tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15328063394261624782024-02-20T05:51:35.027-05:00GoodbyeHaranMichael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.comBlogger435125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-25535101040112873772013-08-18T16:23:00.001-04:002013-08-18T16:27:18.528-04:00Return Visit to the Cave of St Baume<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtpNiovENEaLyf2CWQZrf3SQy2xuh7ZBS7FeDLajbGvs9sIvcrzphJG9zyFp1T4btMrJVaShNQNJ08GqjBMkE6czOmpWgwYn7QqwUFX7Dh0PyV3RDrUryKPQGca9sE6sTpB8xKbaucNMws/s1600/IMG_5612.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtpNiovENEaLyf2CWQZrf3SQy2xuh7ZBS7FeDLajbGvs9sIvcrzphJG9zyFp1T4btMrJVaShNQNJ08GqjBMkE6czOmpWgwYn7QqwUFX7Dh0PyV3RDrUryKPQGca9sE6sTpB8xKbaucNMws/s320/IMG_5612.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
A couple years ago I made <a href="http://goodbyeharan.blogspot.com/2011/02/alone-in-cave.html" target="_blank">my first visit to the cave of St Baume</a>. On that occasion, some friends invited me on a hike and I jumped at the chance to get out and explore. I had no idea of the jewel I would discover in the rock face.<br />
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This time I went back, again invited by friends, with my kids and we took a shorter route following a picnic in the woods. This time, again, I was struck by the jewel of a quiet nook in the face of a rock wall: <i>un abri</i>, a cathedral, an apparent pilgrimage spot that's become my favorite quiet place in southern France.<br />
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French <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sainte-Baume" target="_blank">legend holds</a> that Mary Magdalene arrived by boat <i>par hasard</i> in Provence, converted the whole of Provence (that sure didn't last...), and then retired to a cave in the St Baume mountain ridge forest. This cave is now on a popular hiking route in the south of France, now fancied up a bit as a cathedral complete with a priest living next door in a house on the rock face, a tourist boutique, and (I'm told) weekly worship services. I can't speak to much of that, but what I can say is that the cave is dark, cool, and quiet. Even my son dropped to a whisper as we approached the site, asking in hushed tones where to find the <i>chef</i>. I love to sit and think in there. And while I'm not sure I put much stock into the Mary Magdalene story, I do appreciate her as a person and character in the gospels and that appreciation perhaps only makes me like the place more.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking buddies.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every boy on a hike needs a stick, right?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary had a pretty sweet view coming out of her cave.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hike up was long and slow. Going down, they didn't wait or put on the breaks.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lying in wait, sure to frighten an unsuspecting passer-by.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCHuIUzwgQr0jmHPYv0gQY4fhYo-p5xe3P9HGQQXt15OJNr4JPJuMO7M_WVewUxtmenD2vVJFaIypILxMeZuQ9V9yz9OJsU4jBXc5j1nkCAkIrCSZUxzisrHwCbZzVtxPUcfOXfClAhPP/s1600/IMG_5609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCHuIUzwgQr0jmHPYv0gQY4fhYo-p5xe3P9HGQQXt15OJNr4JPJuMO7M_WVewUxtmenD2vVJFaIypILxMeZuQ9V9yz9OJsU4jBXc5j1nkCAkIrCSZUxzisrHwCbZzVtxPUcfOXfClAhPP/s320/IMG_5609.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, so my son's not the oldest one on that bench, behind almost a full year.<br />
We're giants over here, he and I.</td></tr>
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Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-35430948205887440122013-07-22T10:52:00.000-04:002013-07-22T10:54:19.919-04:00Summertime - hiking in the calanques<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmZDpz1xmlsUlG0RK8M8xAmwt9EfuWgPLd3PSIp4e4RlAJqSR5FanUzMWDtMP_UZWcf2TSoK5a9jKPgxuBz0mF7rS0XHGokrsZeHx2imCV3E7ZU6ZgvOQX4PVQQAMQwP9gJ1iXqhLxGiu/s1600/DSC03426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="90" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmZDpz1xmlsUlG0RK8M8xAmwt9EfuWgPLd3PSIp4e4RlAJqSR5FanUzMWDtMP_UZWcf2TSoK5a9jKPgxuBz0mF7rS0XHGokrsZeHx2imCV3E7ZU6ZgvOQX4PVQQAMQwP9gJ1iXqhLxGiu/s400/DSC03426.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqr6HgNq-zwKHrALQQivDR2LdZX0N9C7gvB6V6PF-YO2oseZnghLKC4oaOVJJCqnBYLzZkULGN78O5314gHs9tRj0Kn-3pDOETAdxME6zsWlX8Dk1Ra9rP6HL6hNuYGTk_QK_Yq3bzmfTo/s1600/IMG_5377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqr6HgNq-zwKHrALQQivDR2LdZX0N9C7gvB6V6PF-YO2oseZnghLKC4oaOVJJCqnBYLzZkULGN78O5314gHs9tRj0Kn-3pDOETAdxME6zsWlX8Dk1Ra9rP6HL6hNuYGTk_QK_Yq3bzmfTo/s200/IMG_5377.jpg" width="149" /></a><br />
What is a "calanque"? <span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calanques" target="_blank">A steep-walled inlet, cove, or bay that is developed in </a></i></span><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calanques" target="_blank"><span style="color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;">limestone</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;">, </span><span style="color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;">dolomite</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;">, or other </span><span style="color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;">carbonate</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> </span><span style="color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;">strata</span></span></a></i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calanques" target="_blank"> and found along the Mediterranean coast</a>, </i></span>apparently. Or, it's simply a <a href="http://www.randonnee-passion.com/carte_calanques.jpg" target="_blank">natural park full of wonder</a> that sits in and around Marseille, our happy home in the south of France.</div>
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When summer hits (assuming it hasn't been so dry as to close the calanques), we hit the trail in search of natural beauty, adventure, and fun time with family and friends. This summer we've made every effort to get an early start, visiting everything from the peak of Marseilleveyre to the fun <a href="http://www.calanques13.com/calanque-morgiou.html" target="_blank">calanque de Morgiou</a> to the crystal clear teal blue oasis of <a href="http://www.calanques13.com/calanque-en-vau.html" target="_blank">En Veau</a>.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A perfect way to spend a day with friends.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start young, love the trails forever!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calanque d'En Veau - love this place!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cliff jumping from 7m</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZj91-L4iZcm7Fajnf8WgMJa3JWznEokPFOIx6NyWHAFF5PsbBx4HBLXkdEjg8ZM9lQwEDZpCYu2BWBe7hHxgHtWS6EclsTr4oEzP8CTXgxRxZ4PlSYCIu-vbmkW3Ag-GOxMtU809hQJCf/s1600/IMG_5388.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZj91-L4iZcm7Fajnf8WgMJa3JWznEokPFOIx6NyWHAFF5PsbBx4HBLXkdEjg8ZM9lQwEDZpCYu2BWBe7hHxgHtWS6EclsTr4oEzP8CTXgxRxZ4PlSYCIu-vbmkW3Ag-GOxMtU809hQJCf/s320/IMG_5388.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With water that inviting, one can't help but jump in!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzSh-Ns9p6ZPDEVK7zj8_HmQ2IXZcfQ-QGuCuKnbDd-4k1ln8AEGD2l7q_HbDBq9YnuVZLGpdVV3jzGCguG9NeJTNlegWqwDQ-d7GXvBPDuyOPO0eMeyQxFGXmT3zPYWJTTvJR5Sq4cy9/s1600/IMG_5363.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzSh-Ns9p6ZPDEVK7zj8_HmQ2IXZcfQ-QGuCuKnbDd-4k1ln8AEGD2l7q_HbDBq9YnuVZLGpdVV3jzGCguG9NeJTNlegWqwDQ-d7GXvBPDuyOPO0eMeyQxFGXmT3zPYWJTTvJR5Sq4cy9/s320/IMG_5363.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hitting the trail as a family.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can hike to the inlets or come by boat.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFudK4-Cb_mS04sA5kCIjJNQcVBcpUR6PiD7orR91K9MQzHCsWGE689OT9fDn01Oeyd-K3IiEESBygFOOoB8laH9BHw4xiKJ9vWXaHMrq3QaXYBQ8845wP9JmOp5OHonYbeGn-Ok8b-mc/s1600/DSC03421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFudK4-Cb_mS04sA5kCIjJNQcVBcpUR6PiD7orR91K9MQzHCsWGE689OT9fDn01Oeyd-K3IiEESBygFOOoB8laH9BHw4xiKJ9vWXaHMrq3QaXYBQ8845wP9JmOp5OHonYbeGn-Ok8b-mc/s400/DSC03421.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calanque de Morgiou</td></tr>
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Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-32018144791553322622013-06-19T09:26:00.001-04:002013-06-19T09:28:20.036-04:00CE Euro Vacay - Belgrade<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A couple of weeks before our daughter's second birthday we took off across Central and Eastern Europe for a wild and crazy touristic adventure <i>en famille</i>. My lovely wife graciously accepted my minimalist packing challenge and we fit all of our essentials for 10 days into 3 small day-packs. Prague - Vienna - Budapest - Belgrade - Sofia. 5 countries/cities in 10 days. Planes, trains, automobiles. Couches, air mattresses, hotels, sleeper trains.<br />
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Today I'll share some memories from <b>Belgrade</b>.<br />
You can also read about <a href="http://www.goodbyeharan.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-couple-of-weeks-before-our-daughters.html" target="_blank">Prague</a>, <a href="http://www.goodbyeharan.blogspot.com/2013/05/ce-euro-vacay-vienna.html" target="_blank">Vienna</a>, and <a href="http://www.goodbyeharan.blogspot.com/2013/05/ce-euro-vacay-budapest.html" target="_blank">Budapest</a>.<br />
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Belgrade is the capitol and largest city of Serbia. Serbia is an Eastern European country that's fresh out of communism, doesn't get along with its neighbor of Kosovo, and likes sports. A lot. Think NBA and olympic basketball, competitive soccer, tennis (Djokovic), and other stuff where tall, athletic people thrive. Nikola Tessla and alternating current, that too.<br />
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Being in Belgrade was the most shocking visit to our system in many ways. The whole experience felt weird. Our hosts were gracious and wonderful and we had soooo much fun hanging out with Trey and Randi and Kyle and Brooke (these friends were, in fact, the primary reason for our visit). The city and even the people of Belgrade were difficult for me to wrap my head around. Modern and yet broken-down. One side of the city was old and historic (on a hillside), a river separated the 'new' city built under communism with perfect block streets, insipid block housing, planned neighborhoods, and addresses like "blok 23" and "blok 54". The new side was built when added sand reclaimed swamp land and the city was planned and built under communist rule in the 40's. From a distance things looked nice and modern, slick glass skyscrapers and wide new roads. Up close, windows were broken and buildings abandoned, grass waist-high and graffiti everywhere. People were generally nice, helpful, and inside apartments and offices were well-kept. Food was meaty and enjoyable and cheap, so that was nice. At times I looked around at trashed and cracked streets, a run-down train station and snack stalls and felt like I was back in East Africa. But then I saw a sports field with practices being run with efficiency and skill I'd not seen in France. Contrasts, everywhere. Impossible to rectify. So post-modern :).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiF5wO3thY-4tAnxhQbd-X7z4j5QkY0i1TYdgknbFXpho7AJ7cZAK9Pu_Fftvd8v9oYUdFrDxTn9a6whW1sqzrq3fi9K-WkO6mDfn-VaA0eFLrCA22_LHvF-fXUCZIgIQzFI28fy-6n_kr/s1600/IMG_4694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiF5wO3thY-4tAnxhQbd-X7z4j5QkY0i1TYdgknbFXpho7AJ7cZAK9Pu_Fftvd8v9oYUdFrDxTn9a6whW1sqzrq3fi9K-WkO6mDfn-VaA0eFLrCA22_LHvF-fXUCZIgIQzFI28fy-6n_kr/s320/IMG_4694.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't like ferris wheels anyhow, there was no way I'd consider getting on this rickety thing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGAitW5Ux5cYzYHxAo5LS9S80eqpjCGhZBBqadzw-3GRXvlkw80DNPEf68jruyg0ejGdoDFA_w0zrm5bA-OcjaLqmMmKqAapGhzXrgiCFcH6u3_g8su1oc43UJg0MVo-B5aiYOgy6YQqI/s1600/IMG_4700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGAitW5Ux5cYzYHxAo5LS9S80eqpjCGhZBBqadzw-3GRXvlkw80DNPEf68jruyg0ejGdoDFA_w0zrm5bA-OcjaLqmMmKqAapGhzXrgiCFcH6u3_g8su1oc43UJg0MVo-B5aiYOgy6YQqI/s320/IMG_4700.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eastern European water, mmmm.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtBelCfwWcN0QiSi-8_mWW0VUeREipmKwZGm5yavkBipTkHhtii4kMt84zirqKNShiYimebZuf1oArVQrlMVyz4VcZI_b065vx7-SYo3UCglvpHIMwUF9Js36qjOWdIpIhaKvkaWTJ-c-C/s1600/IMG_4704.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtBelCfwWcN0QiSi-8_mWW0VUeREipmKwZGm5yavkBipTkHhtii4kMt84zirqKNShiYimebZuf1oArVQrlMVyz4VcZI_b065vx7-SYo3UCglvpHIMwUF9Js36qjOWdIpIhaKvkaWTJ-c-C/s320/IMG_4704.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring the old fortress.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7lGrKjv3nGoUR7cW0E-4mxGKtw6xSf0elg273MBiZhUjxrVt-AURQMP9SmjLGFk8KEscNu730iczEcsMj-DLRfwGrbie7jp9bls_UfW6wo8sYikfHVf_IPMmgjYUqsv4TJoIdRU0ASScU/s1600/IMG_4707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7lGrKjv3nGoUR7cW0E-4mxGKtw6xSf0elg273MBiZhUjxrVt-AURQMP9SmjLGFk8KEscNu730iczEcsMj-DLRfwGrbie7jp9bls_UfW6wo8sYikfHVf_IPMmgjYUqsv4TJoIdRU0ASScU/s320/IMG_4707.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new favorite basketball court anywhere: built in the middle of a fortress. So cool!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtuH4ThJt6byRhuEzsMdeZRtKNyRHskbY7P_E_fA1WDkmfGWBqT5URUvIYZCxo7eVrXdPmmxMaR_x3qYzhyphenhyphenAu_-szeryh-V6F7d1O7jdDDTofnTzCNWUWGmvNsCDgsT4CbsyGsoQm-E3P/s1600/IMG_4711.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtuH4ThJt6byRhuEzsMdeZRtKNyRHskbY7P_E_fA1WDkmfGWBqT5URUvIYZCxo7eVrXdPmmxMaR_x3qYzhyphenhyphenAu_-szeryh-V6F7d1O7jdDDTofnTzCNWUWGmvNsCDgsT4CbsyGsoQm-E3P/s320/IMG_4711.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also built within the fortress: clay tennis courts.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEine4-_WXAnykcWemnaruiMU4vGCS0VJqU813iRKtWQDiijPoslF-LO779I3lNNdHe8bviYzgNmR1nE2S_k3NPHz8MJEZnhIATnE2U-AlX-BKF8bx8JQ_AGBV31ZnUYHNPwx6jklwNTqolP/s1600/IMG_4713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEine4-_WXAnykcWemnaruiMU4vGCS0VJqU813iRKtWQDiijPoslF-LO779I3lNNdHe8bviYzgNmR1nE2S_k3NPHz8MJEZnhIATnE2U-AlX-BKF8bx8JQ_AGBV31ZnUYHNPwx6jklwNTqolP/s200/IMG_4713.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big guns.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirskbObWvdF97zG97Agljz8e7jcPxoQUAfQ9oOoRsbsW9F3cUIbd_HM-fCFADS2jainv7oPno92VhdJrAtHtLTkHxspDmn7P0Df4ekBFqYQSMFQ7WvO-wCupNGJfflEvevHqKb39dVLTIW/s1600/IMG_4716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirskbObWvdF97zG97Agljz8e7jcPxoQUAfQ9oOoRsbsW9F3cUIbd_HM-fCFADS2jainv7oPno92VhdJrAtHtLTkHxspDmn7P0Df4ekBFqYQSMFQ7WvO-wCupNGJfflEvevHqKb39dVLTIW/s200/IMG_4716.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For a generally tall/large people group, these tanks seem to be rather clown-car-ish.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwaw5IFbhlLIX_aGroEjbdkQjQRIbkykOMxzk209I2xZMsg384mP69jSvgfBaFDUi5AbkKMLEqPYbGT-G9QDBMG5UvJvM1NyzuJx-6Lp1vppeEs0xqprKhAkcuxIs8YYJKbuIGYbtJP9cI/s1600/IMG_4720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="87" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwaw5IFbhlLIX_aGroEjbdkQjQRIbkykOMxzk209I2xZMsg384mP69jSvgfBaFDUi5AbkKMLEqPYbGT-G9QDBMG5UvJvM1NyzuJx-6Lp1vppeEs0xqprKhAkcuxIs8YYJKbuIGYbtJP9cI/s400/IMG_4720.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down on the new city. From a distance: modern, sparkling, clean.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU41kwLSdjpLlnbqopHwK4_qlL_wzL7M1PnnDizeNBB9jCDHpUTu4Rl2FGqr_2e2BtUDAl4c2V85bSuhHOAqZjmbBpbWRUX2i3vhVPp260WfKcSudMhWIFtiRR5vjcYmpNE9A-syZ3FUbF/s1600/IMG_4722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU41kwLSdjpLlnbqopHwK4_qlL_wzL7M1PnnDizeNBB9jCDHpUTu4Rl2FGqr_2e2BtUDAl4c2V85bSuhHOAqZjmbBpbWRUX2i3vhVPp260WfKcSudMhWIFtiRR5vjcYmpNE9A-syZ3FUbF/s320/IMG_4722.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old city to the left, new to the right.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFxRi7E_D5k0HoljFdDz0spQH8pvSatptYDkWkR9PfqmgMoyzXJxvv8LD8eK9juGls6Lo1rvxUKQydRRDox1LIh_Wgct3LGahlT48Sd-A_0Ak4gPKzAbqtTBXYIEkneVmuaNrjItiCYGss/s1600/IMG_4724.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFxRi7E_D5k0HoljFdDz0spQH8pvSatptYDkWkR9PfqmgMoyzXJxvv8LD8eK9juGls6Lo1rvxUKQydRRDox1LIh_Wgct3LGahlT48Sd-A_0Ak4gPKzAbqtTBXYIEkneVmuaNrjItiCYGss/s320/IMG_4724.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Communist playgrounds...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8uNWrP0WFmtA1lIYl4EBgS2Qp0516bNBShfE_mvjW8XLHJd7g8_eKSI_RfJNgLDFxR-OgR8aIOF9gwp7lzmV7dMNzNjjY8J_KDx9rRocTeHM__rdkaYteQdK-81AJ6k0kZXQUaBLFIf44/s1600/IMG_4726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8uNWrP0WFmtA1lIYl4EBgS2Qp0516bNBShfE_mvjW8XLHJd7g8_eKSI_RfJNgLDFxR-OgR8aIOF9gwp7lzmV7dMNzNjjY8J_KDx9rRocTeHM__rdkaYteQdK-81AJ6k0kZXQUaBLFIf44/s320/IMG_4726.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Within the new city, block housing and wide streets.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The largest orthodox church building in the world. It was massive.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had a lot of fun with our friends!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLFT99ReyrWxX4Kiuz2eZxuRQ9H34DeATsIv2V4JomdbwbkoTI-gmanwUoqhhZgqAErqDT9SyjSW-0KtAwQBGUUma9Vecfd3vO6kKce00MqrLk_U2QD73WKD1EYRmLuL3uNCKJwA2JGxdW/s1600/IMG_4691.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLFT99ReyrWxX4Kiuz2eZxuRQ9H34DeATsIv2V4JomdbwbkoTI-gmanwUoqhhZgqAErqDT9SyjSW-0KtAwQBGUUma9Vecfd3vO6kKce00MqrLk_U2QD73WKD1EYRmLuL3uNCKJwA2JGxdW/s320/IMG_4691.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's for dinner? Meat.</td></tr>
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Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-1572702041403222122013-05-18T11:05:00.002-04:002013-05-18T11:06:53.448-04:00CE Euro Vacay - Budapest<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">A couple of weeks before our daughter's second birthday we took off across Central and Eastern Europe for a wild and crazy touristic adventure </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">en famille</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">. My lovely wife graciously accepted my minimalist packing challenge and we fit all of our essentials for 10 days into 3 small day-packs. Prague - Vienna - Budapest - Belgrade - Sofia. 5 countries/cities in 10 d</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">ays. Planes, trains, automobiles. Couches, air mattresses, hotels, sleeper trains.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">Today I'll share some memories from <b>Budapest </b>(pronounced 'Budapesht', or so I'm told).</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">Budapest was a much needed breakpoint in the middle for us. While Budapest, Hungary is a more eastern european city and country than the ones we'd previously visited, we stayed with some wonderful American hosts who cooked for us and shared American goodies and generally made us feel right at home. The city also had an international feel with all variety of restaurants, embassies, and shopping. Although not everything translated quite right:</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WycbbVcmUTww2MbpvVVeXToXx8Rs9ja0SBNWS7YlphOWYGqXStIz4caF6c_ly5pql4L1-q32OBUE0ABAfPU4jCwhsSviXLY6be4FT7SR-Rs0PoKZLzVKLV2RjsnggbQYOm99tXcEYNX-/s1600/IMG_4675.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WycbbVcmUTww2MbpvVVeXToXx8Rs9ja0SBNWS7YlphOWYGqXStIz4caF6c_ly5pql4L1-q32OBUE0ABAfPU4jCwhsSviXLY6be4FT7SR-Rs0PoKZLzVKLV2RjsnggbQYOm99tXcEYNX-/s320/IMG_4675.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Math must be different in Hungary. 100 years old?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKe_EuKW_KJQdz5rEupteChIzMeHD1y-eB7ON71LCzDBKwdd7TND_3GZorRCeYDT6Tae9-Hc7m6fNqtok21aibZIqkPC9xbp91Pwf1We8FShkjaIEKcjhRRG9qmOU_5G01c0zh7-ITNQ9a/s1600/IMG_4635.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKe_EuKW_KJQdz5rEupteChIzMeHD1y-eB7ON71LCzDBKwdd7TND_3GZorRCeYDT6Tae9-Hc7m6fNqtok21aibZIqkPC9xbp91Pwf1We8FShkjaIEKcjhRRG9qmOU_5G01c0zh7-ITNQ9a/s320/IMG_4635.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hard Rock Budapest. Well-played, son.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Budapest is a city known for its bridges. Not because of their particular grandeur or beauty, but because of what they represent. One side of the Danube river is hilly, inhabited, and full of Castles: 'Buda'. The other side is flat, full of commerce, administration, and housing: 'Pest'. We were told that for years, the two sides remained essentially separate cities, with little connection. In the middle of winter, the river would freeze and people would throw down straw, walk across, and trade/shop for the coming year. Then finally someone had the bright idea to build a bridge and the city would be forever changed. Thus the connected city we know today.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bridge. Not especially significant. Unless you consider free trade within a city significant</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pest. The section of the city, not the nuisance.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The old market. Still a market. So maybe it should just be called, 'the market'.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We had a fun time in Budapest. To be honest, there's plenty we missed - like the baths, the castles, the monuments. We needed a break from our vacation, so we took it by visiting parks, watching movies, and chowing on comfort food (including the best mexican restaurant we've visited in Europe - Arriba's). We'll try and go back someday perhaps!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvzaoHdX351fJN5vqdC764uFRDAENniYY6ijl-PXiPgNtv_Sy4sy7gMui5YUKr4OBd0PQBvqPUYow_Xrq0PjSKU5V98sgKZA9rNkiOuh13pn1VZkp9su_fh8kUMGAfD9r9kz40XaZfemy0/s1600/IMG_4685.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvzaoHdX351fJN5vqdC764uFRDAENniYY6ijl-PXiPgNtv_Sy4sy7gMui5YUKr4OBd0PQBvqPUYow_Xrq0PjSKU5V98sgKZA9rNkiOuh13pn1VZkp9su_fh8kUMGAfD9r9kz40XaZfemy0/s320/IMG_4685.PNG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun times with E: hummus, slides, and bubbles.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZJwMgGvyOw1pAKs5G3rkfO8KG0KJARVH6k62xGau0wPzWa3LVWDG_Gqh4z2k-KC7HDFBC5nokFZacYcLmp8iEbm2dZZNew8Wvzvg8tMGWOlD_Dhoitlvozi5j_32_ENUqPK-0EQlQeBJ/s1600/IMG_4684.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZJwMgGvyOw1pAKs5G3rkfO8KG0KJARVH6k62xGau0wPzWa3LVWDG_Gqh4z2k-KC7HDFBC5nokFZacYcLmp8iEbm2dZZNew8Wvzvg8tMGWOlD_Dhoitlvozi5j_32_ENUqPK-0EQlQeBJ/s320/IMG_4684.PNG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">S's adventures.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD-YMgZBmj8gSXSYlofckaeRG6MrNhBsee-KGh-qY1fkw8FDmUvYt6eOK3MrDMfnGCK3f2CPnybZbeb0KefwWwdTu0fvuiTDp1SBuRrjoXJMKU54E_dc6mIqOVqR1VvUqrtGqkCk3X5wy8/s1600/IMG_4676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD-YMgZBmj8gSXSYlofckaeRG6MrNhBsee-KGh-qY1fkw8FDmUvYt6eOK3MrDMfnGCK3f2CPnybZbeb0KefwWwdTu0fvuiTDp1SBuRrjoXJMKU54E_dc6mIqOVqR1VvUqrtGqkCk3X5wy8/s320/IMG_4676.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Re-hydrating.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRgmpArcWl_FNHMVaDfMovHI4IIt0rZ1r5aNoj0U0CumyHhONvO3nCzG19VSDA1X6QpJxwiZGQj_Mkx3FheSNSo1tVU7QmFmXqCSqivae9C7-p-a6QH55Z_FwJvkuO-hUaZIVgCeKVSf6O/s1600/IMG_4616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRgmpArcWl_FNHMVaDfMovHI4IIt0rZ1r5aNoj0U0CumyHhONvO3nCzG19VSDA1X6QpJxwiZGQj_Mkx3FheSNSo1tVU7QmFmXqCSqivae9C7-p-a6QH55Z_FwJvkuO-hUaZIVgCeKVSf6O/s320/IMG_4616.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Gellert Hotel. It's important and notable. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXg0vFXnYNx3ngHfM97KUaHNzx05xfZNXxMFVIq21JyRLgCzvNhC3Rsiu6DRtxjmg90OxsHslgmnipFmvngAeqpEKdmV94bQ4OqxWBcwhnPpC9qTBU9W1nJe0eSCB8ougw32Me9EKS2yue/s1600/IMG_4643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXg0vFXnYNx3ngHfM97KUaHNzx05xfZNXxMFVIq21JyRLgCzvNhC3Rsiu6DRtxjmg90OxsHslgmnipFmvngAeqpEKdmV94bQ4OqxWBcwhnPpC9qTBU9W1nJe0eSCB8ougw32Me9EKS2yue/s320/IMG_4643.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hungarian Parliament building. Really big, prized by the city.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZsJf3Jok6-DqLp56MVrFmCbZWRYv2ybV6HQU4KeeEhSk5H3QzBPQWYjbb4yxE15EKp-MhtBtHYMCpCCWo3QS3Nbqg0FSMDBySFMvFRl-tg9LVwzM8DB2oaiWASf-PVBMSzEuQ5SYa0t_/s1600/IMG_4657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZsJf3Jok6-DqLp56MVrFmCbZWRYv2ybV6HQU4KeeEhSk5H3QzBPQWYjbb4yxE15EKp-MhtBtHYMCpCCWo3QS3Nbqg0FSMDBySFMvFRl-tg9LVwzM8DB2oaiWASf-PVBMSzEuQ5SYa0t_/s320/IMG_4657.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This building was built for the World's Fair.<br />
A cool concept, each section replicates and represents different notable buildings throughout Hungary.<br />
Saved us plenty on gas money. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdE5Ud_zIzgTDp63eEUk-a_BuSdea7W9IxKvqHL1gdJ2fSFAnDU8Jnd_uWYRBN1telAiZcpjQWb7hvcQ_DvlI-nw2xE9sus-cDD_yltY1hpqKaUZvWjGuesjztyOjb1o2Tho5vp_tFrOk-/s1600/IMG_4682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdE5Ud_zIzgTDp63eEUk-a_BuSdea7W9IxKvqHL1gdJ2fSFAnDU8Jnd_uWYRBN1telAiZcpjQWb7hvcQ_DvlI-nw2xE9sus-cDD_yltY1hpqKaUZvWjGuesjztyOjb1o2Tho5vp_tFrOk-/s320/IMG_4682.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A biiiig church. Every European capitol needs one.</td></tr>
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Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-43783203822974942632013-05-08T16:23:00.000-04:002013-05-08T16:44:52.634-04:00CE Euro Vacay - Vienna<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">A couple of weeks before our daughter's second birthday we took off across Central and Eastern Europe for a wild and crazy touristic adventure </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">en famille</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">. My lovely wife graciously accepted my minimalist packing challenge and we fit all of our essentials for 10 days into 3 small day-packs. Prague - Vienna - Budapest - Belgrade - Sofia. 5 countries/cities in 10 d</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">ays. Planes, trains, automobiles. Couches, air mattresses, hotels, sleeper trains.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">Today I'll share some memories from <b>Vienna</b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">While Prague was my favorite city we visited, Vienna was perhaps my favorite stop on our trip. My reasons for enjoying this stop had less to do with the city and more to do with our experience. While in every other city we visited we knew someone local to give us insights, tours, and an air mattress, in Vienna we were on our own to explore. And explore we did!</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">Found a big park near our hotel. We loved it. Slides contoured to hillsides, obstacles with increasing difficulty, and even a zip line!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">We marched onward and came to an amusement park. Big ferris wheel, Elsie's first roller-coaster (complete with authentic native american décor, strobe lights, and fake smoke), and all sorts of crazy carnival attractions.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">We arrived in the city a couple days before the Vienna marathon, so the city was abuzz with runners. There's nothing quite like eating round 3 of a breakfast buffet in the window of a downtown hotel while every other visitor to the city is jogging by on the sidewalk. Thanks to the marathon timing, we happened to have some friends in town and thus someone to explore with! We hit the zoo, one of the oldest and best in Europe. Animals everywhere and beautiful scenery.</span><br />
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Orangoutang faces!</div>
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My little lion.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;">I always love visiting German speaking countries, mostly for the quality signage we see.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> It turns out there's more to Vienna than banks and parks. There's also a palace. To be honest, it sorta looked like a big country clubhouse to me. Or maybe a Lexington, KY horsebarn :). But there were a lot of people there, so it must be a big deal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Also churches, opera houses, war monuments. And pizza and ice cream.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thanks for a fun visit, Vienna!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.796875px;"><br /></span>Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-91087687092976630452013-05-06T09:04:00.002-04:002013-05-06T09:04:18.564-04:00Our little girl is 2!Our precious daughter is 2 years old today. She's been a joy in our family since the <a href="http://www.goodbyeharan.blogspot.fr/2011/05/elsie-joy-story.html" target="_blank">day of her birth</a>. Narrowing down pictures to share from the past year was hard, and well I failed, thus the explosion of photos below. I love you baby girl, excited to start this 3rd year together!!<br />
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<br />Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-34590681285834355822013-05-01T15:54:00.000-04:002013-05-21T03:46:45.003-04:00Bluhb BluhbI interrupt these European adventures to share a conversation my son and I just had in the car. I love his creativity, even if nonsensical. His words are in <b>bold</b>, mine in <i>italics</i>.<br />
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<b>Bluhb bluhb, bluhb bluhb.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Bluhb bluhb, bluhb bluhb.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>What's that, son?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Bluhb bluhb, bluhb bluhb.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>Yes, I heard, are those words?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>I'm just talking to my arms, Dad. That's how I talk to my arms. They understand.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>Oh, they understand. Well I'm not sure I do. How is it that you talk to your arms?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>I just talk to them. They got married yesterday, when I was a baby. So they understand. It's important that I talk to them.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>And what do you tell them?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Bluhb bluhb, bluhb bluhb.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>Right, that. And what does that mean, exactly?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Phlergn.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>Is that another language you made up?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Yes.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>And what does "phlergn" mean?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>It means, like, that I'm telling my arms to rest.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>Ahh. Well my arms are tired, can you tell my arms to rest?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>No, I'm not connected to your arms. I can't talk to them. But Elsie can, she can talk to your arms. You should ask her to tell them.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>Right, thanks.</i>Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-15541005550035069072013-04-27T09:33:00.000-04:002013-04-27T09:35:06.603-04:00CE Euro Vacay - PragueA couple of weeks before our daughter's second birthday we took off across Central and Eastern Europe for a wild and crazy touristic adventure <i>en famille</i>. My lovely wife graciously accepted my minimalist packing challenge and we fit all of our essentials for 10 days into 3 small day-packs. Prague - Vienna - Budapest - Belgrade - Sofia. 5 countries/cities in 10 days. Planes, trains, automobiles. Couches, air mattresses, hotels, sleeper trains.<br />
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Today I'll share some memories from <b>Prague</b>.<br />
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Prague, locally known as <i>Praha</i>, is the capital city of the Czech Republic. People speak Czech and generally keep to themselves. The city is easy to navigate and is full of beauty. Probably my favorite city that we visited, it's the kind of place that's worth exploring and keeping your eyes open. While there, we enjoyed some good sausage, spiral-fired potatoes, goulash soup, and rye bread. And these great little circular pastries roasted on a big stick and covered in cinnamon and sugar. Also RC Cola!!<br />
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In Prague, we landed at the airport and hit the streets to start exploring.<br />
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With old clocks, towers, and statues all over the city, we had plenty to look out for:<br />
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Great skylines:<br />
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That's a big church building:<br />
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A little music on the bridge:<br />
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Seeing this window sign, he said, "these three things we cannot do." He then pointed to the dog and said, "this one we have to do."<br />
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Want something random and fun to do in Prague? Bobsledding.<br />
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We stayed with some friends in Prague who were at the time 8.5 months pregnant. They love our story of <a href="http://www.goodbyeharan.blogspot.fr/2011/05/elsie-joy-story.html" target="_blank">little E's car birth</a>, so I suggested we race down the bobsled tracks and try to top our story. Sadly, that didn't happen. They did, however, have their baby a mere 2 days after we left town. Congrats Brian and Allie!!<br />
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Finally, we bid adieu to Prague and hopped on a bus to Vienna. Free hot drinks, individual movie screens, and comfy chairs made for a nice 5hr bus ride. If only the Czech roads weren't so bumpy.<br />
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Up next: Vienna, Austria</div>
Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-67341639120782114832013-03-31T18:18:00.001-04:002013-03-31T18:18:05.117-04:00An Easter Blessing
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Last night was a special Father-Son moment. We sat down on the couch to read a pre-bedtime story: the story of the resurrection of Jesus. He was not found in the tomb, because he was - he is - alive! He talked to his friends, they believed, they rejoiced.</div>
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After the story, my son looked at me and said, "I want to hear Jesus, Daddy." I told him to tell that to Jesus. And so he did, "Jesus, I want to hear you... for Easter."</div>
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I must confess: in that moment, I prayed the kind of prayer I used to pray. I asked God for something, and I did so believing with 100% confidence that it would be given. I asked God that he speak to my son. I asked with every ounce on faith in my body.</div>
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We sat in silence for about 3 minutes. A precious 3 minutes in which I listened, I heard, and I basked in the glow of coming blessings.</div>
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"Did you hear anything?" I asked.</div>
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"No."</div>
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I smiled, thankful for his honesty and thankful for what was coming.</div>
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As he went to bed, I told him to keep listening.</div>
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This morning, Easter morning, we dressed ourselves, ate breakfast and headed out. Because I was helping to lead worship at a local church, we left early. On the way, I asked my son, "Did you hear from Jesus?"</div>
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"Yes."</div>
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"What did he say?"</div>
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"He said He's coming."</div>
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And I thanked God. Later in the day he told me the same thing. I can't see my computer screen right now for the tears.</div>
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Where has that kind of prayer life gone? Why is it so hard to believe?</div>
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The kind of prayer that moves mountains, the kind of prayer that speaks to the hearts of 4 year-old boys. That's the kind of prayer that I want to participate in.</div>
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Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-76291439773175583052013-02-08T16:41:00.002-05:002013-02-08T16:41:48.814-05:00Wrong Side of the Pool<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I <a href="http://www.goodbyeharan.blogspot.fr/2010/08/more-naked.html" target="_blank">grabbed my speedo</a> and towel and took off out the door. I was running late, but hey what’s new? My friends would be in the pool swimming laps when I arrived.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was my first time to visit a pool in Marseille. Arriving, I was slightly apprehensive, but excited for the workout ahead. I entered the building and the cramped welcome area, paid my admission fee, and shuffled over to the equipment vending machine. Having never before owned or used a swim bonnet, I was thankful for this machine that replaced snickers bars and cherry cokes with swim caps, bikini bottoms, and nose clips. Bonnets and speedo-like suits are required by the standard pool dress code. I bought my cap and stood up to enter the changing rooms and showers. I never saw the “Men’s Room” sign and arrow pointing directly behind me.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In the changing room area, I stood in a long hall. At the end of the wall were shower heads and then an opening to the pool. Along one side of the hallway were individual changing stalls. The other wall held two large common changing rooms. I’m not sure what led me to believe the left one must have been the men’s room, but that’s what I chose. I dressed, and was stuffing my winter clothes into a backpack when two ladies walked into the room I occupied. “Oh, pardon!” they exclaimed, clearly surprised to see me there. Then I looked up and noticed the word “femmes” written on the door. Aargh, I’d chosen poorly!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I evacuated, essentially ready. I passed what I presumed must have been the men’s room and entered what I presumed to be general ‘get-wet-before-you-enter-the-pool’ showers. I was a bit surprised when hot water hit me. Then I stepped out into the pool area, where I stood at one end of the pool. About 40 people were swimming laps on their lunch breaks, and I was a late arrival. Along the wall behind me hung bags of the various patrons. So I hooked mine up too. Then I noticed bags on the far wall. “Odd,” I thought, “why would someone walk the full length of the pool to hang their bag when there’s hooks right here by the exit from the showers?” Never did I notice men’s changing rooms and showers which opened up directly to that far wall.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The only person in the pool area and not down in the water, I stood my 6’3” frame by the pool’s edge, fully above everyone else. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was standing where only women who had just exited or were about to enter the showers would have stood. I was looking for my friends and shocked that no one was hoisting themselves up out of the water and waving emphatically at me.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Finally I found them, hopped in the pool, and began my swim. It wasn’t until about halfway through my workout that I noticed the full and proper layout of the place and the mistake I’d made. All the men finishing their swim hopped out on one side of the pool, grabbed their bag, and disappeared into the showers. The women did the same on the opposite side. And there sat my sack of clothes, right in the middle of a gaggle of women’s bags. The only question remaining was when to get out, take my affairs, and walk the full length of the pool, announcing again to everyone what I’d done.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And that’s how I spent my lunchtime swim.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh yeah, I later discovered that I’d been wearing my bonnet sideways the whole time. Smooth.</span></div>
Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-16048469231442320712013-01-26T16:53:00.000-05:002013-01-26T16:54:35.733-05:00Happy Birthday to our 4 year-old!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I can't believe this little boy is 4. It's been a long but fun day, and he's now happily asleep in bed. It truly is an honor to be his father. The last 4 years have been 4 of the best of my life. A short look back as our little man has grown from a <i>(africa-born) </i>courageous lion into a <i>(europe-dwelling)</i> tender knight. Love him.<br />
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Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-60828160362029028292013-01-13T16:16:00.001-05:002013-01-13T16:16:19.063-05:00Of Friends and FamilySurrounded on all sides by groomed green space and accessed by a pebbly dirt road rests a simple, elegant country house. Inside, a fire crackles and warms the wooden living room adorned with wood-carved furniture of a bygone era, spacious red floor rugs match the couch and chair cushions. Quiet music emanates from the decade-old stereo speakers, the only hint of technology in the room. A wisp of cold passes through as the family patriarch opens a door to retrieve more firewood, but the door closes as quickly as the shivers of cold arrived. The inhabitants of the room are sipping hot tea and laughing. Elsie is dancing. Sawyer is asking for a <i>requin</i> in his efforts to win a game of Go Fish. The adults (and less-young kids) are stuffed from their abundant dinner of pasta: full of chicken and local mushrooms, walnuts, herbs, olive oil, and parmesan. My kids are full too, mostly on baguettes and French cheese.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAMkD7H59jwbW2NeVKrjsKHmT-YJXJwyjgZr5L-lNzPLRSqAoWjciyUc10jHXG191LZYCDFkdlxZHjdvNAS4eK2J5VE2DUjGH-NBqHqjmgKehyxVHRMATiBFIS-P8rwD8RoMDkkWNOa3xK/s1600/photo-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAMkD7H59jwbW2NeVKrjsKHmT-YJXJwyjgZr5L-lNzPLRSqAoWjciyUc10jHXG191LZYCDFkdlxZHjdvNAS4eK2J5VE2DUjGH-NBqHqjmgKehyxVHRMATiBFIS-P8rwD8RoMDkkWNOa3xK/s200/photo-3.JPG" width="150" /></a>With no distractions, no work at hand, and no worries, we dance, sing, laugh and giggle. Our hosts continually compliment Sawyer's French pronunciation, "he has no foreign accent at all, that's amazing!" They don't realize what we hear: "your accents are so thick it really is unthinkable that someone from your bloodline and family could speak with any clarity at all." But the compliments flow to us as well, so we accept them and know that in this home we are welcomed and loved. Our friend, one of the first that we considered as family in France, is ecstatic to show us her childhood home. The next day, we go for a cold walk through a park and peer into the city. We're all happy here. We feel a part of a family, and we're far from the urban noise of our home (although the homeowners complain of the noisy highway recently built near their house... I slept in the room closest to it and do not remember hearing a sound). Following our walk and playtime through the park, we return for another home-cooked delight by the wood fire. Guinea fowl and gratin dauphinoise served <i>en famille</i> warms us up and the stories continue.<br />
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Following the meal, we part ways, thanking this precious family profusely for their welcoming. We return to Marseille: to the traffic, the noise, the crowds, and the littered sidewalks. We prepare for the Capital of Culture party which saw 400,000 in the streets in one night. We call up our local friends, enjoy a weekend full of birthday parties, and make plans for more gatherings and excursions.<br />
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Not a day goes by here that I don't thank God for my French friends. Without these <i>copains</i> (and their families) that welcome us in as their own, we would not survive this life away from all we've ever known. And yet, we say <i>au revoir</i> far too often. People move. Internships come calling. Opportunity knocks. Life paths cross and then uncross and separate. Only our Salvation and Sustainer remains constant. But with the hurt of goodbye comes the absolute joy, the richness of having family that spans the globe.<br />
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God sustains, but in so doing He gives us persons of peace, families of faith, and friends with whom we can journey, even if only for a time. And we do cherish the moments, every one.<br />
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<br />Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-20191134702443075072013-01-01T15:58:00.003-05:002013-01-05T15:44:50.838-05:00A Change of FocusOh hey there blog, you're still around?<br />
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It's New Years! Hooray! Odd, a holiday I've never really understood or seen much cause to celebrate seems to be a pretty big deal here in France. The streets are more clear today than they were on Christmas. Text messages have been rolling in all day long with well wishes for 2013. So let's celebrate!<br />
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Yesterday morning I sat down with my Bible to read and pray. Where to start? In the middle of a French reading p<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">lan but on break I was at that moment of not knowing exactly where to turn. A wise man once impressed upon me the importance of Psalm 27:4, and suddenly I felt the need to turn there again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">One thing</span><sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14290A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></sup><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">I ask from the</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="small-caps" style="font-size: 16px; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="indent-1" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-4" style="position: relative;">this only do I seek:</span></span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;" /><span class="text Ps-27-4" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; position: relative;">that I may dwell in the house of the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;" /><span class="indent-1" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-4" style="position: relative;">all the days of my life,<sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14290B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)"></sup></span></span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;" /><span class="text Ps-27-4" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; position: relative;">to gaze on the beauty of the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-4" style="font-size: 16px; position: relative;">and to seek him in his temple.</span>"</span><br />
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And in reading a familiar verse again, I knew exactly what I want my life to look like throughout 2013. In a world of multi-tasking, multiple degrees, accomplishments, hats, and titles, I would like one simple thing to define my life this year (and forever?). Dwell in the house of the Lord, seeking Him and Him alone.<br />
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I remember vividly back in my university days common challenges issued by passionate speakers concerning sacrifice, commitment, and idols. Am I willing to forsake all for the cause of Christ? Do I have any idols in my life? Is there anything that I would not be willing to part with? At the time, I remember fighting with guilt over aspects of my life, even if generally good, that I simply didn't feel I could part with. Then I eventually came to a point where I thought I could give up anything, if God asked, but that didn't mean I wanted to.<br />
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You know, as I age, I find the whole spectrum changing. I don't feel guilt much anymore regarding the pleasures of my life. There are things I simply enjoy doing, and many of them I believe God created and placed out there for us to enjoy. I love hiking in His creation or soaking up the sun from a finely trimmed fairway. I gain energy from parties with friends or time in a music studio. But I am now finding that I actually enjoy more the time I spend at the feet of the Father in worship, or walking the streets in prayer more than the other stuff of life that I've always loved. As I pour into Him, a lot more is slipping away.<br />
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Until I forget how much I enjoy that time with Him, that is. Which seems to happen about every 3 days and then takes a week(s) to remember again.<br />
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I pray this year that I'll forget less, and habitual dwelling in His house will begin.Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-61889654799344041222012-09-27T17:00:00.000-04:002012-09-27T17:00:04.098-04:00My Shadow On The Trail<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Thanks to a massive traffic jam in our city, we were arriving late, but I wasn’t about to let that dampen our adventure. Since my son’s birth I’d looked forward to this day. Somewhere along the way I’d made up my mind, “son, when you’re fully potty-trained, we’ll go backpacking together.” He had no idea what that meant, but nodded in agreement anyway. An adventure with Daddy was enough to for him to be sold on the idea.<br />
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Well, this summer that milestone was reached. No diapers, no wet beds, and no qualms about going behind any tree, bush, or rock.<br />
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On a hiking day trip with friends I discovered that some parks in the French Alps allow overnight <i>camping sauvage</i> (backcountry camping, usually forbidden throughout France). I couldn’t have been more ecstatic. I was climbing a mountain with guys that day, but all I could think about was returning to camp with my son.<br />
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So a few weeks later, off we went.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_aRm3hUTCcsI7yIpPbhOfLaIvLULkBaW7C3AO_AYWYC7sNBhDVH4p1XGTZdAm2WLWiAG90Kg6zQefVnUNKxq2UwiYGHbi3jHKMvKVDEcAVd1WjNhyR8pXBinhIlfWBjORnFOpKtEovN0/s1600/IMG_2640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_aRm3hUTCcsI7yIpPbhOfLaIvLULkBaW7C3AO_AYWYC7sNBhDVH4p1XGTZdAm2WLWiAG90Kg6zQefVnUNKxq2UwiYGHbi3jHKMvKVDEcAVd1WjNhyR8pXBinhIlfWBjORnFOpKtEovN0/s200/IMG_2640.jpg" width="200" /></a>When we parked our car and hit the trail the sun was already beginning to set. Slightly nervous, I knew we’d have to make decent time in climbing just under 1000 ft and hiking a couple miles. Doing it with a 3-year-old threw a major question mark into the whole planning. Thankfully though, on this night, my son was up to the challenge. When we began our hike, he took straight to the trail and embraced the unknown. We walked together, sometimes me ahead and he trailing, sometimes he running along to find a new stick. Every incline that included rocks to scale brought him great joy, and he scampered up them with glee. When he became tired, he’d give me the wide-eyed longing look and beg to be carried, but I’d point at the large pack on my back and tell him it wasn’t possible.<br />
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My son is not a quiet hiker. For two hours he sang songs, debated the merits and perils of throwing rocks, and yelled woodsman things like “heeeey birdie!” I don’t recall a moment of silence.<br />
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When we finally reached a nice grassy plateau in the mountains with a nearby meandering stream, up went our tent and we huddled inside. We cut sausage and ate baguettes and fruit snacks, we sipped on our water bottles, and we played some card games. I still can’t believe he survived until 9pm for dinner. Adventure can soften hunger pains, I guess.<br />
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As darkness fell - it fell fast - the cold came with it. I knew it would be cool a few thousand feet up there, but wasn’t quite prepared for just how cold. The night went well and we both slept soundly in our sleeping bags, but the morning was frigid. And asking a 3-year-old to stay in his sleeping bag at 7am when the sun has already been up for a whole hour was torture! So out of the tent we popped, and the chill smacked us in the face like a cold wet fish from Nineveh (or anywhere, really). We were freezing. And everything from the grass to the tent was wet with dew. I began packing up while my son shivered, but my hands were too cold to finish the job. Fires are outlawed in the park, so that option was out. The mountain peaks blocked direct sunlight and thus we were still in the shade, the cold and wet shade, at 8am.
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By 8:30, the sun had broached the grass on the opposite side of the plateau. We thus made the decision to pick up our tent, which I carried above my head while my son followed behind whining of cold. <br />
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We arrived at the other side of the field and sat everything out in the sun to dry. I folded up my sleeping mat into a chair and Sawyer and I huddled together, rocking in the sun. We watched birds and barely moved, not letting go of one another for at least 30 minutes. That will be a 30 minute stretch I may never forget. He felt warm and safe in Daddy’s arms, and I do wish you could have heard the elation in his voice every time a bird flew out of a tree or made an audible morning call. We were cold, but the sun had arrived to save us. In our distress my son found comfort in the arms of his father. The wonder and beauty of creation kept us company. This is life. This is a memory I will cherish.<br />
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</i> Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-62195822314966653212012-09-04T15:33:00.003-04:002012-09-26T09:01:51.076-04:00The Hurt of the Unknown<br />
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<span class="s1">My son started school today. For the past couple years I’ve looked forward to this day. I work mostly out of our home, so free babysitting for 8 hours a day sounds slightly more than wonderful.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">And yet, as I watched from our apartment balcony him walking away with my wife, a heaviness fell upon me.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I’m hurting. My little boy has begun school.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I won’t be there to speak into every time he feels hurt, confused, or scared.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I won’t be there to tell him he’s tough.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I won’t even know the first time he feels lost and insecure.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I won’t know the moment he first feels betrayal.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I won’t be there to explain when he sees injustice.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I’ve never wanted to live our lives in such a way that my kids won’t fall down and hurt themselves. I just want to be the first one there to pick them up.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But there’s more to it than that. I know every parent goes through emotion and pain when kids reach milestones, start school, move out, and so forth. I don’t mean to demean any of that, it’s all very real and quite difficult. But we threw another variable in. While my son’s in school, I won’t have a clue what’s going on there. We are living in a foreign land, and he is attending a national school, and I know absolutely nothing about it. I never had anything remotely close to the experiences that he’s about to have. I never had classmates who speak a different heart language than myself. I can’t relate to an urban childhood, a socialized system, a <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/world/europe/in-france-entrepreneurs-battle-culture-of-no/2012/09/01/58d12e9a-f287-11e1-adc6-87dfa8eff430_story.html">culture of ‘no’</a>, and a knowledge-based education. I don’t even know yet the terms he’ll learn for learning. I definitely won’t know the words he learns from the other kids in a few years...</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Isn’t it nice to know that God’s not a father like me? Unable to relate? Not him.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us” (John 1:14).</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Maybe God hurt on that day like I do now, probably worse. But in so doing He positioned himself to be able to relate to us. We don’t pray to a God that can pick us up and rub our boo-boos but doesn’t understand our pain. We pray to a God that has walked this earth and experienced these struggles and knows EXACTLY what we’re feeling, thinking, and doubting. God’s not blind to our experiences 8 hours a day. When Jesus came to earth, so too did the Father. And through those experiences, he’s just like the big brother I hope my son will one day be to his baby sister when she’s lost and hurting in school. “I’ve been there, I know what it’s like. Here, let me show you the way forward.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“<i>For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are</i>” (Hebrews 4:15).</span></div>Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-10326349765428645022012-08-28T16:13:00.002-04:002012-08-28T16:13:52.333-04:00Learning to Golf in France
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">To play golf in France one generally needs a license. What is a license for golf? Well it basically shows that you’re committed enough to not be a destructive hack, you’re healthy enough to not keel over with a single swing, and you’re insured enough in case your ball cracks someone’s skull.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">After a couple years of playing the dumb foreigner, I finally bought a license to play golf in France. Only one problem: a license carries with it a lifetime ongoing handicap index. As a new licensee I have no handicap to prove (and it’s been at least 7-8 years since I last calculated one in the US). Thus the decision was made to give me the highest handicap available, a 54.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">That suggests I average triple-bogey on every hole.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">How does one change said handicap? By playing in officially licensed tournaments and events. Are these events flighted and handicapped by the indexes of the players involved? Well yes.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I’d long speculated about the day of my first tournament as a 54 handicap. Would I be paired with other 50+ handicappers and find myself sitting in the fairway awaiting their 10 shots required to reach the green? I’d better pack a sandwich, and a book. Would I come in with a net Kim-Jong Il score (18, was it? Or 22? Ok, even with 54 strokes that’s a looong shot for me) and win the biggest trophy available, drawing looks of ire from everyone involved? Would I live up to my 54 handicap, somehow, and walk home defeated? Or would I feel compelled to apologetically explain my situation to everyone involved and thus nullify the fun?</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Well today was that day. I signed up for a tournament ‘de classement’: basically a round of golf with other competitors simply for handicapping purposes. Very official and competitive, but no trophies, no new drivers to win.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">After calling last week to sign-up, giving my handicap of 54 and my license number, I arrived at the course early this morning. I was advised by the director to come a few days before the tournament and play the course, but I shrugged it off and said I’d be fine.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Being the new guy, the only participant to have never played this particular course nor an official tournament, I was quickly identified and given a full explanation. My favorite line came from the director who told me “Now this is a difficult course, so take your time and don’t get discouraged. The objective is to finish every hole and mark down a score. Don’t worry if it seems harder than you expected.” [The longest par 4 on the course was just under 300m (328yd)]</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Since I had no course knowledge whatsoever, I was paired not with the worst of the bunch but a couple guys who could help direct and teach me. Claude, a 50/60-something local, and Zecherie, a 14-yr-old rising star, would be my companions. Claude quickly took on the teacher role, Zech the “wary-of-the-new-guy” gaze.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We stepped up to the first tee and I read the score card. A 293m par 4 awaited. The classic gentle handshake 1st. The tees appeared to be a little forward, and I saw a nice large green sitting straight in front of us. Nothing but a couple small trees, some long grass, and a bunker as deterrents. I knew right away my strategy: go for it. Claude was first to hit and popped a fairway wood low and short, out into the middle. Zecherie followed with a middle iron, safely in the fairway, or grass (this was not a top-of-the-line manicured course).</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I stepped up with a small crowd watching. The 54 new guy was about to swing away. Big stick in hand, I took a soft practice swing, visualized my shot, breathed deeply. I then swung, and swung hard. I connected and the ball rocketed off the face of my club. A little right of center, but tracking. Knowing the coming result, I took my eye off the ball and just watched the green, waiting. And waiting. And... where was my ball?</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Suddenly Claude and Zecherie approached me, looks of confusion on their faces. “That’s not our green!” said Claude. “It’s a dog-leg,” echoed Zech, “it goes to the right.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Not only was it not our green, the green at which I’d taken aim was only about 170 yards away. I’d over-shot the wrong green by about 100 yards and my ball was lost in the woods.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Way to go big guy, you sure impressed them there.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Off to a glorious start on my 54 handicap round, I re-teed and tried again, this time with a 7-iron. The day went on and I eventually played like I had a clue, but then the skies opened up on the 5th and rain and lightening came pouring down. We never finished.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Looks like I get to tee it up in a tournament as a 54-handicapped new guy again!</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">________</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As a side note... most courses I’ve played in France leave me feeling out of place. Golf is still a rich-people exclusive sport here. I’m comfortable on the fancy courses, but when the round ends and elbow rubbing on the clubhouse deck begins, I start searching for an exit. Today’s course was different. 3 examples:</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">-The course superintendent wore a belt packed with shotgun shells.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">-The 7th green was out-of-commission because wild boars tore it up the night before.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">-I watched a couple play their round with a dog leashed to one of their golfbags.</span></div>
Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-60824896887534323692012-08-27T10:18:00.001-04:002012-08-27T10:18:28.348-04:00Family Hike in the Calanques<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6hkvtTpJV1NfUKca33GMZ0ejcW9W8Z32ldBdEzw0LJTFIKka2RDGSZuMaKiQYSJn85ucY8bXohNYN7HvB1US7g9GHxnI2ey3mOz4pK66tFyHmTcolj0x8aYTlcUoj-AtFW58pSk99lc-G/s1600/IMG_2835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6hkvtTpJV1NfUKca33GMZ0ejcW9W8Z32ldBdEzw0LJTFIKka2RDGSZuMaKiQYSJn85ucY8bXohNYN7HvB1US7g9GHxnI2ey3mOz4pK66tFyHmTcolj0x8aYTlcUoj-AtFW58pSk99lc-G/s400/IMG_2835.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Since the birth of our kids, JJ and I have oft discussed an idea we share to have a family exploration day. The objective is to set a day - maybe monthly, bi-weekly, or weekly - to simply go out as a family and explore. Exploration could be done in a park, a picnic area, a museum, or a new quarter of the city. We all love the beauty of God's creation and feel alive when we're in the woods listening to the wind whistling through trees or over rocks. Thankfully, we are blessed to live in an area surrounded by natural beauty. Recently, a trek into the calanques as a family told us that we are almost ready to institue said day of exploration.<br />
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Together with a couple dear friends, we took off on a hike through rocky provençal terrain, headed for the water. Our descent took us about 2 hours, and upon arrival the sun was already below the rocks, leaving us to swim in the cool shade. Swimming allowed the spotting of fish and ecosystems in the crystal clear water. We played and laughed, the kids climbed rocks, and then we hiked a couple hours back up. By the time we reached the high point, the sun was setting and the sky beautiful. Our final trek out was in the dark, but so much fun. Sawyer made the entire hike on his two feet, encouraged by our constant reminders of his incredible toughness (we really were impressed!). Elsie loved the ride and giggled with every step, especially the climbing ones.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6F-sIEE52j-XgVWrI4X5_XuAd0_KncYzoeUBpxRg98RIQxKOP2PzHYCoHAqyWvtw-IdeSomZ_F9k7QMZe3luuGh2m3N01wb_xvhBGdGOOwghGM0c1JRfm0e9L7MSpBtVYfGdHf9bBU9D/s1600/SAM_0963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6F-sIEE52j-XgVWrI4X5_XuAd0_KncYzoeUBpxRg98RIQxKOP2PzHYCoHAqyWvtw-IdeSomZ_F9k7QMZe3luuGh2m3N01wb_xvhBGdGOOwghGM0c1JRfm0e9L7MSpBtVYfGdHf9bBU9D/s320/SAM_0963.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're hiking! We're hiking!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtiuxnDiJgjRImhTQqwbG0Vaoe62cRb_aG9Ctx-7g2b_cwGvhcKjs-v9gEUoXos3s8GJWyrSFTKG8sLhMj19PaAA9pM3h_grSGkK-D6oEvlv3V1Lv4PFbOqrF4ddg8qCnkyZzx-vz11C1I/s1600/IMG_2841.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtiuxnDiJgjRImhTQqwbG0Vaoe62cRb_aG9Ctx-7g2b_cwGvhcKjs-v9gEUoXos3s8GJWyrSFTKG8sLhMj19PaAA9pM3h_grSGkK-D6oEvlv3V1Lv4PFbOqrF4ddg8qCnkyZzx-vz11C1I/s320/IMG_2841.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He climbed, she followed. Really believed she'd do it, too.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkKVOiLAR5dMejp0_ag6vZqOd_5jNVVp8eU3J0dtvxiWJ252HsFm5eVfnW8z3Rx-ZHKzY_IerWZmernFY-UCGVXj2oUvWJYiT0j0heHby9W6o2DtH8mv5QApY2rbTbsklG96VzX6pLDAws/s1600/SAM_0966.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkKVOiLAR5dMejp0_ag6vZqOd_5jNVVp8eU3J0dtvxiWJ252HsFm5eVfnW8z3Rx-ZHKzY_IerWZmernFY-UCGVXj2oUvWJYiT0j0heHby9W6o2DtH8mv5QApY2rbTbsklG96VzX6pLDAws/s320/SAM_0966.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I see you there.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQXirZ3ikqm2JRFxe_oJhZaae602-emSkKEcDmZpmy9Dc9WqlR3QurKyXyBOM7eyTWuXBrcFhsFpyCSu5EThdUZQjpdFQlG4WiQ0q7BMUxB4W-JBkIS1DhBd8-DGS7XU_er6Ame59wb0gS/s1600/SAM_0971.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQXirZ3ikqm2JRFxe_oJhZaae602-emSkKEcDmZpmy9Dc9WqlR3QurKyXyBOM7eyTWuXBrcFhsFpyCSu5EThdUZQjpdFQlG4WiQ0q7BMUxB4W-JBkIS1DhBd8-DGS7XU_er6Ame59wb0gS/s320/SAM_0971.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just look at the sun and smile...</td></tr>
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<br />Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-61260452487914043482012-08-23T08:51:00.001-04:002012-08-23T08:51:18.058-04:00Let It Be?
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It was a pleasant morning. As I settled into my easy chair to spend some time in prayer, a melodic chorus began to play itself in my head. The song was a runover from the day before, when I’d spent some time in a park with a local musician friend. One the songs we played was the Beatles’ iconic “Let It Be.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">“<i>Let it be, let it be, let it be...</i>” The words ran through my head. Looking out my window in the coolness of the morning, I watched the neighboring wall turn from gray to yellow as the sun rose, and the moment felt sublime. <i>Let it be...</i></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Wait, what was I saying? Let it be? No, no, no!</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">I sat up straight, shook the cobwebs from my head, and realized the lie I'd let myself buy into. Let my life, my city, my neighbors be? No way. I was up early to pray for just the opposite. I am beseeching the Spirit of God to move through my city in a powerful way, because I care too much about it to let it be. It is He who will bring to light, who will humble, who will provide, who will save. I can choose to live in line with that, serving my neighbors and sharing the truth of God, his love, and his redemption. Or I can choose to let it be. The apathetic within me wants to choose the passive route and mellow out, let it be.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But I can’t do that. I won’t.</span></div>
Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-57516577870279204452012-08-20T10:12:00.000-04:002012-08-20T10:12:41.263-04:00Random Photos from Grandparent Visit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-90939853664406512052012-08-19T16:59:00.002-04:002012-08-19T16:59:35.816-04:00Grandparent Visit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Bibi and Papi (paternal [grand]parents) came to visit, hooray! We had a ton of fun with them. It was a beautiful thing to watch them play with the kids who simply came alive. The past couple weeks have been full of days they will remember for a long time to come. We (mama and daddy) enjoyed the break, allowing ourselves to rest some while the grandparents did their work :).</div>
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So what did we do?</div>
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...there was much baseball played:</div>
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...numerous picnics and cookouts:</div>
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...playgrounds:</div>
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...swimming pools and beaches:</div>
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...presents, presents, presents:</div>
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...and a giant wheel!</div>
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Thanks for the memories, Bibi and Papi! We'll miss you, so glad we were able to share our lives with you locally. Welcome back anytime (bring more baseballs).Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-71468095644935427632012-08-15T10:26:00.001-04:002012-08-15T10:26:23.055-04:00Trip through GreeceIn typical French fashion we've had a summer full of travel, visitors, and sunshiny stores-closed take-it-easy fun. I'll start with Greece, a beautiful place with great people (who's accent while speaking English may be my favorite).<br />
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Much (nay, most) of our time in Greece was spent as this couple, relaxing on beaches or poolside, watching waves lap in or tracing boats in the distance. Never in a hurry to get anywhere.<br />
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Many of our non-American neighbors spend their lives convinced that air-conditioning will make one sick while we laugh at their sweaty neanderthal ways. But as it turns out... we had air conditioning at every hotel in Greece (not all of equal effectiveness) and every one of us four got sick. Maybe there's something to it!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This little girl took quickly to the warm pools of Greece.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So this is vacation, huh?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winding streets, white walls, little shops.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I really wanted to buy a house on a Greek island and paint it something other than white with blue trim. Would probably start a riot.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stairs and passageways. Stairs and passageways.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ancient town. Rocks. Not white walls.</td></tr>
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To Athens we go:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our last night we spent out an outdoor café next to a church around which kids played. Sawyer even ordered his dinner all by himself: chicken on a stick with fries, bread, and a water. A perfect ending to a great trip.</td></tr>
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<br />Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-29380772498130759392012-07-07T06:35:00.002-04:002012-07-07T06:35:23.964-04:00July 4 Celebration in MarseilleJuly 4, 2012, came and went with a muted bang this year (we couldn't pull off any actual fire works this year). We hosted a party in our little urban apartment, and a little over 50 people came to celebrate with us. Mostly French, our party guests of friends and neighbors sampled some American delights like hot dogs, baked beans, marshmallows, and plenty of desserts. I joked that if our city quarter didn't all yet know that we're American, they do now! We had an absolutely wonderful time. Many of our friends were of enormous help with set up, food prep, and cleanup. Thanks to everyone who participated, we'll do it again next year!<br />
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Our friend Caroline took some great pictures of the event, enjoy:<br />
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<br />Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-43734177087038411112012-06-20T05:25:00.000-04:002012-06-20T05:29:55.683-04:00French Fans: Cynical, Fatalists, or Connoisseurs?Last night I finally did something I've been meaning to do for the past couple of matches. I grabbed some friends and went to a local Marseille pub to watch a Euro2012 football (soccer) game. The match was between France and Sweden. Sweden had nothing to play for, and France was playing to earn an elimination match against the beatable Italians instead of the titan Spanish.<br />
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Arriving about 20 minutes before the start, we found the pub packed and worked our way to standing room just below the large screen. The game began. We watch, we moaned, we groaned, we got anxious, and we exhaled. But a 0-0 first half left us with little to which we could attach our collective excitement. Still, the pub remained jovial through half-time, as throughout the first half France had seemed to be the better team, though lacking a goal to show for it.<br />
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Then half number 2 began, and I watched with curious awe as the pub went through a change that caught me off-guard. I'm sure there's a stages of grief chart somewhere that could explain it, but I couldn't reconcile what I saw with my history of American sport fandom. Here's what happened:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglwFYtiRwTEZSCys603rFaMYkfoZPPXczcjyPbWtXMeIomUf9GB8PvYzLGKNq28jdMqrC3mjoXaKUqnb7sH6iMZVUxXNM9Kw-REQsWEHnj8Dqz49aGYBqF6en37PYX4RGzjnA9aixVq06P/s1600/ibra+goal+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglwFYtiRwTEZSCys603rFaMYkfoZPPXczcjyPbWtXMeIomUf9GB8PvYzLGKNq28jdMqrC3mjoXaKUqnb7sH6iMZVUxXNM9Kw-REQsWEHnj8Dqz49aGYBqF6en37PYX4RGzjnA9aixVq06P/s200/ibra+goal+2.jpg" width="200" /></a>Anxiety continued. 0-0 and if anything, the Swedes seemed reenergized in the second half. We watched, we waited. And then in the 54th minute Zlatan Ibrahimovic - Sweden's 6'5" pony-tailed striker - struck. In style. Sportscenter number 1 play style. A powerful and fluidly graceful horizontal floating scissor kick, taking a pass from the air and pounding it into the net, changed the score to 1-0, France now losing. The moment the ball went into the net, the French pub in which I stood erupted in cheers and clapping. How could this be?!?<br />
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I asked a friend nearby why the Frenchmen, fans of French soccer, were cheering the goal of the opponents. "Did you see that goal?" he asked, "It was beautiful. We are showing our appreciation of the skill." Ok, I guess I can buy that. Still, I was shocked by the sudden and immediate reaction which seemed devoid of laments.<br />
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Down 0-1, we continued to watch, but things did not get better for the French. Shots sailed wide and high. Passes were picked off. Charges resulted in confusion and congestion.<br />
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Groans resumed in the bar, but seemed accompanied by laughter.<br />
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Needing a goal or two with time winding down, France substituted in more attackers, but to little effect. Then in the 90th minute, Sweden struck again. Again, the bar erupted in cheers. Down 0-2 and we're cheering? This time I wasn't going to buy the connoisseur explanation. The second Swede goal was not especially impressive. A shot bounced off the crossbar and sent the goalie searching, then the rebound was kicked into a loosely guarded goal. Not spectacular, and yet we applauded. Thinking through the limited history I know of the French people, a cycle of cynicism came to mind. The crowd had clearly given up on their team, these were the cheers of cynics.<br />
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But we weren't done. Stoppage time went on for 4 minutes, and I saw the French crowd degrade to yet another level of hopelessness: fatalism. With only moments to go, when the French should have been attacking and the Swede's laying back and enjoying their victory, a Swedish pass downfield ended up at the feet of a charging striker who broke past the French defensive line and headed toward a shot. The whole pub was cheering this opposing player as he attempted the shot. The absurdity of it all was striking.<br />
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I had a hard time wrapping my American mind around what I witnessed that night. <span style="background-color: white;">American sports fans are usually die-hard hopeful to the very end, at least in my experience. Two years ago in the World Cup, when down to Algeria and facing elimination from group play with mere minutes to go, we all held our breath and hoped. Even after the 90th minute had passed Landon Donovan scored a goal which moved team USA to first in the group. We believed to the end. Even in losing efforts we are usually hanging on until the final bell, the last out, the last possession. There's always a chance, right?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">In France, before the game, we shout "Allez les Bleus!" But I rarely hear whispers of "we can do it, gotta believe!" I don't see faces covered from nerves, prayers whispered in fading moments, fingers crossed. Maybe the French really are cynical, fatalists, or simply connoisseurs of good play. Maybe I just haven't been around long enough to see a good team.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Oh well. Allez les Bleus! Beat Spain, like that's even possible...</span>Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-33209409517169067512012-06-03T15:56:00.001-04:002012-06-03T15:56:47.021-04:00Summer Brings Out the Smiles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1532806339426162478.post-91017308442703445892012-05-29T11:42:00.000-04:002012-05-29T11:46:37.301-04:00Regatta Race<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Over the weekend we hopped on a boat and went out in the Med to watch a Regatta race (composed of mostly novices - a friendly match - we were told). Thanks Columba and Jacques for setting it up and helping us get on!<br />
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<br />Michael & Joe Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09192738400948268523noreply@blogger.com0