Craig's Experience in Wales A personal documentation of my journey as an exchange student in Great Britain

I got posed this question many times before arriving in Amsterdam. I prefaced each response I gave with a smile and a laugh. You see, there are a few factoids about the city that I wasn’t aware of before signing up for the trip. Fact #1: Amsterdam is the drug capital of the world. Fact #2: Amsterdam is the sex capital of the world. Fact #3: Coffee shops in Amsterdam aren’t like Starbucks—they don’t specialize in cozy environments, espressos or lattes. They focus on providing an environment where you can smoke any drug or eat any mushroom. For a majority of the 60 people I went with, these three facts were reason enough to go to Amsterdam. Well, not for me. I’m that guy in the group who refuses to jump the fence because of the dangerous risk involved. I steer very clear from anything that will kill my precious brain cells. Throw me a couple museums, some bakeries, and a Dutch accent and I’m completely satisfied. I’m a 20-year-old guy from Kettering, Ohio who most likely will never be back in The Netherlands ever again. Why would I or anyone else ever want to ruin this once-in-a-lifetime experience in any way? So, needless to say, I found myself humored by people questioning me about what I was going to do in the city. “It’s Amsterdam,” I thought to myself, “it’s a huge international city. Somehow I think they offer enough things to keep a conservative guy happy.” So, a day before leaving on the trip, I decided to research the city and see what else it offered beside pot. I was incredibly pleased at what my eyes saw on the website in front of me: Anne Frank House, Van Gogh Museum, countless canals, beautiful architecture, bakeries, and so on. Wow… wait a second, the Anne Frank House? This proved to be quite a pleasant surprise for myself. I have read the book, watched the movie, and have learned about her in every history class I have ever taken that discusses World War II. For some reason—I have yet to truly understand why—I have an incredible fascination with the Holocaust and everything that transpired. I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to actually see the secret bookcase and get to walk through it. So, after viewing the website, I realized that I would have a truly incredible weekend. Yet all at the same time I realized that this excursion to Amsterdam would not just be for my benefit. What I am referring to is in Ephesians 6:12: “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” In essence, my presence in Amsterdam would be seen as a threat for “the powers of this dark world”. I came to understand that this wasn’t just a trip, but an assignment. I realized that all the facts I had learned before were not just facts. They were conditions. God would be utilizing me to shine His light amidst a city that celebrates sin and evil. He would be sending me to shed truth on a place that believes every lie told by Satan. I realized that my focus on the trip needed to center around how God was using me at any particular moment. We left for Amsterdam on Thursday night. To be honest with you, I had no idea how long it was going to take us to get there. I was late for the only meeting we had for the trip and didn’t hear any details about the traveling. To be honest, I didn’t care. I kind of enjoyed the mystery aspect of not knowing how many hours it would take to get us there. That was soon spoiled as I discovered it would take us about 14 hours to arrive—6 hours on bus to Dover, England… 2 hours on a ferry to France… 6 more hours on a bus to Amsterdam. Once again, it didn’t really faze me. I’ve been on enough long trips to realize that it’s all about focusing on the destination. Very soon into the trip, this mindset proved beneficial. 45 minutes into the trip we needed to change buses for some reason. That whole ordeal took about 1 hour, and was the only real setback that occurred. During the bus rides—to and from—we saw quite a bit of movies. I highly recommend seeing Cars if you haven’t already. Put in Wayne's World if you feel like getting a maximum amount of sleepage during a movie. It helped give me my best stretch of sleep on the bus. On to the more exciting part of the trip… we arrived in Amsterdam at around 11 a.m. on Friday morning. After getting off the bus, my first view of the city was of a canal. I had never seen a canal until that point and was quite fascinated at its position in the middle of the city. My fascination arose when I looked to the right of me and then to the left. The buildings were so close together—no break in between any of them. I felt as though I was on a movie set of some kind. Everything looked so real yet at the same time it seemed like a wonderful mirage. As I stood gazing at the surroundings, I was surprised how cold it was. Nevertheless, I decided not to think about it and just take in what I was seeing. We soon started walking toward our hostel—the Hans Brinker Hostel—which was a brisk 10 minute walk from where the coach dropped us off. I was surprised at how much exercise my eyes got in such a short amount of time. I must have looked like a paranoid schizophrenic to the Dutch who were looking at our large group. I couldn’t stop looking all over the place—above, below, to my left and right… and all along the way I was mumbling things like “I can’t believe I’m in Holland”. All up and down the streets there were people riding their bikes. I had to take a double take on half of them because a majority were working class men and women in nice clothes. A little side fact: during my whole time in the city, I didn’t see one person wear a helmet. Apparently it clashes with a suit or blouse. So anyway, we made it to the hostel and got all the room assignments figured out. Of the whole group, there were 32 girls and 17 guys. A majority of the people came in groups. I didn’t. They all chose to stick together and get rooms. And my reward for wanting to stay in a room with new people…? Room 116. Laura, Christin, Suzanne, Samantha, Loisa, and Craig. 5 girls. And me. “Oh, well,” I thought. I set my belongings down in the room, told the girls to have a nice day and set out for the city. I left the hostel, turned left and had one goal in mind: Anne Frank House. There is just one problem with this scenario. At the time, I didn’t know the name of the hostel or the street it was on. I just figured my good visual memory would get me back without any problems. So I headed off to the place I couldn’t wait to see. With camera in hand, I took plenty of pictures before stopping a random person and asking him where the Anne Frank House was. I followed his directions, all along the way being mesmerized at the city around me. The canals, the people on their bikes, the boats in the canals, the accents, the little shops, the bakeries… it’s so surreal to actually be IN places after only seeing pictures of them for so long. And then came my first experience with pick pocketing. Along the way to the Anne Frank House, I noticed a man oriental-looking and a little taller than me who was walking the same exact pace as me. It seemed strange, so I looked over at him. He just looked at me and then the other way as we continued to walk. Looking to my left, I stopped to marvel at a beautiful church in front of me. I glanced to my right and noticed about 20 feet in front of me, the man also stopped. I took notice yet continued to walk in the same direction I was going. A few seconds later, I dropped a piece of gum on the ground and proceeded to throw it in a trashcan. I then continued on my journey towards Anne Frank House. It didn’t take me long to stop completely in my tracks as I noticed about 10 feet in front of me, the same man had stopped again. “He’s waiting for me,” I thought. I immediately started walking in the other direction, feeling pretty good about myself. That’s right… iron pockets, baby. Nobody can touch me. Eyes peeled, sense enhanced. Perhaps I had developed a sixth-sense for sniffing out would-be pick pocketers? Once I got to the Anne Frank House, my anticipation was through the roof. While I was in line, I tried asking a question (obviously in English) to three women standing next to me. “Excuse me,” I said, “but do you know if you can take pictures in the house?” No response. They looked puzzled and a tad irritated. You’d have thought I had asked them to tell me their deepest, darkest secrets. “Oh yeeeeeaahhh,” I thought to myself, “they speak other languages over here.” I didn’t know what to say, so I just said “sorry” and walked into the house. I paid for the ticket, grabbed a handful of pamphlets, and started to make my may around. I wish I could have had all of you there with me. It was situated where you walk through the house and read the material and observe the rooms at your own leisurely pace. You’d think I was observing the birth of my first baby if you saw the deep breaths I was taking as I entered the first room. It would be virtually impossible to give details of each room, so I will enlighten you with highlights of what I saw: A real Jewish star they put on their clothes, ID cards of each person in the Secret Annex from Auschwitz, Anne’s original diary, a quote book she kept, letters the father wrote to his sister upon realizing his girls didn’t make it, a board game given to the young man in the Annex for his birthday, assignments done by Anne’s sister that she sent to a teacher, Charles Dickens books that were read by the father while in hiding, a letter and envelope the father wrote to a family member right before they went into hiding, a menu from the dinner they had celebrating a couple’s one-year wedding anniversary, and on and on…. It would be a crime for me to leave out some more crucial details. Just looking at the movable bookcase gave me such a rush. But walking through it… oh man, what an experience. What an experience. The bookcase looked so real—no wonder it had stooped the Gestapo for so long. You’d think my wife was walking down the aisle by the way I was savoring that moment. It was, indeed, a dream come true. The secret bookcase. And little Lucy thought she was the lucky one when she crossed into Narnia. I couldn’t help but envision what it was like for Anne to walk through that bookcase—what she must have felt, what she must have feared, what she must have dreamed…and here I was… little man from Kettering, Ohio, blessed with the opportunity to get a very brief glimpse of what it must have been like for Anne Frank. I could have went back to Swansea at that moment and been the most satisfied tourist that ever walked the streets of Amsterdam. But it continued. I walked those infamous steep steps to get into the actual Secret Annex. Each room was labeled with whose it was. It was as though all my senses (minus the pick-pocketing one) were not only heightened, but also expanded and multiplied. I was walking on their floors… I was glaring at their walls…. I was breathing air from the same room that they did for so long… I was touching the same staircase that led Anne to the attic where she did much writing…. I could hear the deep crackling of the wooden floors beneath me… and somehow I could taste the remnants of fear that must have permeated throughout. Forget any roller coaster I have ever been on. For me this was the ultimate adrenaline rush. I also had the opportunity to see Anne Frank’s room that she shared with another young man (his name escapes me at the moment). It was a tiny sliver of space, but nonetheless I felt as though I’d just entered another cosmos. All along the walls were the same exact clippings of photographs that Anne put up. There were too many to count and I wasn’t able to look at them all. I felt a deep sadness for Anne at this moment. I used to do the same thing in my room at home in Ohio—cut out pictures or articles that I somehow had a connection with. And here I was—in Anne Frank’s exact room—realizing the desperation she had in trying to connect with the world beyond her window. And I used to complain about sharing a room back home? It was tough to visualize two beds in this space, let alone one. But somehow they managed. I could have stood in that room for hours, looking at every photograph clipping and staring out at the outside world in front of me. When I left, though, I only hoped that my brief 5 minutes in there would be enough to remember for a lifetime. This room led to a set of stairs that were connected to the attic. If any of you have seen the movie, you know what I am talking about. We weren’t allowed to go up into the attic, but we could look up and see the tiny window and a series of boxes on the ground. There was a mirror as well, beaming to us images of what the attic looked like on the side we couldn’t see. As I stared at that window—so small in size— I once again tried to visualize Anne looking outside. It was so much for me to take in all at once. “I can’t believe I’m here,” I thought to myself. The only thing missing at that moment was my mom. How desperately I wished she was there with me, to have a fellow Anne Frank buff by my side to soak it all in. As I was walking throughout the house, I tried so hard to cling on to every detail that my eyes noticed. She wanted to be there with me but couldn’t. The best thing I could do, I thought, was to provide her the best word pictures as possible. So, mom, and everyone else reading this, I hope this recollection of my experience is painting you a clear picture. One would think that a bathroom is just that. A bathroom. Oh, but you have no idea. It was so neat to walk through their bathroom. It was like everything took on meaning. I remember reading how they couldn’t turn on water or use the bathroom during office hours because of the warehouse underneath. And now, here I was, staring at the exact same pipes, knobs, sink, drain, toilet and mirror that I found so fascinating in her diary. It feels awkward even thinking this, but their toilet was actually very neat looking. It had this elaborate blue design on its porcelain with flowers, petals, and objects of the sort. Let’s just say, where it lacked in comfort for the hiney it made up for in design and appearance. I sincerely doubt those thoughts ever crossed their mind, though. And perhaps, of all the people who have ever walked through that bathroom, I’m the only one to analyze the toilet. Eventually I got to see her original diary. It was inside a large glass case with lights all around to give in illumination. Nothing could have spoiled that moment for me. I counted it as such a blessing to be able to see that diary. Now, after years and years of history class, I was staring at the object of so many discussions. I will never forget my experience in that house. I ran through a whole gamut of emotions, from joy and anger to excitement, and sadness. I found out, right before I left, that Anne had wanted to write a novel about her experience in the Secret Annex. It blows my mind to think how God granted her that desire. He took her raw emotions—her diary—and created an impact that has been felt on every generation since. I can only hope that the legacy I leave for Christ would echo with the same vibrations. When I left the house, I wanted to head back to the hostel. But remember what I mentioned earlier? I didn’t know the name of the street or the name of the hostel. Bad move, Craig. I’ll spare you the details… ok, no I won’t…. so, I left the house and had a few people take my picture in front of the house. I mistakenly asked a group of giggling girls. “Excuse me,” I said, “but can you please take my photo in front of the house behind me?” Once again, no response. Just giggles. But they knew what I was saying because I could hear them whisper things in English. Did I have toilet paper on my shoe or something? Honestly, this exchange made me a little frustrated because I just wanted a simple picture. I can laugh about it now, but I deeply felt like screaming at the top of my lungs, “Just take the friggin’ picture! What is so funny about taking a picture?!?!” I realized at the moment that I needed something to eat. So after the prolonged photo session, I went off to find some real food. Not munchies but food. Before I found a place to eat, though, I stopped in a bakery. “Excuse me, but where is your restroom?” I laughed at her response. “Free if you’re a customer and 50 pence if you’re not a customer.” I desperately wanted to buy the cheapest thing—under 50 pence—and show her that she couldn’t dupe me. But I was just hungry. I didn’t care. I paid her the money and somehow crammed myself into a restroom a little larger than the ones on airplanes. Eventually I found a place that had tasty-looking food on posters outside the restaurant. I walked in and asked if they had hamburgers. I just wanted meat and something I knew would fill me up. So, I ordered it and sat down at a table near the window. I glanced atop the window and realized it was an Isreali restaurant called “Amigos.” Not Mexican, but Israeli. I know… why Amigos, then? I wouldn’t think the word “Isreali” would come up again for me on the trip, but it sure did. I was the only one in the restaurant so the man and I got in a little conversation. It was a painful exchange of words. He didn’t really understand me and I didn’t really understand him. I eventually got my food and it was amazing. The meat tasted so good and the salad was so fresh… I have a picture of it on my “Amsterdam” photo gallery if you’re interested in looking at what it was that I ate. It was definitely money well spent. When I left, I must have headed in he wrong direction. Nothing looked familiar and I wasn’t exactly sure where I was. “Oh, well,” I thought. I rather enjoyed the idea of getting lost in a big city and trying to find my way back. That thought changed a few hours later. I found the city very attractive—full of activity, people on bikes and people walking their dogs, canals at every direction. I soon discovered that Amsterdam is a very romantic city at night when there is a full moon (not in the Red Light District, of course). The moonlight and lights from buildings reflect on the canal’s waters, and many of the buildings are right on the water and it truly gives a feel that says “I’m nowhere near America”. They put lights up that illuminate around the canals during nighttime. It’s awesome to see. At one particular moment I had the blessing to see a swan treading though a canal. It sounds very simple, but the sight was like one that you’d see in a movie. Once again, I wish you all were there with me. Back to the daylight. I continued walking throughout the city, taking pictures and noticing quirky little traits of the city that I don’t see in America (i.e. mopeds whizzing throughout the streets). Eventually I ran into a man as we both were looking at the same church building. “It makes one wonder how they built that..?” he said in a type of comment-question. I used the universal response of “Yeah”. We continued to talk (his photo is in my gallery), and I discovered that he is writing a book that will “change the world”. He informed me that it’s about how nobody in the world should be without a job. I understood that part, but he felt compelled to continue in economic jargon. My comprehension was about five words behind, so I couldn’t exactly piece together everything he was saying. So once again, I used a universal response: “Wow. That’s interesting. That should impact a lot of people.” We spoke some more as he asked where I was from. I said America—in Ohio—but he thought my features spoke otherwise. “You look like you’re from Isreal,” he said. “Your features give off that appearance.” I told him my heritage of Polish and German, but he kept thinking otherwise. Needless to say, it gave me a chuckle. Eventually we went our separate ways and I continued on my journey to the hostel. A bit of time passed before I laid down my pride and realized that I was lost. The next step was asking somebody for directions. And that’s where it got tricky. I didn’t know anything about were I was staying—no name, street or even what it was near. I walked a good 3 hours or so and attempted to ask countless people about where to go. Nobody could help me, though, because I didn’t have any details. A few people in shops took out phonebooks and I glanced to see if any hostel name looked familiar. No luck. I thought my visual memory was good, but apparently it only covers parts of Ohio and not Europe. During this “misadventure”, I found a Dutch Christian bookstore and walked in. The people were charming but like the rest, didn’t really help me out. The lady pulled out a map and I lost after she said “we’re here.” I found it so neat how the people use canals as direction points. It’s not street names or anything, but “make a right at the second canal” and so forth. I loved hearing that, because the only body of water that I get direction from is in relation to is the Hocking River. After getting fueled through food again, I confessed to God that I was lost and needed direction. I knew that He would provide a way and that I would get back eventually, so I decided to make the most of it and enjoy the surroundings. I did…. and finally, after all day of not running into anyone from my group, I ran into a guy that I noticed from the bus. “Thank you, Lord.” You’d have thought he was my long lost sibling by the way I greeted him. We eventually got back to the hostel and I sat down for a good amount of time. Eventually the girls in my room got back and they thought it would be fun to go to the coffeeshops around town. I went with them and decided to just see what it was like. In my honest opinion, they were so stupid and pointless. You sit there, smoke whatever you want and however much, and order drinks. The people I was with asked me if I wanted to smoke some, but I delightedly said “no” as I took a swig of my Evian water bottle. I was actually getting a little buzzed from just sitting there amidst all the smoke. I thought maybe you do other things in these places, but that is all you do. Smoke and drink. And you know what? That is ALL some people did during the ENTIRE time in Amsterdam. How sad. It was hard to see all the lost people in that place and to look in the eyes of the people I was sitting next to. As I write this, I am vividly reminded of a song by Building429 called “Searching for a Savior”. Because whether any of them knew it or not, they were all using those drugs to fill a void that only Christ can provide. As I sat there in the “Bulldog Palace”, I realized why God had called me to the city. So, to myself, I prayed for the people I was with, the people around me, and the city itself. Even as they were talking to me, I just nodded my head as I shot them prayers to notice God and for Him to reveal Himself to them in any possible way. It was this same focus that would carry me throughout the rest of my time in Amsterdam. You see, after the coffee shops, we went to the Red Light District. For those of you who don’t know, this place is FILLED TO THE BRIM AND OVERFLOWING with sexual sin. I asked God for complete guidance and discernment as I walked the street. I could sense his armor around me and knew that He was with me with every step. I am hesitant to tell to you what I saw, but nonetheless I will explain some. There was an erotic museum, a sex museum, and women in windows selling themselves. There were signs for live sex shows and peep shows and all around the area were shops that strictly sold sexually suggestive material. It broke my heart and felt so empty. I didn’t want to look at anything but the ground, yet I forced myself to look at places and people. I needed to pray for them and they needed help. How many people enter that place and are concerned with eternity? I’m a small guy but I knew that God was asking me to lift up supernatural prayers. Amidst my walking in the street, I glanced over at a window with a lady selling herself. To the right of her, the next building over was a church. A church. In the middle of all this mess was a place where people go to worship God. That vision alone gave me such reassurance and peace. It made me realize that God is so much bigger than all that sin. He is right there, watching over each and every person that walks that place that Satan is so prevalent in. It was as if God was telling me, “There is no place that I am not. I am everywhere!” As the next day rolled around—Saturday—I realized that I needed to go with a group this time. So I did and we all decided to go to the Van Gogh Museum. After sleeping in a little bit (a lot of travel and walking can make one tired), we headed out for the city once again. When we got to the museum, I found myself filled with anticipation. If you would have told me a couple years ago that I would be excited to see art, then I would have laughed in you face. I used to view art as something that only old people with nothing to do found interesting. But as I have taken various art classes and learned more, my views have changed. Now I love art and find that I gain incredible perspectives by just looking at a simple painting. So needless to say, I was quite excited to see some of Van Gogh’s original work. When we got in the museum, we headed downstairs in order to work our way up. The place was absolutely humongous and housed thousands of pieces of artwork from Van Gogh and artists that were influenced by him. It was so incredible to stand at an arm’s length from his originals. Prints that you see in books or on posters don’t do any justice to the real thing. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing—the actual, real, first-hand individual brush strokes of paintings that I have seen for so long. These were the actual, real things. Van Gogh himself had done these… as I was looking at “Sunflowers”, the thought hit me like a ton of bricks: “I am so blessed to get this opportunity to obtain so much culture. To be in Holland, seeing all these amazing things, this is like a dream that I never imagined would come true. And I’m only 20!” At that moment I fell more in love with God. How could I not? It was like he was telling me, “Imagine what else I can show you if you just trust me. This is only the beginning.” While in the museum, they had a few guys walk around who were like hawks. One of the girls in our group took out a water bottle and within two seconds, one the guys was right in her face telling her to put it away. It was neat to see old men stand in front of paintings, fold their arms, tilt their head to the side and take off their glasses in a curious type of bewilderment. As much as I enjoyed looking at the paintings, I also found it enjoyable to look at other people’s reactions to the paintings. It was like a Thanksgiving day feast for my observable nature. At the museum were also various letters he wrote, that his mom wrote, and that others wrote in regards to his works. They also had drawings he did in pencil and various other mediums. It was hard to see EVERYTHING in the museum, and I surely wasn’t able to. But I saw so much and was so grateful by the time I left the place. To remember all the good memories at the museum, I bought a poster to put in my apartment for next year at OU. I saw so many paintings that I have seen since my time in elementary art class. Little did I know as a chubby little third grader that one day I would get to SEE the paintings of the man who chopped off his ear. I loved so many of his pieces. “The Harvest” (for any of you out there who know what I’m talking about), was one of his paintings that seemed to grab me the most. Later on in the day, the group I was with decided to branch off. I went my own way and decided that I knew enough of the city to find my way back. So I stopped at a couple bakeries and got some more food. If there is anything I absolutely love, it has got to be trying new food in new countries. Everything tastes so amazing over here—whether in Wales, Holland or anywhere. A neat little fact: the milk over here is only good for 3 days after opening. I found that out the hard way after I bought a gallon and opened it up. About 5 days later, my flat mates informed me that milk here is not like it is in the States. “I thought all milk is from cows,” I contemplated to myself. I had a puzzled look until they told me. Needless to say, I realized a gallon is not the best way to go for one person. So anyway, I got the food in Amsterdam, sat down in “Dam Square” (there’s pictures in the photo gallery), and ate it as I watched everything around me. I find it enjoyable to just people watch, so I was quite satisfied. I went into a souvenir shop after that and purchased a t-shirt. I have another goal to get flag patches from every country I go to and to sew them onto my book bag. So I also bought a Holland flag patch. The t-shirt purchase, though, would come back to haunt me. As the day went on, I saw more sights and just explored and relaxed. As the sun fell and it got dark, I made my way back to the hostel. I ran into a group that was going to eat so I went with them. I ordered something small that wasn’t in English on the menu. It turned out to be a completely English dish—like tiny pancakes. They were alright, nothing really special. After the meal, the group went to the coffee shops to go buy pot and smoke it. Obviously, it wasn’t my idea but I still tagged along and thought perhaps I’d get in some good conversation. I didn’t, thought, and felt the urge to part from the group. My heart was heavy and I couldn’t stand he pungent odor of pot and beer and all the nasty things that came in every direction. I realized that I needed to get to an Internet Café and saw one across the street. It doubled as a coffee shop, of course, and I went inside. “1.60 for 20 minutes on the internet” I looked into my wallet and discovered I only had 2 euro. Excellent. So I wrote an entry on this site that is now deleted. For those you of you who didn’t read it, it was a brief call for prayer for the city. At that moment I knew that I was to inform others about what I was seeing. To be somewhere in person is different than to be thousands of miles from it. That is obvious, of course, but to me this was a fact I wasn’t comfortable with. During that time in the coffee shop, I felt that people needed to know of the sin going on so prevalently thousands of miles away; to have someone inform them from first-hand experience. After getting in the entry before 20 minutes, I left and headed to the hostel. I was tired and just needed a little sit-down. So when I got there in my room, I thought I should check my wallet. I did and discovered one of my cards was missing. I wasn’t really upset for some reason, but at the same time I felt uneasy about not having it in possession. Then I remembered the only place that it could be. I used it to pay for that t-shirt at the souvenir shop and must have left it there. I looked at my cell phone and the time 9:30 peered back at me. I knew, after one night in the city, that the only shops open that late were souvenir shops. So I put on my hoodie and coat and booked it about a mile or so the shop. I was hoping that the police wouldn’t stop me as they saw a man running fast through the streets with his hoodie over his head. I heard some laughter as I ran by groups, and figured it must have looked pretty funny to see a guy running in Amsterdam with jeans and a coat. “If anything,” I thought, “this is the only running I’ve done in about a month”. Eventually I made it to the store and walked in completely out of breath, I walked up to the lady who was behind the counter when I bought my t-shirt, and I didn’t say a thing. I couldn’t get the words out and apparently I didn’t have to. She put her hand beneath the counter, smiled at me, and handed over the money card that I had left on the the counter hours before. “You’re an angel,” I said, “seriously, thank you so much.” I looked at a couple standing at the register and informed them as well that she was an angel. They didn’t say anything and I realized how “touristy” I must have looked at that moment. I pondered the odds and realized that someone could have stolen it, she could have kept it and told me she didn’t have it, or I could have dropped it walking out of the store earlier in the day. But nope, she had it. As soon as I walked out of the store, they closed for the night. Good thing I ran! On my way back I ran into a group of people from Swansea. We hung out the rest of the night and played cards back at the hostel. In the morning, we left for Swansea and arrived back home at around midnight. Long travels but definitely worth it. It was quite an experience, and I feel blessed to have had the opportunity. I doubt that I’ll ever be back to Amsterdam again, so I thank God that he allowed me to take that one spot that was left for the trip. This is like a novel entry here. It has taken me quite a long time to compose, but I felt the urge to let all of you know about my experience. Class was cancelled for today so I thought I’d take the opportunity to write up my account of Amsterdam. We got snow here last night for the first time in a long time. I was in the bathroom shaving at 1 a.m. when Jack, one of my flat mates, barged in and was all excited that it was snowing. He invited me to go outside and for a snow ball fight, but last night I was so exhausted and just wanted to go to bed. I looked out the window and saw that it had snowed about an inch. During the day the workers at the Student Village put down salt and everyone was talking about possibly getting snow. I laughed and found it rather humorous, seeing that back home in Ohio this little bit of snow wouldn’t even merit a second thought. But here…. it was like Queen Elizabeth had stepped foot on campus. I’m laughing now because I look out the window and it’s rather sunny and all the snow has completely melted. Earlier this week I got out a map of Europe, my calendar, and pulled up options for passes on the Eurail. I decided that my month long break at Easter—from Marh 24-April 24—would be one that I’d make the most of. So, I have decided that I will go to Italy, Switzerland, Austria, Czech Republic and possibly Poland. I was contemplating Greece, but I know that a month (it’s really little less than a month) will go by fast. I am real excited and can’t wait to start researching and planning everywhere that I want to go. God is good and I can’t wait to see what all He has in store. God Bless, everyone! Thanks for all the encouragement and support you’re giving me through the comments. I love hearing from everyone! I pray that these entries are giving you a clear visual of what things are like for me. My addresses here are on Facebook. If you don’t have Facebook, then e-mail me and let me know if you’d like the addresses. There is one for letters/postcards and another for packages. Hope all is well in the States! Philippians 1:3, Craig