanny), to look after the children.”

“Oh, but I can look after the children,” I protest, a little hurt and confused.

“Uhuh.” Was the only response I got.

Arriving in Ermonville we pulled up outside the famous Chateau (featured in the French film ‘The Visitors’).

‘They can’t be taking me here for lunch,’ I think, ‘It’ll cost a forturne!’

I was totally confused as Bertrand lead me and the boys up to the front steps and told us to pose for a photo. As I tried to get the boys to stand still, I happened to turn around to face the glass front doors of the Chateau. All of a sudden a very familiar face pops out from behind the doors and asked in a warm Aussie accent,

“Can I get in the photo too?”

‘That person looks and sounds incredibly a lot like Paul,’ my mind told me. ‘What on earth is going on? Has he sent someone over that looks like him to surprise me. What a stupid idea, can’t be that.’

“Baby, it’s me,” Paul says.

Never in my life have I been so stunned, shocked, speechless. I just stood there.

‘No, maybe he’s come to spend the day with me,’ I thought, ‘Just to be with me for my birthday.’

“What the…?” are the only words I could manage.

“I’m here for ten days, baby!” he continues to a motionless me, “Ten whole days. I’m going to come on the skiing trip with you and the family.”

Everything in my head told me that Paul standing in front of me was an impossibility. But there he was, my romantic fiancé standing at the foot of a French chateau giving me the biggest birthday surprise of my life. Although it took about a day for the shock to really wear-off and for me to realise my own Paul was REALLY here with me, I had a wonderful time at the chateau restaurant over what was probably the most expensive and delicious meal of my life. We sat there holding hands and just fixing our eyes on each other. We couldn’t wipe the happy smiles from our faces. Paul had a fun time explaining how his plan had unraveled since it’s birth in January. To top it all off, he gave me a large bottle of Chanel Chance perfume. As if his surprise wasn’t a big enough present!

The following ten days at the snow in the French Alps were action packed. Paul seeing me learn to ski – the terror filled screams, the tears of frustration, the whoops of joy – showed him a side of me he never knew existed. Thankfully, he is still prepared to marry me! He was wonderful as I struggled, and he hung around for me when he could have been off skiing more fun and tricky slopes, and we stopped regularly for glasses of hot wine when I’d had enough.

We managed to squeeze in a day of sight-seeing in Paris (horrible drizzly and grey day), a day in Chantilly and Senlis, and a visit to my church Trinity the night Paul had to flight back to Sydney. Saying goodbye again was pretty painful.

Not to worry, a weekend with Alex was soon to follow and keep my pining for Paul at bay. Alex, one of my closest girlfriends from uni, is on exchange for a year in Reims, a town in the Champagne region only 45 minutes TGV train ride from Paris. Unfortunately this pretty city suffers from the same grey, unpredictable weather as my region. But who cares about the weather when you can pass the time with a best friend?

We enjoyed cooking Asian food (SO rare in France); drinking cheap but great supermarket wine; eating Ben & Jerry’s ice cream (another great supermarket find); watching Friends on DVD; going to the cinema and seeing a French film, the closing scene of which we couldn’t quite understand; going to Alex’s church’s Easter service; and doing a Champagne house tour (our tour group consisted of two Aussie and one Kiwi couple. Oh how we enjoyed the relief of Down-Under humour! ...and the glasses of Champagne at the close of the tour!)

April has almost passed by. With some lovely American and Canadian girls from church, I’ve enjoyed exploring a few of the many Parisian museums and churches including the Musée Rodin, Musée Quai Branly, the Musée des Arts Decoratifs at the Louvre, the Musée Carnavalet – a favourite, as it’s free and tracks the history of Paris, and the Pantheon. All the tulips and daffodils have emerged in the green parks in colourful array. I’ve also been trying to combat boredom (my French course ended at the close of March) and sadness, but busying myself with wedding invitation making and reading a few good English books.

The past weekend was without a doubt the best part of April for me. Alex and I, along with our beautiful friend Di (also on exchange in France for the year), flew to Copenhagen for the weekend. From our hotel next to central station, we could reach all the main sights of the town on foot. Highlights of the weekend included: non-French junk food such as hot dogs, ice cream and 7/11 smoothies; being in a different, more calm and colourful culture; meeting an old Danish ex-school teacher called John at the changing of the guard at the royal winter residence (he delightfully told us all about the history of the square and buildings all around us, and explained the whole ceremony to us); Di’s puns and Alex’s jokes; a boat tour around the beautiful canals and water ways; English-speaking TV including… Home and Away!!!!; the fun and loving company of my two beautiful friends.

It was with a bit of a sinking feeling that I returned to dull-old Lagny le Sec yesterday, having just had such a great weekend. But I am only six days off greeting my hansom fiancé at the airport. He’s coming to France once again to visit me. This time it’s not a surprise. I think the next few days will drag and seem like the longest of my life… (Here I sigh and smile.)

For photos of Grenoble and Geneva click here

For photos of Paul's surprise visit click here and here

For photos of Alex and me in Reims click here

For photos of my life in France click here

For photos of France in Springtime click here

For photos of the weekend in Copenhagen click here

Building Up A Fortress

2008-02-14T20:05:00.006+11:00

I was trying to explain to a friend in an email recently the reason why I have been feeling so raw, fragile and so prone to emotional moments since moving here. I told her I felt like all my security and world had been ripped away making me so vulnerable and exposed. I've had to build a life over again... from scratch. Well, I'm so happy to say that the foundations have been laid and the walls of my new world are finally being built. That's been possible because a bunch of new friends made and some old faces popping up recently.

Last Thursday I spent the day with Naomi, a friend from Annandale Community Church in Sydney who has been traveling for the past couple of months with her hubby Rowan. We traipsed through the 18th arondissment of Paris, Montmartre, home to Amélie Poulain, Moulin Rouge, the Sacre Coeur Catherdral and the history of many bohemian artists, cinéasts and writers. These days it is swamped by tourists and filled with tacky souvenir stores and sex shops as well as strange French men who think that just because you're speaking a different language means you're easy to get into bed. But Montmartre does have is charm and gorgeous little spots also. Naomi and I did a lot of walking. We began by marveling at the beautiful interior of the Sacre Coeur and it's magestic domes, whilst a French mass service was being held. We then followed the little cobble stoned lane behind the huge church the a collection of café and gallery filled streets. We stopped to admire the artwork and kept walking when numerous street artists requested to sketch us. Next we found the grocer's store that is featured in the film 'Amélie'. Remember the horrible grocer Colignon? Well, his shop is run but this funny middle eastern man (with a difficult to understand accent) who beckoned us in when he saw us taking pictures from the street. He then continued to instruct me to take a photo of him with Naomi, and, as I was the one who was speaking in French to him, told me that Naomi was his girlfriend.
'Non! Elle est mariée!' I told him.
'Et vous?'
'Je suis mariée aussi', I lied and held up my engagement ring.
The minute he and his friend in the shop found out we were not available they were no longer interested in chatting. But he gave us a lolly each anyway.
After more walking we found the Musée de la Vie Romantique, a romantic old fashioned house hid amongst blocks of apartments. It was once the home of the Dutch artist Ary Scheffer and is filled with portraits and sculptures, including sculptures of the musician and composer Chopin's hands. As it was a municipal run museum it was free to enter which made it even more enjoyable.
It was lovely hanging out with Naomi, chatting about her and Rowan's travels, church and Paul, and it was great to hear her Aussie accent and to use mine too.
That night I hung out with my new American and Canadian girlfriends from my new church small group and we had dinner and watched chunks of Anne of Green Gables on YouTube. We laughed a lot. It has been a blessing to find these girls and make friends with people in a similar situation to me. And the best thing is that we can joke and laugh together, because we understand each other and can communicate properly!
Friday I found the most gorgeous fabric in a little boutique store at the foot of the Sacre Coeur. I purchased the remaining three and a half metres to incorporate into my wedding dress that my Aunt Esther is working on back home. In the evening, my dear friend Alex came to stay for the weekend. In our two days together we joyfully explored the Chateau of Chantilly, watched the new Asterix movie with Isa and the boys, (Asterix and the Olympic games - look out for Zidane at the end!), and Paris including the Opera House, the 2 Moulins (the café which Amélie works at in the famous movie), Notre Dame and the Eiffel tower. We also managed to fit in small group and church and it was great for an old friend to meet my new ones.

Today is Valentine's Day and I woke to the pleasant surprise of an Paul email from Paul including a movie he made for me. And then, when on Skype chatting to him, a bunch of Twelve red roses we delivered from him to me. I'm engaged to the most romantic man I've ever met :-)

Photos of my weekend with Alex

English Wednesday

2008-01-31T00:18:00.001+11:00

Today I believe that I have successfully taught Edgar to say "Apple, please", albeit with a very Frenchy accent. Wednesdays in France are school free (well, at least for the young'uns). It is the day every jeaune fille au-pair in the country is set to work. In our household, les mercredis are supposedly 'English Wednesdays'. I say supposedly, as I've often forgotten and it's easier to speak French to the boys to be understood. However, this morning I made an effort and said everything in English over lunch and then repeated it in French. It's surprising how much the boys seem to understand. When i called to them at about 2pm,
"It's time to have a sleep. Sleeep. Sleep."
All completely in English. Hector said,
"Non, je veut pas faire dodo!" (No! I don't want to take a nap.) I was was so excited he understood, I almost lost the battle for them to take their siesta.
Other words learnt today included 'bottom', (as in 'Sit on you bottom!') and 'rain', as there is much of it and it is the reason we can jump on the trampoline.
Other highlights of the day include Edgar pooing in his undies, Edgar colouring in the armrest of a chair in orange texta, Hector smashing a bowl, Edgar weeing in his undies, not being able to open the washing machine door... and it's only early afternoon.

My Feline Frenzy

2008-01-29T06:50:00.000+11:00

(Disclaimer: do not read the first three paragraphs if you are a lover of cute, furry-purry animals and you don't want your rosy perception of me marred for life)

I have heard said that from no matter what distance a cat may fall or jump, it will always land on its feet. I believe I proved that theory wrong last night. The Rameau's have two cats, Lilly and her child Gaston. Lilly is a quiet, slim and timid grey cat with black stripes running down her back. She spends most of the day sleeping on the upstairs landing on an old children's foam armchair outside Bertrand and Isa's bedroom. Gaston has a boy's name yes, but after consulting her friend Gillaine, Isa has decided he is a girl despite his boisterous and violent nature. Only six months old, he is twice the size of his mother and his black and white body is enormously fat. He spends his days running from one end of the house to the other, chasing after childrens toys, jumping on Lilly and mauling her head, or outside catching field mice and trying to bring them in at the end of the day as very unappreciated gifts.

Anyone that knows me well knows that, probably next to flies and parrots and magpies or any birds that swoop, I loath cats more than any creature in existence. I once house sat the home of family friends for one month, sharing the place with a similar pair of cats - one shy, skinny one, and one obese, bullying one. I night I found that the latter had brought a pigeon indoors and plucked and devoured it on the Kitchen floor. It was then that my passionate hate for this particular species was born.

And so after a testing weekend with the little French boys, when Gaston crawled my stockinged knee under the dinner table (the third time this has occurred in a week!), I screamed English obscenities, grabbed the foul beast around the middle and thrust him out of the front door with all my might. He landed several metres away on his bottom... not on his feet. Ah, the satisfaction. I sigh with pleasure when I write about it.

Okay, I believe I have lost my friendship with Alex and Aunty Carol has probably disinherited me at this point, but there's just a taste of some of the frustrations I face every day.

Life is heading onwards steadily and amazingly I'm already a month and a half into my stay. I've been taking French lessons three days a week with 12 other au-pairs in Paris. The travelling to and from can sometimes be a drag, because the trains to my village don't come very often and I'm stuck if I every miss one. I visited a great international church in Paris last Sunday and hope to go back, but like I said, the travelling to and from the city does take its toll.

I've also discovered for myself that French men can be suave and charming, and will come up with anything to talk to me. Like Vincent, a tall bulky IT guy in a leather jacket, who walked up to me in the Jardins du Luxembourg asking me if I thought men or women were the biggest liars and then had a conversation on the topic for a good 20 minutes. Like... what the? And then there was A... something... can't remember his name, who was a lot less sleezy. Short, wild curly brown hair and works at Paul's bakery in the Gare du Nord train station (where I spend half my life!) After church last Sunday night, I was hanging arround waiting for my train and bought a sandwich there just as they were getting ready to close. I then walked away and ate it leaning against a pillar. A few minutes later, French bakery boy A came up to me and asked me how my sandwich was.
"Good thanks", I reply
"Of what origin are you," he continues, "Belgian?"
"Australian"
"Ah!" He's surprised "I heard a bit of an accent but wasn't sure."
I'm flattered he thought I was French speaking, but from a different country, even if this assumption was ascertained in a mere interchange on what types of sandwich there were over the counter a few minutes before. He asks me what I'm doing in France and what time my train is coming.
He's still standing there, so I ask him what I'd just been thinking about.
"What do you do with the sandwiches that aren't sold?"
"We throw them out"
"Oh, that's a shame. There's so many people in the city without food"
"Would you like some of the sandwiches?"
"Ahh... Well I can't really eat them all myself"
"Do you like Tuna?"
"Well, yeah"
"I finish in a few minutes, if you like, wait here and I'll bring you some sandwhiches"
Five minutes later A rocks up again, this time changed out of his bakers outfit, and carrying a bulky plastic bag. He asks me if I smoke. No. Did I want to go for a drink? Not really, my train comes soon and I don't want to miss it. Did I want to go somewhere to chat? Not really, again, I'm afraid I might miss my train as its the last one to my village tonight. Sure. So we go out the front of the station and I tell him about the charity Oz Harvest in Sydney and he tells me about how they tie up all they don't sell in plastic bags before putting in the bins outside, so that they're kept clean for any one who cares to rummage through searching for some dinner.
A then finds my train for me, gives me the plastic bag, and asks me if I want his number. Maybe next time I say. Not a problem. He winks and waves good bye. Before you're too hard on him, he was much MUCH nicer than Vincent who I had met earlier in the day, he used the formal 'you' form the whole time we spoke - very polite, and he didn't ask me for MY number nor was he forceful. When I got on the train I opened the plastic bag and found 4 tuna foot-long baguette sandwiches, two ham and cheese, two salami, plus two Galettes des Rois (Kings cakes) and a giant chocolate macaroon.
So French men are interesting. I'm still figuring out how to best handle them.

In terms of other aspects of life here in Lagny, I feel like I've reached a new stage with the little terrors Hector and Edgar accepting and loving me this week. We've spent a lot of time together as Isabelle worked four days straight for 12 hours each day. We've had fun playing on their giant trampoline in the freezing cold, and I made lamingtons for them on Australia day.
I've also enjoyed jogging or cycling each day, on a circuit that goes through some nearby fields for approximately 2 kilometres. Sometimes it almost kills me, particularly when there is an icy wind and my nose and chest ache. But there is nothing that can replace the great energy and natural high exerising in the cold gives me.
And on the subject of my heart, in a way it has grown normal for me now to be separated from Paul although there are some days when I miss him like crazy. We talk on Skype once and sometimes even twice a day and average over and hour for each time we talk. Paul brought an apartment in Lane Cove last week, which is so exciting and a wonderful answer to prayer. I can't wait to move in, decorate and make it our home.

Wondrous news! In the midst of writing this, I was interrupted by a Skype call from Paul, which in turn was interrupted by Isa calling my from the upstairs bathroom for my help.
"Beth, I need your help, come! I think that the cats should no more be allowed in the house."
Oh, music to my ears! But what could have caused this declaration? I run up the stairs.
"Come look" she says, pointing into the bathroom sink. What's Gaston done, I think. Has he some how stuffed a dead mouse down the drain, I muse. Nope. There in the sink are a small scattering of dead little brown insects. A naked Hector and Edgar are standing there in the bathroom with us and Isa begins ruffling through Edgar's hair. Suddenly, the small red marks on Isa's neck that have been bothering her for the past few days make sense. Lice! Nits! Fleas!
In true French form, (it seems most French people take the smallest ailment with extreme seriousness and have multiple bathroom cabinets full of every type of pharmaceutical product you can imagine), we are taking drastic action. Tonight, all our bedclothes, pillows, and some of our clothes have been thrown in the wash, along with the fur collar of Isa's coat and all the combs, brushes and hair accessories in the house. We've all put this pungent treatment in our hair that will stay there till morning, when we will rise early and shampoo. Since being up there in the bathroom with this horror revealed to me, I've been scratching my scalp and neck like crazy.
But despite all this drama, who cares? Because Isa has proclaimed, 'The cats are no longer allowed in the house!'

Stockholm

2008-01-16T19:19:00.000+11:00

The moment my feet step off the coach and onto the ground at the Cityterminalen, an over joyed young lady holding a small toy mousse wearing a yellow t-shirt and a blank postcard of Stockholm, runs at me and before I know it she's kissing my cheek and holding me in a hug. This is my first hug in 5 weekends. Colinda, one of my dearest friends and future bridesmaid, is traveling the world in the school holidays (she's a primary school teacher back in Sydney), and she's invited me to join her for a weekend in Stockholm. Having lived in Sweden the whole of 2006 as an au-pair, she has some wonderful friends there who are pretty much like family to her.

In true Colinda style, I'm whisked off the coach from Skavsta airport and pulled down the escalators into the central subway station walking at a speed only worthy of Colinda's energy. We head off for a late lunch and share a potato salad sandwich (hmmm, interesting combination, but I have made such a creation before at home, just never seen it for sale at a café!) As we sit catching up on everything that's happened in the past 5 weeks to both of us, I'm almost lost for words at one point as I look at her pretty face and think, 'Wow, I'm actually talking to Colinda, on the other side of the world!' How good it was to finally see a friend.

The whole weekend continues at the same crazy pace as it began the moment Colinda picked me up. Lots of socialising and hardly any sleep - although I love the girly late night chats we have, together with Colinda's friend Anna who we stay with. I get to meet Elsa, one of Colinda's closest friends who I have heard so much about. When we went to meet her on that first afternoon after our potato-salad sandwich, she's standing outside the entry to a train station near her studio apartment. It's very close to the river bank and there is an icy breeze whipping around the rosy-nosed, rugged-up pedestrians. Elsa has pink cheeks, light-blue eyes, and blonde bun. She smiles gently at me and says hello, holding out her hand for me to shake. It take it, and, having spent 5 weeks in France greeting people with a kiss, having come from Sydney where there are no greeting rules and anything goes, and because she's such a good friend of Colinda's and I feel I already know her I lean over and kiss her cheek. She seems a little surprised but charmed. I learn over my three days in Stockholm, that in Sweden you greet your friends with a hug and press your right cheeks together. It is difficult for me to refrain this now inbuilt French mentality to kiss, and I make the same mistake again on Saturday night with Elsa. As she walks into the hotel lobby we are meeting in she comes over to me, puts an arm around my shoulder and holds out her cheek to me. Think there was only one thing to do I kiss it.

"Oh!" she says with surprise, "Oh... well, that was nice."
She smiles, a little taken a back, and I apologise and am embarassed. But at the end of the evening she says goodbye to me and says, "Now I will return it" and kiss me on the cheek and gives me a hug. I think that my confused French-Australian ways endear me to Elsa.
Aside from the crowds of friends I made through Colinda and the fun and love I received from them, the most uplifting highlight of my weekend is going to 'New Life' church on Sunday.

Though the first few songs are in Swedish, I am overwhelmed with how wonderful it is to be worshiping the Lord with people from a different language and culture and to know that we are all a part of God's family. After the message and in the closing section of songs I am brought to tears and being to sob. Firstly, I didn't realise how starved of friendship and fellowship I have been my first month in France. Having traveled to a different region of France each weekend with my French family for Christmas and New Year celebrations, I haven't had the chance to find a church or make friends. My host family is fantastic and I wouldn't want any other, but my relationship with them isn't like the Christian relationships and friendships I have at home. Secondly, I am overwhelmed by God's goodness to me and feel so close to Him. After the church service Colinda puts her arms around me and Anna holds my hand with both of hers and they both pray for my in English and Swedish.

There are many stories I could tell and details I could share about the weekend, (and I am keeping a longer record of my travels, it's just hard to write that spontaneously and share it), but the main thing is that I met some wonderful people and made some wonderful friends. I also met a couple of people who have Christian friends in Paris or know of churches there and they've been passing on the details, which is great. I've been inspired to find Christian friends and fellowship her, just like Colinda found in her time as an au-pair in Sweden. And I've been brought to my knees praying to and Praising God for His goodness and blessing on me and my time here. I couldn't be happier.
(PS Sorry this entry is so all over the place and not very polished, nor does it say much about Stockholm or my impressions of the Swedish people - slightly reserved unless they are friends of friends like the people I met, love to speak English and they all do!, and every second Christian I met had been to Sydney to visit or study at Hillsong - but I figured family and close friends won't mind my messy writing which I've splattered onto the screen after just waking up and still feeling groggy)
A few more Photos

A Very Long Weekend

2008-01-07T01:50:00.000+11:00

After a food and wine filled Christmas and new year, I'm finally starting to do my au-pair thing and get into the swing of things. We spent Christmas with Manu, Isa's brother in Normandie (2 hour drive from Lagny), and his family. I drank more wine and Champagne than ever before in my life and had two meals, one on Christmas Eve and one on Christmas Day, that each extended over approximately 5 or 6 hours. The following week a had a huge stomach ache! Bertrand then departed for Africa where he'll be working for the next two months with his job as a Captain in the French Air Force. Isa and I then traversed the entire length of France by car with the boys, and spent New Years with her parents and two more of her brothers, Patrick and Phillipe, and their families. Being there with Isa's aging parents in the Midi Pyrenées (a little town called Lafenasse) was almost like being at Babi's place in Sydney. I was asked constantly if I was hungry and wanted anything, and stuffed full each meal (which always consisted of an apperatif, entrée, meat course, salad, lots of bread, cheese course, dessert and chocolates!) I'm sure I put on at least a few kilos while I was there. It's a little depressing being in the winter and physical activity being limited, but I'll get by :-) The uplifting part of this time was that Isa's parents and her brother Patrick and his wife Nanue, are Christians. Madeleine (Isa's mother) talked to me for about half an hour one afternoon when everyone else was out, about her Christian life. It was the longest French conversation I have had yet, and I understood enough to be encouraged. It's great actually experiencing Faith being lived out in another language and culture.

After our time down south, the past four days have been a little dull and challenging for me. From Thursday through until today I've been at home alone looking after Hector and Edgar. We've made tents in the living room out of sheets and chairs; Hector (who has a very sweet tooth) has asked me to make crêpes for him and so I made alphabet picklets two days and a chocolate cake at his request, today; we've watched a lot of TV; gone for a couple of walks in the cold; read a few stories; played riding horses - where I was the horse! and made lots of noise and mess.
At times I was despairing at my limited ability to communicate with them, and because of the boredom that easily creeps up in this horrible, grey climate. But there are also moments of humour and I'm delighted that Edgar no longer cries when he wakes up from naps and I'm their and not his Mamman. We're friends now and it's great that the boys are finally used to me and we get along most of the time.
I start my French lessons tomorrow and am looking forward to this new phase of my stay. I took down the Christmas tree today which was exciting for me because it's finally the new year, it's January, and i'm that little bit closer to spring and seeing Paul again.

A week in summary (Sorry it's not more interesting)

2007-12-24T20:47:00.000+11:00

Monday – tried to go to Paris but train and ticket problems

Tuesday – made it to Paris. Went in on train with Sarah and registered for a French class that will begin on January 7

Wednesday – Went shopping with Isa and the boys. Picked up tiles for their kitchen near Senlis, and went to the most amazing homewares and decorating shop. The massive toy store two doors down was a nightmare to be in with the boys, particularly Edgar as he picked up every second item – puzzles, horses, board games, dolls… and he screamed when I tried to take them off him and put them back. I’m clearly the enemy to him when Mamman or Pappa are around. Drove through Chantilly on the way back home and saw the riding school and château.

Thursday – Isa, Edgar and I went to Chantilly for an hour while Hector was at school and Bertrand in Senlis. We visited an English store filled with people with British accents. Bought porridge oats and Twinings fruit tea. I then went to a fabric store and asked about lace for a wedding dress. There’s not going to be any until Janurary, but the lady was very friendly and helpful despite me stumbling over the French language. We met with Bertrand in a bank in Senlis (when we finally made it to the right bank) and they opened a French bank account for me. The bank man was very friendly although he spoke to me through Bertrand and addressed him. He told me his wife was from London (I was acting as a British citizen that day). He even walked us downstairs and out the door, shaking our hands as we left.

Friday – Back to Paris where I paid for my French course and handed in a letter saying I was an au-pair so that I could get a discounted rate. Saw the Opera Garnier – my favourite building in Paris and maybe the whole world, (although I am loyal to our Opera House), and went to the Galleries Lafayette where I bought a French copy of Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery and started reading it on the way home on the train. Cooked an Italian sauce with pasta for dinner and didn’t realize that Isa had already made us some pork and left it on the stove top before she went to work. In my Australian mentality, I had looked in the fridge for the aforementioned meat and hadn’t thought to look in the pot on the stove right in front of me. Leaving meat out just isn’t done in the Aussie climate. In any case, we ate the pork for dinner the next day.

Saturday – Isa working again, all day and night. Bertrand took charge of the boys as it was the weekend and their friends Thomas and Arnauld (I think???) come over to play. The house is chaotic with four little boys running around and yelling toilet-humourish words at the tops of their voices. Thomas and the other boy who’s name probably isn’t really Arnauld, knock on my bedroom door and give me a kiss goodbye before they leave. There’s lots of kissing in France. It’s an affectionate characteristic of the culture. However, I keep kissing like me and not a French person and hope that people don’t think I’m too forward. It seems if you’re French you actually just squash your cheeks together on both sides and make big squelchy kissing noises. I keep forgetting this and actually use my lips to kiss people’s cheeks. Oh well.

Sunday – church and walking almost non-stop from 1pm to 4pm. Get picked up a couple of times, winked at by a cyclist, eyebrow-raised by a shop assistant through a shop window, and ‘bonjoured’ and spoken to by a male pedestrian. See almost all the main touristy attractions of Paris by foot. Loose money to a stupid vending machine at Paris-Nord station, and when I nice man put in more money to get my juice out, the stupid machine wouldn’t open to give it to me. I almost loose my engagement ring trying to get it out and hop on my train home with tears streaming down my cheeks. The guy opposite me on the ride home was reading a book entitled, ‘Une fois, mille questions – Dieu et l’Homme’ (God and man). I only noticed the title just before my stop. Had I noticed at the beginning of the 35 minute ride, I might have asked him if it was a good book and what he thought about God.

More details about these stories are hopefully to come. Going to Normandie today with the family and will be there for Christmas with Isa’s brother and his family.

Click here for more photos

The Boys

2007-12-20T04:18:00.000+11:00

Bienvenue en France!

2007-12-19T04:27:00.000+11:00

It’s -2˚C. I’m standing on the platform of the small town of Le Plessis Bellville. There’s two or three other people dressed for the icy winter and hiding their pink noses in their scarves. And there’s Bertrand, placing his three credit cards in the Billetaire (the ticket machine) for the tenth or eleventh time.
Beep!
“Fantastic!” Bertrand says raising his thick eyebrows in exasperation, “It has broken all my credit card, and now I must go to the bank.”
Bertrand is the father of Hector and Edgar, the little boys I have come to France for to be their jeune fille au-pair. He’s brought me to the station to buy me a monthly train ticket into Paris, along with a Metro ticket. Unfortunately, the station office was closed, for no apparent reason, and now the ticket machine wasn’t working.

Bertrand speaks in a stream of French. I understand he’s telling me that I can catch the train to Paris and buy a ticket there. There shouldn’t be ticket inspectors on the way, but if so, just tell them that the ticket machine at the station was broken.
“Le train arrive à quelle heure? » He asks me. (What time is the train coming?)
“9h19, je pense,” I remember that as the time from looking at the timetable the Friday before.
We wait, hand stuffed in pockets and stand rocking from tip toes to heels. Bertrand wonders down to the entrance gate of the platform which leads into the carpark. He talks to a big man with a moustache. They’re expressive. The look of exasperation on Bertrand’s face increases a he raises his eyebrows again and puffs out his lips.
He wonders back towards me.
“I think there is some track work today, and maybe the train doesn’t come.”
“Ah.”
“Welcome to France.”

On Wednesday 12^th December I flew from Sydney to Bangkok, then London and finally arrived at Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport on Thursday morning local time. I was picked up by Isa and her boys Edgar (2 and a half) and Hector (4). The flight was long. I was blessed with lovely travel companions for the journey: a young Norwegian girl who had just finished traveling in Australia after 3 months volunteer work in Africa, and a middle-aged lady originally from somewhere between Manchester and Liverpool, on her way to visit family, especially her sick brother.
Leaving Paul in Sydney was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. There were lots of tears at the airport and even more on the plane.
I was filled with relief when I met Isa at Charles de Gaulle. She was so friendly, down to earth and open. I immediately felt comfortable with her. She spoke to me in English for the whole of Thursday.
Friday was spent with Sarah, the current au-pair who leaves this week. She showed me the town of Plessis-Belleville (next to Lagny le Sec where we are living). There’s nothing much in Lagny, just a hair dresser, bakery, tabac (tobacco shop), church, infants and primary school, and a park.
Friday night I met Bertrand. His English isn’t as good as Isa’s, and he spoke to me in French straight away. I think he was testing to see how much I new. I think I lived up to the test J
It was then a five hour drive with the parents and kids to Alsace where we spent the weekend with their friends Matthieu and Eve. Alsace, the region of France on the German boarder, was lovely. I particularly loved Colmar, even though jam-packed with French and German tourists, the colourful houses, cobbled streets and Christmas markets were charming.
The whole weekend was in French. Matthieu and Eve didn’t speak in English, and so I was the mute at the table, tuning in and out of the conversation. I understood when they spoke about a married college of Eve having an affair, when they spoke about how ridiculously long it had taken for their furniture to arrive from Tahiti to France after living there for a couple of years, and I understood when they spoke about Eve not liking croque-monsieurs unless Matthieu made them. It was tiring concentrating and I did’t have the confidence or the vocabulary to engage. But by the end of the weekend there were a few interchanges about Star Wars and Australian TV. They told me my French was good and that by the end of 8 months I’ll be fluent. Well, I don’t know about that.
The drive home was a fantastic time getting to know Bertrand and Isa. They assured me that I was part of the family, not an employee, that they were flexible and that I was welcome to travel or have friends stay. We sorted out the conditions of my work with them, and pay, and came home happily talking about Nicole Kidman, Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes.
Monday was the day that Bertrand took me to the station and was the day of my failed attempt to get to Paris. However I finally made it there today. And the sun was shining!! It was such a beautiful day and amazing to be in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. My heart soared as I saw the Sacre Coeur, Arc de Triomphe, Eiffel Tower, and Pont Alexandre.
I’ve sorted out French classes, which will start on the 7^th of January. That will give me some purpose and direction.
I’m really glad I have finally made it to France after years of dreaming. The first two days separated from Paul were the most unbearable of my life. I was honestly questioning why I had come. But over the last few days I have realized what a wonderful opportunity of learning this is. Already I’m realizing how great life in Australia is, I’m learning more about people in general and the French culture, discovering how in love I am, and most importantly, falling even more in love with God as I see His hand on my life, protecting and blessing me.

Surprise!

2007-12-19T04:21:00.000+11:00

2nd December 2007
Paul and I are engaged!

We were in Melbourne last week staying with Paul's brother and sister-in-law. Paul planned a very special day on Wednesday 28th. He took me to the Richmond Hill Café and Larder for breakfast/brunch, surprised me and took me to a day spa where I received a massage, facial, manicure and pedicure, then it was on to a hair salon where the seniour stylist washed and blowed-dried my hair! We had an amazing dinner at Bottega on Bourke St. and then headed to the Princess Theatre and saw The Phantom of the Opera. When the curtains went down, we drove to a quiet spot on the Yarra River overlooking to glittering city skyline, and just before midnight Paul got down on one knee and proposed.

Paul and I met at church earlier this year and have gotten to know each other there and playing on the same Ultimate Frisbee team. A weekend away with Will and Colinda from church in a Winnebago (RV) brought us together in September. We've since been blessed with a great relationship of fun and friendship, and are very in love. Both our families are delighted. I leave for France in 10 days, where I'll be working as an Au Pair for 7 months and will return to Sydney in August/September. We hope to get married in October/November.

Countdown...

2007-11-12T10:38:00.000+11:00

Precisely one month from today, it's on a BA flight and off to Paris for me. Something that has been a dream for almost the last three years is finally taking place and I'm beginning to get a little nervous. The last semester of my degree has been and gone (I handed in my last - terribly written - essay on Wednesday the 7th) and in that time God brought someone wonderful into my life. Well, Paul was in my life a little before semester began, but the great thing was we were able to get to know each other as friends at church and Ultimate Frisbee games before the light suddenly switched on and we realised we were meant to be. It's so beautiful to me, seeing how God's will is worked out in my life.
So, After two fun and intense months of the greatest relationship I could have ever dreamed up, I'm a little confused about the best thing for me to do in terms of how much time to spend in France and know why exactly I'm there. But I'm stil going, and I plan to have a fantastic time. Should hit those French text books...hard! I need to.

It Is Time

2007-08-17T10:33:00.000+10:00

It's time to get back into this blogging thing. If I'm going to go to France on the 12th of December (as my newly aquired plane ticket indicates) and if I'm going to be a writer one day, I need to start writing regularly to keep those back home up to date, and so that I get some practice-practice!

The last month has flown by. Monday marked a month since the HSC Study camp. Being a leader with 16 others, surpervising 120 seventeen and eighteen year olds whilst they studied 6 hours a day had it's fantastic and tough moments. Leading a discussion group of approximately twelve to fifteen students was a little scary. To begin with I was overwhelmed as they bombarded me with question after question about why Jesus had to die on the cross, why there is suffering the world, how we can know that God exists, creation, evolution, and who will go to hell. Some of the questions seemed to be asked to create conflict, but overall it was exciting to see that the many kids in our group who weren't Christians were thinking things through and seemed to be searching for something more in life. It was also encouraging to hear the handful of christians speak up and share how much God has done for them and means to them.

I had some great moments in freetime where I got to talk to a group of girls who wanted to find out more about who Jesus is and what Christianity is all about. The whole camp was just a great opportunity to hang out and get to know the campers and let them know that we cared about them and wanted to share our faith with them. It was also loads of fun to hangout with the other leaders, chat, share and play silly games like the hat game.

All week I battled a cough/cold and came home with only a croaky rememnant of a voice left.

The next week was spent lying in bed recovering, watching DVDs and munching yummy food.

Before we knew it, the moment Alex and I had been looking forward to all last-part-of-semester had arrived. Credo's d'Arts faculty getaway had arrived!
Eight of us headed down south to Bellambi for two and a half days where we read through the whole of the book of Revelations, played Trivial Pursuit (still haven't finished the game), walked along the beach, and went for coffee. It was brilliant! Although it was exhausting, reading through Revelation was such a joy. Chapter 1 verse 3 says:
"Blessed is the one who reads the words of this prophesy, and blessed are those
who hear it and take to heart what is written in it, because the time is near."

And it's true!! I felt truely blessed having read through this part of God's word. For the first time in my life it seemed to make sense. Although it is filled with images and pictures of all sorts of strange creatures and scenes, it all seemed ordered and perfectly uniform and thought out. God is amazingly awesome, powerful, massive, just and to be feared and I gained a much bigger insight into how huge and wonderful he really is.
I had a perfect moment of peacefulness and trust in Him when I went for a walk alone on the beach and poured my heart out to Him. Being so close to the ocean and the beauty of God's creation just made the moment so much more intimate and personal. It was a great time to draw closer to Him, get focused and trust my life to Him.

So yes, Getaway was great!

Post-Getaway there was a jam-packed weekend with Sharla, my Canadian-Californian travel buddy from 2005 who was on a 5 week Japanese-Aussie-Kiwi holiday. Our time included a day out to the north beaches (including a one-footed seagull who wasn't afraid of stealing a tiny morsel of calamari out of my fingers!), a trek to the Blue Moutains with Alex, more Thai food and gelato in Newtown, and loads of girlie joking around and chatching up.

The Three weeks of uni have come and gone like a whirlwind. I've managed to go out every night for ten nights in a row, as well as run the city to Surf and start small group leading with Credo. It looks like I'm set for another eight or so nights out in a row in the following week.

I'm worried that the whole of semester is going to fly by and before I know it I'll be in Paris all on my own, leaving behind all the wonderful people I have formed friendships with over the year so far. Although it has its painful and lonely moments, life this year has been such a blessing. I'm so thankful to God that he is drawing me closer to Him and teaching me so much through different circumstances. I'm particularly thankful for all the training and fellowship He's provided through Credo at UTS and through my new church. It's great to step back and reflect because then I see that He is always there.

Art

2007-04-18T19:13:00.000+10:00

The soft, earthy colours of Adam Chang's painting captured my eye yesterday. Standing in the NSW Art Gallery with 3 friends, all gifted and creative young women, I took in the finalists works for The Archibald Prize '07. Chang's painting conjured memories of detailed picture books I loved as a little girl. The man and dog seemed to have a special bond. How does one artist capture this?
There were plenty more paintings to take in. Each work we viewed was unique. Each had a different style and a different message to give about their subject.
How can a man or woman have such an ability to evoke and depict emotions and convey messages through the light, colour and texture of their art? Wondering through the rooms of portraits, landscapes and assorted works of different genres I was inspired. I was amazed. I some how felt I was drawing closer to God. I felt that I through admiring the creativity he had bestowed on these artists, I could worship him with so much more depth and richness. Our God is a creative God.

After Easter

2007-04-15T15:33:00.000+10:00

The past few months have been a time of amazing spiritual growth for me. After 21 years attending a little Baptist church in Sydney's inner west with the whole my immediate, and large part of my extended family, I felt that it was God's will for me to finally move on to a church of my own. I praise God for the sound Biblical upbringing I had. But now I'm excited about what the future holds, and my mind is opening up to think in ways I have never done before.

I've been going to Christian's in the Media in Annandale for approximately six weeks and already I have made new friends, completed a 4 week New Members Bible study, started helping teach scripture to a grade one class with Jen, an MTS worker, and said yes to joining an ultimate Frisbee team of people from the evening congregation. What has impressed me about my new church is that the people here have a love and passion for Jesus, and a desire to share the great news of Him to their community, in a way that understands the current culture of the Inner-West, Sydney and the media world. Spending time with these people has sparked a flame within me for the people lost in a society driven by wealth, achievement and success.

Last Easter weekend was also a catalyst for more growth in my relationship with Jesus. After two years of going to small Bible study groups and avoiding Public Meetings and big events by Credo (an AFES christian organisation at Uni), I finally stepped outside of my comfort zone and went along to Credo's Easter Time Conference (ETC), held in Eleanora Heights.

Initially I went to meet people, make friends. And I certainly did. As well as meeting loads of new faces amongst the crowd of 100 plus, I strengthened friendships I already had with some of the beautiful girls from the Humanities faculty, who I shared a cabin with. Seeing Christ lived out in these people, seeing how they are being continually transformed and refined for God's glory was a true encouragement.

Creation was the theme for ETC. I admit that it was with slight trepidation that I went along in light of the topic. I foresaw heated debates and conflicts over an often controversial issue. I particularly felt that being a firm believer in a literal 6 day creation would place me in a minority and make me seem a little foolish. But I was happily surprised. Rather than being about the 'How' of creation, our time was focused on the 'Who' (God created all things) and the 'Why' (for His glory - we have a purpose and meaning). Discussions after each talk were not argumentative, but gracious and challenging.

Collection of things I learnt or that I found interesting:

From a writer's perspective, the writing style and structure of the Bible and how we read it as a text. I got thinking about this because of the mention of phenomenological language. This is something I'd like to explore, particularly how our cultural context affects our reading and interpretation of God's word

The difference between convenantal and dispensational theologies

People who support Intelligent Design, aren't necessarily on the Christian's side (the elective on Intelligent design I sat in on was quite challenging to follow, but made me want to explore unfamiliar academic terrains outside of my humanities landscape)

Not everyone thinks from a post-modernist outlook like communications students. The scientists' thinking is methodical, there needs to be evidence, proof and an explanation for everything. For engineers, the world's more black and white.

Art has a function, and it's no less important than other work. God is a creative God

The free-will/providence and God's-sovereignty debate. (I am unsure I personally came to any conclusions. If anything I am less sure than previously on what to believe on this debate)

The New Heavens & Earth - re-creation.

Our eternity isn't going to be us floating as spirits in a gold place somewhere in outer space. There is a physical as well as spiritual future for us.

There are so many other interesting things I got out of the weekend. These were just a few.

Most of all I have been encouraged to delve into God's word. I have been challenged to be a Christian of intelligent thought. I've found in the past that I do all my thinking at university and take a break when it comes to spending time with God. But thinking through and studying difficult issues that surround the Bible is a way to enrich and enlarge my view of my amazing God and creator. So this is my goal for the rest of the year: to THINK.

Exodus From Darkness - The Story of Daniel Shayesteh

2007-01-29T18:21:00.000+11:00

It is the mid 1980’s, on the border of Iran and Turkey. On the Iranian side a man queues at the border patrol. He has forty-four thousand American dollars with him – big money in Iran. He has entrusted half to his friend queued in front of him. He has the other half on his passport.
This man is Daniel Shayesteh. He is on a suspended death penalty. His political involvement has earned him the strong disfavour of the ruling Ayatollah Komeini and the Islamic clergy. He has been imprisoned. He has been on death row. Guards have attempted to take his life on the streets. He has lived for the past year or so with his phone tapped and whole life under surveillance. He has lived with fear for the lives of his wife and three daughters. This weekend is the second time he is attempting to flee the country.
His friend reaches the front of the line. He hands his passport over. It is approved. Mr. Shayesteh then steps up to the desk. The officer takes his passport and looks at the computer.
“You can’t go out.”
“Why? I have a legal passport.”
“Your name is on the blacklist.”
The dreaded has happened. The border officer calls for back up. Mr. Shayesteh can see his friend on the other side of the counter-like border. As the guards file in, Mr. Shayesteh, in an act of urgency, throws his twenty-two thousand to his friend. Calling out in an area dialect so onlookers don’t understand, he shouts:
“It seems this time I have finished. Take this money. Go open an account for my family and go back home to my wife. If she’s interested, take children and go out!”
The guards come and direct Mr. Shayesteh to a room. The big boss arrives. Special officers are called. The immigration officer from the Prime Minister’s office is called. The revolutionary mayor’s office is called. No one responds. It is the weekend. On the weekend in Iran, shift obligations are rarely filled and offices are often empty. All they can do is leave messages.
For two and a half long hours, Mr. Shayesteh waits. The boss comes into the room where he waits.
“You can go. We cannot keep you here anymore.”
Amazed, Mr. Shayesteh is released onto Turkish land. With no money and no friends it is extremely dangerous. You are stranded. Especially at night time, at any moment anything can happen. But as he crosses over, he sees his friend. He is standing in front of the bus crying, yelling out:
“My friend is in danger! If you go he is going to die here! He gave all his money to me! If he comes here, he doesn’t have money to go anywhere!”
Once again amazed, Mr. Shayesteh jumps on the bus. The bus driver is furious. Some passengers begin to swear at him for holding them up so long. But none of this matters.
“I’m sorry, but you can swear at me twenty-four hours,” he laughs, “I am free now!”

Today, Mr. Shayesteh sits neatly in an armchair of his family home in a peaceful, leafy Sydney suburb. Looking at this small, unassuming, attentive and polite man with a tidy dark moustache and thining dark hair, one would never assume the dangerous and powerful roles he has played in what now seems like a distant past life. One of his daughters, Janet, now in her early twenties, has curled herself comfortably on the sofa to his right, listening to her father with interest. She has just hospitably placed a plate of elaborately arranged cakes and toffees on the coffee table next to a crystal bowl filled with dried apricots, and handed a hot beverage to her father.
Twisting the string of an herbal tea bag around the handle of the glass mug of tea, Mr. Shayesteh grins good humouredly as he remembers his escape to Turkey. After recounting the tale he reflects in his deep, melodic accent, which falls to a rich bass note at the close of each sentence:
“…and that was just the provision of God even though I didn’t know Him, because I never thought I could become free.”
Riots, violent protests, religious ardour, radical revolution… It is in amongst all this that we find a much younger, very different Shayesteh at the beginning of his story. As a young passionate communist and commerce student at the University of Tehran, after much in depth study and deliberation he decided that there had to be one god of the Universe. This turned him to Allah, the god he had been taught about growing up in a nominal Muslim family from a small city in the country’s north. Shayesteh and many of his peers became very radical Muslims who were truly convinced that Islam was the last and perfect religion.
But this had many implications. Overthrowing the ruling Shah was the first. The Shah, or king, was so close to Western values and countries, America especially. This was an outrage. America was friends with Israel, an abomination according to the Qur’an which said they as Muslims should be fighting against Jews and Christians. This major point of contention along with the dualistic nature of the nation’s economy within society became the catalyst for the beginning of the 1979 Iranian Revolution.
A strong voice arose out of exile in France: The Ayatollah Komeini became the revolutionary mastermind. Dedicated to the Ayatollah, Shayesteh and his contemporaries committed themselves to appointing him and to ruling the country through Shariah law – Islamic law. Through his guidance they created propagandas, protests, riots and chaos within Iran and drove the Shah out, fleeing for his life. It was in this time that Shayesteh rose as a significant leader, bent on exporting Islam and destroying America – ‘the greatest evil’. And at this time he met his wife who was as radical as him and “so against Jews and Christians”.
“Wow, I will have to ask this woman to marry me!” he said to himself, so struck by her strength and conviction. And so he did.
Once the Shah was gone, an interim government was appointed by the Ayatollah. The Ayatollah promised a free society where all the economic and political issues would be solved. Yet, after one year had passed it was clear his vice-like grip was slowly tightening around the nation. In that one year the people began to see all the Ayatollah’s promises of freedom slowly slip away while human rights began to be breached. It was then Daniel Shayesteh realised, “He promised us freedom, but we were losing the little bit freedom we had.” He and his friends decided to speak out through an informally grouped party of independent politicians for a free community. They had wanted freedom and a form of democracy that could give power to the people and found that they couldn’t do this through Islam. From their party emerged the President who came into power after receiving 98% of the people’s votes. This infuriated the clergies.
One by one, slowly, Shayesteh watched as those in parliament around him disappeared. Through the Ayatollah’s power, members of government were gradually eliminated and, just like the King, the presidency was driven from the country. Some escaped. Some went to jail. Others were executed.
One terrible day, much to the horror of his young family, Daniel Shayesteh was kidnapped and placed in a death cell. It was a toilet cell. He recollects the time with grave lines creasing his forehead, “It was like living in a toilet.” He pauses with a painful, far away look, “…very painful really.” From these stinking conditions he and others who had been kidnapped were transported to a prison. They waited in dread-filled anticipation on death row. There were five of them in a room waiting. Four of them were killed. Shayesteh alone escaped.
Through the help of a friend in a high position Shayesteh fled to the Turkish border where he was captured, taken back and then released on bail. His death sentence was temporarily suspended and he lived at home with his family, still going about everyday life with the ominous threat of his life being taken at any minute. Urged by his wife for the sake of their children’s safety, Daniel Shayesteh made a second and successful attempt to flee the country. He has never been back.
And so the once politician, the philosopher, committed Muslim and business man found himself in Istanbul where his family were able to join him after one month without any problems. Without a clue what to do he started to learn the language, decided to enter university and finished his doctorate in International management. He lived there almost four years. It was in those four years that Mr. Shayesteh’s life took a direction he would have never foreseen. If you had told him before hand what was going to happen, he would have been so disgusted, so deeply offended.
While his wife and daughters were on a five month visit back to Iran, Shayesteh formed a business partnership with another Iranian ex-patriot. One day while in this man’s house he was shocked to notice a copy of the New Testament from the Bible in the Iranian language. An Iranian Christian had given it to his business partner and invited him along to a church.
“I sometimes go to the church,” he explained to Shayesteh, “Many Muslims have become Christians. If you go there you will see them.”
“How can that be?” Shayesteh questioned disbelievingly, “It’s impossible!” It was completely outrageous to him that someone could change their religion like that.
Without any warning, this business partner took off for Germany with all of Shayesteh’s money – about thirty-three thousand Australian dollars, without a trace.
Betrayed and desperate, Shayesteh followed the only lead he had to the man – the church. He went to ask questions and gain any information on his whereabouts. The people of the church were willing to help in his search for the runaway and to aid him in regaining his stolen money. Letters were written to churches in Germany enlisting people’s aid in the search and week after week, Daniel Shayesteh would turn up at church very punctually - but only for his news of money.
During his weekly visits he began to observe something about the church people. He found them very different people to what he had heard. “Christians are immoral people!” He had been taught, ‘Christians are ungodly people! Christians believe in three gods!” Instead of these things he discovered them to be so welcoming and warm to him and to each other. But the most striking thing about these people was the strange conviction they had that they belonged to God. They were certain that their relationship with Hell was cancelled. To Daniel Shayesteh who had taught philosophy to people in Iran, it was a major contrast to all other religions, including Islam. As a Muslim, he would never be sure until the day he died whether he was going to end up in Heaven or Hell. As a Muslim he, an imperfect being, was responsible for his own salvation. These Christians claimed that a man called Jesus could make them right before God. These things were completely new to him.
All alone in Istanbul, his family miles away in Iran, Shayesteh struggled with agonising uncertainty, personal confusion and pain. He had been so painful to live with in the previous months he wasn’t sure if they would return to him. He was struggling with many things: fleeing from his homeland knowing now he could never safely return; his political and social standings being wrenched from him; the necessity of starting a new life from nothing; being betrayed and having all his money swindled from him; and on top of all this he was now confronted by the teachings and way of life of these church people that contradicted all his years of academic philosophical study. What kind of a God would put him through this?
One day, in his anger and torment he cried to God, “You are not interested to help me! Should I suffer all my life? What is this life for? How can I get out of this life?” He was so furious that hot tears spilt down his tanned face. The following night in bed he had a very vivid dream. In his dream he was standing in his father’s house in Iran. There was a dreadful earthquake. All around him was disaster, violent winds, and fire. Houses were destroyed. People died. He was all alone in his father’s house.
“Oh God help me!” he cried out as he desperately lifted up his hands to the sky.
In his dream a light appeared, just a light, and he heard:
“I am Jesus. I will help you, but come out from your old house.”
Running out and into the yard under a tree he watched as the whole house burnt down. He woke up suddenly, realising it was the middle of the night and the dream for what it was. Unable to sleep, he lay there in a tumult of emotions. His fury at God surged within him. How could God have done this to his father’s house? To destroy a house in the Middle East, especially in Iran, is a terrible thing to do to a family. It’s an incredible insult.
After this night he pushed on with his life as usual which meant going to the church the next Sunday. Perhaps there would be some news of his money that day, some hope to cling to. But sitting there in the crowd of Christians whom he was beginning to like but whose Jesus he hated, an amazing thing happened. The man standing at the front of the room opened his mouth to preach and his words hit Shayesteh hard.
“Come out from your old house,” he exhorted, “Live in the house which Jesus has built on the rock and nothing will be able to destroy that house. The old house, the house of traditions you have inherited from you forefathers, it is a house of pain. It is a house that lacks freedom.”
Everything that was preached had been in his dream. Shayesteh was staggered. Filled with questions, many philosophical, he wondered about the meaning of what was being said. Was it possible that he could come out of his ‘old house’ now, into a ‘new house’ and become a new person in this world?
Perhaps there was something in this, something these people had that he didn’t. With an increased interest in finding out more, Mr. Shayesteh asked for a copy of the Bible and began reading the New Testament, finding himself continually amazed at the contrasts between the teachings of Christianity and the years of philosophical and Islamic knowledge he had accumulated.
Spiritually he found himself amazed that through the man Jesus Christ, a person could become part of the Kingdom of God, be released from themselves and be free. Socially he was amazed that as a Christian a person respects the governments and tries to be a positive influence in society, rather than acting against it. Socially he was amazed that a Christian person should love their enemies and respect their rights. He was amazed that inside a house a man should love his wife as he loves himself. He was amazed that love was the cornerstone of life to a Christian.
Morally and ethically he was amazed more that a Christian lives to be a peacemaker and lives for justice. Philosophically, he knew that gods in all other religions were the creators of sin. But he found in the book of Romans in the Bible that “man brought sin into the world.” In Islam Allah was the creator of sin. In Hinduism, the anti-god lives inside god. So it amazed Daniel Shayesteh that the God in the Bible was the holy god and a personal god, capable of relationships.
It was not easy for Shayesteh to turn his back on his upbringing and his Islamic teaching and involvement. A Christian was a dirty word, an insult. That was the mindset he was coming from. He would be turning on his family and all his followers back in Iran by going back on everything he had stood for in the past. But he could not go past what he had found with these church people and in their ‘amazing’ book and turned to the Jesus it spoke about and believed in Him.
“How could you do this?” Mary Shayesteh exclaimed. Having just returned with her three daughters from Iran to her husband, she discovered he had become a Christian convert.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why have you put my brothers and sisters under threat?”
Daniel Shayesteh’s terrified wife realised what a serious and dangerous thing her husband had done. Surely word would get back to Iran about this. She was so concerned that one day, after hearing him sharing with his older brother about how he had become a Christian over the telephone, that they had a terrible argument.
“Your brother is going to talk to other people,” she fretted, “And they are eventually going to take my brothers and sisters to jail!”
She was so afraid she didn’t want anyone to hear what had happened. But very soon she saw that there were changes in her husband’s life. He was calmer, more peaceful and he was no longer painful to live with. Wanting his wife to share the same happiness and amazing discovery of Jesus with him, Shayesteh encouraged the ladies of the church to build a relationship with his wife. She would never come to church. She was too afraid that the Iranian landlord of their house would find out and tell everyone when he returned to Iran. So Shayesteh asked her several times if the women of the church could come and visit her. She showed no interest, however, they came.
“I don’t like them” Mary Shayesteh said.
Mr Shayesteh kept silent. He couldn’t say anything. He knew she was just trying to make some sort of excuse. He continued to encourage the church ladies.
“You have to find a way where I cannot push her.”
So the ladies chatted to Mary on the telephone and encouraged her to go to their meetings. Eventually she gave in, but she was only going to find an excuse to use in argument against them. However, much to her husbands delight, she found herself amazed at what she heard at the ladies’ meeting.
“God talked to me this morning,” one lady began…
Another one said, “I was reading the Bible and God spoke to me last night.”
“Who is this God who is speaking to the ladies?” Mrs. Shayesteh questioned her husband in shock later.
The religion she knew taught that females were just the lower class and inferior creatures, and later Islamic scholars believed that ladies and girls are just mute animals. She was staggered that the God in Christianity cared about women. She began to go regularly to their church ladies’ meetings. So it was through this that Daniel Shayesteh’s wife slowly began to change and understand all that her husband embraced, until she came to a point where she too believed in the Jesus of the Bible and her life turned around.
The church people did eventually find the runaway business partner in Germany, but, having no legal complaint to hold against him were unable to convince him to give back what he had stolen. Mr. Shayesteh never got the money back, but watching him today sitting peacefully in his living room in Sydney, it is clear that he believes he got something much greater in its place.
The smiling man comes to the close of his story with shining eyes and passion in his voice. He has hardly touched his herbal tea but continues to fiddle with the teabag string. He talks about his life today and how he is driven to share with people his journey and what he has discovered in the Bible. His voice rises slightly in a sincere crescendo as he explains that people need to understand each other and each other’s beliefs and backgrounds in order to live a peaceful society. Ignorance was what fuelled his hatred in the past.
Dr. Shayesteh has lived in Sydney with his family for the past fourteen years. Their journey here is perhaps a whole story of faith for another time. Today he is the Director of ‘Exodus from Darkness’, “an organisation that encourages people to search openly for the best beliefs and values of life”. He is devoted full time to travelling the world, speaking at different conferences and events, telling his life story and challenging people. He is fighting for a different freedom today and in a different way his life is still threatened. He has received death threats by committed Muslims amongst the Australian community because of the story he tells, and he is almost convinced that his life will end one day at the hand of a committed member from his previous faith. But he lives with an eternal hope and no longer lives in fear.

References:
Interview with Dr. Daniel Shayesteh: Wednesday 26th April 2006
http://www.ministryblue.com/exodus.html
Shayesteh. D, 2003, A Journey From God’s to Christ, Published by Daniel Shayesteh, Toongabbie, NSW.
Shayesteh. D, 2004, The Difference is the Son, Published by Daniel Shayesteh, Toongabbie, NSW.
http://www.faithfreedom.org/Testimonials/DanielShyesteh.htm