#NomadicNordgrens January 2018 Travel Update by Rachel Nordgren

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Every month, Hans and I send out a travel newsletter to update our friends and family about our European adventures. It has been a lovely way to keep in touch with family and friends back home, and stay connected to new friends as we make our way across the map.

Over the next few weeks, I'll be sharing some of those newsletters with you on the blog! If you'd like to read about our adventures in real time, you can check out our #NomadicNordgrens hashtag or sign up to receive our monthly updates right here.


Thank you so much for wanting to share in our nomadic adventures across Europe! We're incredibly grateful to have friends and family who are interested in our journey and want to follow along!

Every month, you can expect to see...

  • 4-7 photos (there's more in this one because we're making up for Nov. - Jan.)
  • Where we've been, where we are, & where we're headed next
  • The best thing we've eaten that month
  • The most interesting thing we've done or seen
  • A quick note from Hans & Rachel
  • An even quicker note from Banjo (his lack of opposable thumbs makes typing rather difficult)

Enjoy, friends!

1. We saw The Late Show with Stephen Colbert in NYC!
2. Banjo in his Queen Mary 2 "regalia" in Southampton.
3. Our dinner companions on the QM2; Erich, Emily, Ian, and Julie.
4. Our leased car, a Peugeot 308 SW we have named "Fleur."
5. We've fallen in love with classic British cream tea.

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1. Poppy, Jasper, and Banjo in Porlock
2. Reggie, Walton, and Banjo in Bath
3. Max, Mylo, and Banjo in Rushden
4. Oscar and Banjo in Ilmington
5. Lucy and Rachel in Cheddington

Where we have been: We started off in Kansas at the end of October. Since then, we've been to...

  • Vermillion, South Dakota
  • Chicago, Illinois
  • Indianapolis, Indiana
  • Frostburg, Maryland
  • New York, New York
  • The Queen Mary 2, The North Atlantic
  • Southampton, England
  • Quick jaunt to and from Dover to Calais to pick up our car
  • Rushden, England
  • Porlock, England (in the Exmoor National Park)
  • Cheddington, England
  • Bath, England
  • Ilmington, England (in the Cotswolds)
  • Honorable Mention to Oxford, where we took a delightful day trip

Where we are now: Le Vast, France (near the D-Day beaches!)

Where we are headed next: Laz, France (in the Brittany region of northwest France)

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Now, for one of our favorite subjects...FOOD.

So far in our travels, we've eaten really well. Banjo particularly enjoyed our time on the Queen Mary 2, because he got fresh chicken and bacon from the kitchens at every meal! We've also loved sharing meals with our housesitting "hosts" as well. We have been blessed by wonderful hospitality at every turn, and we're so grateful!

Hans' favorite meal: a venison burger at the Top Ship pub in Porlock
Rachel's favorite meal: fish + chips and cider at the Bottom Ship pub in Porlock Weir

1. The view of Porlock + the surrounding fields from one of our walks.
2. The "dreaming spires" of Oxford University.
3. Bletchley Park, home of the codebreakers during WWII.
4. Advent candles in St. Dubricius Church in Porlock.

When it comes to interesting things to see and do...our brains feel a bit like oversoaked sponges. There are simply TOO MANY amazing, significant, historic, stunningly gorgeous places to visit in one lifetime! It's impossible to pick favorites, but if we had to...

Hans' favorite: our long walks on the moors surrounding Porlock in Exmoor
Rachel's favorite: anything and everything to do with Oxford University

Most of all, we're really grateful that we're in a season of our lives where we can travel around Europe like this. This has been the thing at the top of our "Bucket List" since we got married, and (as some of you know) the last season of our lives definitely reminded us that we don't always have as much time as we think we do. We have been deeply thankful to have met such lovely people (and animals!) along the way, too.

There are lots of purposes to this trip, but these are the big ones...

  • Figure out where "home" is (what sort of place do we want to settle down in?)
  • Have adventures we'll still be talking about when we're 80
  • Reconnect with who we are as individuals and as a couple
  • See as much of Europe as we possibly can!
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And now, the reason you are REALLY here...a note from Banjo:

Uruope smellz funee sometimez. Der are lots of doggee bumz 2 sniff. I lik it when my hoomans take me 2 pubz. Lots of nise peeple huv pet me and geeven me treets. Dey call me a purdy doggee and my hoomans say "thank you" like dey made me or sumthing. I miss my freends Randee and Oloover from the beeg boat. I doont huv 2 weer a leesh as much and dats nise. My hoomans doont let me sleeps on der bed anymoor. Boo.


It's terrific fun to relive our adventures! Hans and I keep pinching ourselves...how crazy is it that this is our life? Traveling Europe together with our dog in tow? We're so grateful for the ability and opportunity to travel, and see this part of the world that we've been in love with from afar for so long. We are determined to make the most of our time here before heading back to the States in December.

What do YOU think are some of the purposes of travel? Let's talk in the comments!

Transatlantic Travel: A review of Cunard's Queen Mary 2 Ocean Liner by Rachel Nordgren

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From personal experience, I now realise that staggering round a transatlantic liner in a dinner jacket with a martini is the normal, rational, reasonable way to cross the Atlantic. Heading for an airport and strapping yourself to a flimsy aluminium tube is an unfortunate and eccentric aberration.
— Mark Smith, from the travel blog The Man in Seat Sixty-One

Inevitably, one of the first questions a European asks us when they see us with Banjo is, “How did he do on the flight over here?” To which we respond, “Actually, we took a ship!”

I had read one too many horror stories about dogs in the cargo holds of planes, we knew it would be so much less stressful for Banjo (and for us), and traveling by ship with a dog ended up being just a few hundred dollars more expensive (we booked during a sale) than flying.

So we figured, why not?

Transatlantic travel by ship is, without a doubt in my mind, the classiest way to go between the States and Europe. There’s something quite elegant about setting sail aboard a majestic vessel, feeling the steady thrum of the massive engines as they propel you into the arms of a new adventure, watching the sky and sea steadily slip by day after day.

Embarking on a “crossing” feels thoroughly glamorous and sophisticated. Even if that sensation is merely the product of cultural nostalgia, years of clever marketing, and our collective tendency to romanticize the Titanic…spending seven days traversing the Atlantic aboard a 151,400 ton marvel of human engineering and ingenuity is still pretty damn cool.

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Before the advent of air travel in the 1950’s, a ship was the only way to get across the Atlantic Ocean. Which means that, for Hans and I, the journey from New York to Southampton felt like a sort of reverse-immigration. Our ancestors sailed into the New York harbor, and a couple hundred years later we were sailing out. We waved goodbye to the Statue of Liberty and watched it fade into the distance, a mirrored reflection of how our forbearers came to the New World.

We were talking with a friend about air travel vs. ocean travel, and while flying is definitely faster (although we did switch time zones one at a time on the ship, helping to avoid the dreaded jet lag) and can be cheaper, it can also feel a bit, well, “abnormal.”

Don’t get me wrong, that can be pretty great. It is amazing that human innovation has advanced to the point that you can get almost anywhere on the globe in less than 24 hours. But traveling by boat allows for a bit of margin, a sense of breathing room that allows you to mentally process your journey at a more natural pace. I for one am looking forward to that processing time when we head back to the States at the end of the year.

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I ought to clarify something: the Queen Mary 2 is an ocean liner, not a cruise ship. The QM2’s hull is constructed with 40% more steel than a cruise ship, has four stabilizers that are each roughly the weight of the US Space Shuttle “Endeavor” (most ships only have two), and was designed with the strength and speed necessary to take on the North Atlantic. She eats cruise ships for breakfast.

Also? On a transatlantic crossing, you’re not stopping off at lots of exotic locations like you might on a cruise. There are two ports of call: New York and Southampton. That’s it. Your exotic views include water, more water, occasionally some dolphins, and then for a change of scenery there’s some more water.

Personally, we loved it. Even though we sailed in November, the sea was mostly calm and we spent lots of time out on deck, albeit somewhat bundled up. In our modern age of constant connectivity, it was actually refreshing to feel so isolated for a week.

The Queen Mary 2 travels the same Southampton to New York route as the ocean liners of the gone-by golden age of transatlantic travel, and it also sails in the same “lanes” as massive cargo boats. While onboard, your range of visibility is only about 12-13 miles (which is basically nothing in the North Atlantic), so even though you can go days without seeing another ship, the reality is that you’re not totally stranded. The bridge, of course, can “see” for hundreds of miles around with their fancy-pants navigational instruments.

It is almost impossible to be bored on the QM2. There are fifteen restaurants and bars, 24/7 room service, five swimming pools and a smattering of hot tubs, a ballroom, a spa, a theatre, a gorgeous library, and the first planetarium at sea. There are theatre productions and musicals, insightful daily lectures, movie screenings, an art gallery, and a mini shopping mall. You can go to a class for just about everything: fitness, ballroom dancing, how to use Facebook, watercolor painting.

The great English entertainer, Beatrice Lillie, once asked a crewmember aboard the original Queen Mary, "When does this place get there?” The ship truly does feel like a floating city. There’s even a glossy, bright red post box in one of the main atriums.

Even though we were staying in the lowest category of stateroom (an interior berth on one of the higher decks), our whole experience aboard the QM2 still felt luxurious. We ate like kings, dining on a scrumptious five-course dinner every night in the gleaming Britannia Restaurant whilst being serenaded by a harpist, utterly immaculate settings on the crisp white linen clad tables. High tea is served daily to the tune of a string quartet in the Queen’s ballroom, complete with enough polished silver and tiny delicacies to give the Ritz a run for its money.

Fun fact: the annual tea consumption aboard the QM2 would fill an Olympic size swimming pool.

As I was reading reviews about the Queen Mary 2, I came across two schools of thought. The majority of people raved about their experience, singing the praises of the ship, the food, the crew, the on-board activities. On the other hand, there were some folks who I could almost see looking down their noses at the rest of us through the Internet, complaining that “the whole thing has gone to the dogs since they let the riff-raff in.”

Here’s what I think: if you can find something to grumble about after crossing the Atlantic on the Queen Mary 2, you are likely either a massive jerk, or you are a crewmember who has had to put up with the massive jerks with a smile on your face.

We have officially booked our return crossing from Southampton to New York for December 2018, and all three of us are really looking forward to it. Well, Banjo would be, except his concept of time is rather limited. I have another post coming soon about our wonderful experience with the QM2 Kennels!

Find out more about Cunard's Queen Mary 2 right here.

Have you ever considered traveling by ship? Why or why not?

Image sources here and here.

Dear Wide-Eyed Traveler... by Rachel Nordgren

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There were so many things I freaked out over before Hans and I left for this trip. Where would we go? What would happen if there was an accident? Did we have everything we needed? I googled "what happens if you're traveling and nuclear war breaks out" far more times than I care to admit.

Now that we've been on this nomadic adventure for nearly 6 months (!!!), there are a few things I'd like to tell that frantic girl back in Kansas. If you're about to embark on your own adventure, whether it's across the country or across the continent, I hope this letter can encourage you, too.


Dear Wide-Eyed Traveler…

You, my dear, are about to embark on the loveliest adventure.

You do not know where the road will lead, and oh! how very exciting a place that is. You feel the tension though…the lightness and the freedom and excitement on the one hand, the dazzle of spontaneity, yet also the fear of the unknown and the fragility of your frame of reference.

You feel caught in the middle sometimes, don’t you? That’s quite all right. You don’t have to have it all figured out the moment your feet depart the shores of that country you’ve called home. If you had it all figured out, what would be the purpose of the journey?

I’m just going to get this one out of the way: you’re going to over pack. Just embrace it, accept it, and give yourself grace as you lug your godforsaken luggage across the surface of the globe, cursing that extra pair of shoes with every ounce of fury you can muster.

You’re likely going to over pack your expectations and goals and preconceived notions as well.

Again, give yourself some grace.

You didn’t know what you needed when you set out, because you’ve never had this adventure before. You had never walked these streets or hunched your shoulders against that sort of icy wind or needed to haul all your possessions up those many flights of stairs. You’ve likely never had your prejudices and precious biases so blatantly laid before your eyes, and that’s all right. You’ve likely never needed to distill what you own into just what you can carry across a train platform.

It’s okay to let some things go, my dear.

Send it home, toss it in the bin, give it to someone else or let the breeze gently pry it from your fingers atop the windblown moors of the Exmoor coast.

You didn’t know what you didn’t know, and that’s okay.

Now, what are you going to hold on to? What is worth the space in your suitcase and your soul? What do you need to let go of in order to travel more freely, more lightly?

You’ll be surprised what you can live without.

The countries you visit will surprise you, too. If they don’t, you may as well go home, for clearly your mind has more in common with a shriveled prune than a remarkable instrument of the human experience.

A waterfall of different languages and dialects will fall upon your ears, and your mind will grasp to comprehend meaning when the gap between what you hear and what you know stretches wide. Your mind will constantly be discovering…how the street signs look and what a zucchini is called and who’s who in the high places and the smell of the sea in that particular town.

Culture shock will chip away at you your darling norms and habits.

Your comfort zone has no border control.

It’s going to be FANTASTIC.

You’ll eat really well, too.

Oh, the food! Gird thy loins, oh traveler!

(And by that, of course, I mean make sure you pack a good pair of stretchy pants)

Eat macaroons in France and fish and chips in England and a bratwurst in a pretzel bun slathered with spicy mustard in Germany. You’ll eat a lot of rather normal food, too…not every meal will be totally remarkable…but the “normal” food of any given place can still be quite a feast if you turn down the lights and pour a couple glasses of ruby-red pinot and strike a match to set a candle or two aflame.

Flick on the radio and you may as well have lived here (or there) for twenty years.

More than almost anything, though? Stretch wide thine eyes.

May you get a crick in your neck from staring up at skyscrapers and cathedral ceilings and snow-dusted Alps. Dial open your pupils like a camera’s aperture and strive to let in all the light you can. Look closely. Notice the pattern of tiles and the grains of wood and the way the sun sparkles off the surface of this river vs. that one. Notice the fountains and the beggars and the stained glass and how they package apples at the grocery store. Pay attention to how your feet stumble on the cobblestones and can’t help but halt at the sight of glorious sunsets over a particular landmark.

And for goodness sakes, take lots of notes!

Feel the tension between all that you see and all that you want to see. Know thyself, my dear, and know when to nudge yourself along to the next thing and when to let the dust settle a bit. There will always be another thing on the list, one more place you could go or sight you could see. Don’t get so caught up in exploring that you trample over the beautiful experience right in front of your nose in an effort to fill you camera roll with one more set of snapshots.

(Drink plenty of water and get enough rest every night, too)

Remember, as Paul Theroux so wisely once said, "Travel is glamorous only in retrospect." When you’re slogging your way uphill in the rain because you miscalculated the bus timetable or trying to find cheese that doesn’t smell funny or attempting to work out the knots in your back that popped up after you spent 97 hours in the car, remember that not every day is going to look like it fell out of an bespoke travel magazine.

That’s perfectly fine. It’s what makes the gorgeous moments all the sweeter.

Finally, give yourself permission to travel imperfectly. You’re going to make mistakes. That’s okay. Above all else, be kind and respectful to yourself and the people you meet. If you do those two things, there’s not much else you can really mess up too badly.

Learn, and keep going.

See you out there!

Love,
A fellow nomad

Truth + Beauty + Goodness by Rachel Nordgren

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I sit tucked into the corner of the black leather couch in the small room in the unassuming office building, arms crossed tight.

"I don't know how to...do...faith right now. I don't even know if I want to..do? have?...faith right now. I don't know what it even means anymore." I haltingly confess.

Our counselor gently smiles, my husband reaches for my hand.


It was our last meeting with our marriage counselor before leaving for Europe. She is, for all intents and purposes, a saint. She has composed herself with heroic non-judgement across the coffee table from us while we've stormed at one another, asked just the right questions and raised her eyebrows in expectant silence when she knows we haven't told the whole truth. She has a dry and slightly off-kilter sense of humor (my favorite) and literally began one session by saying, "So, we haven't talked about sex yet. How's that going?"

Of course, she was not surprised by my confession. My husband wasn't either; it was something we'd been talking about for months. It's natural, I suppose, that I ended up there. I'd watched my "super Christian" marriage nearly crumble, my Mother suddenly die, my father practically be broken by grief, the white church-goers of my country elect a racist pedophile, my own sanity dance just outside my grasp.

It's natural, I suppose, that I started asking questions and pushing against everything I'd ever known, because so much of it wasn't holding anymore. I had no use for watered-down theology. I needed something a little stronger, thankyouverymuch, preferably on the rocks in a cut glass tumbler.

There was tremendous guilt in that, too. My parents' Evangelical church had swarmed around us in the wake of my Mom's death, stuffing our freezer full of meals and mowing our grass and inviting us over for dinner and praying their hearts out for us. There was sincerity that I could not deny and was so grateful for. I felt ashamed and guilty for being frustrated with the Church when the Church was loving my little hurting family so deeply.

Yet there was also this deep-seated, thrumming sense of "I don't belong here anymore."

Eventually, I squarely extricated myself from the "Evangelical" box. This is not to say that I abandoned Jesus (although to some Evangelicals, leaving Evangelicalism equates to leaving Jesus), but merely that I decided I was done defining my faith in Jesus strictly by the terms of Evangelicalism...particularly white, patriarchal, western Evangelicalism.

My ideas about faith are sliding in and out of focus, and there's not much I know "for sure." It feels incredibly vulnerable, and frightening at times. It's essentially like the entire framework of my existence was kicked out from under me, and that's a terrifying sensation.

Yet I could not, with emotional and intellectual honesty, cling to my belief systems any longer.

This is known as deconstruction, apparently. There's a name for all of us out here in faith freefalls.


Our counselor tilts her chin and considers this for a moment. "I think," she says, "that God isn't beautiful to you right now." I nod. She goes on, "It will probably be helpful for you to see God in different places...to ask yourself how God looks beautiful in different cultures and communities and churches as you travel."

She encourages us to engage with books and theologies that make God beautiful, and rattles off a couple of authors...James Bryant Smith, Brennan Manning, Brené Brown (duh), Brian Zahnd, St. Francis of Assisi. She asks us to consider spiritual formation habits as we travel...things like silence, solitude, gratitude, physical exercise.

One of the most freeing things to come from her lips is this: "There is going to be a pendulum swing when you go from one narrative of God to another. You might overcorrect, and that's okay. That has to happen so that you will come back center."

I'm being given permission to wander.

I am, as Sarah Bessey says, making peace with an evolving faith.


Truth.

Beauty.

Goodness.

It's the last big idea that our counselor imparts before we leave, and it buries itself deep in my mind.

They're known as the "transcendentals," and philosophers have been pondering them for basically ever. They're considered the properties of being, representative of science, art, and religion. If you want to give yourself an instant headache, go read through the Wikipedia page and try to wrap your mind around this sentence: "The transcendentals are not contingent upon cultural diversity, religious doctrine, or personal ideologies, but are the objective properties of all that exists."

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Some Christian theologians have purported that truth, beauty, and goodness are the essence of God and the ultimate desires of man. This is a bit more of my lane. In his essay entitled “[CS] Lewis’s Philosophy of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty,” Peter Kreeft says...

"For these are the only three things that we never got bored with, and never will, for all eternity, because they are three attributes of God, and therefore all God’s creation: three transcendental or absolutely universal properties of all reality.

All that exists is true, the proper object of the mind. All that exists is good, the proper object of the will. All that exists is beautiful, the proper object of the heart, or feelings, or desires, or sensibilities, or imagination.

We are head, hands, and heart. We respond to truth, goodness and beauty. We are this because we are images of God."

When you're deconstructing (or perhaps, restoring) your faith, the basics are everything.


Our counselor suggested I reverse-engineer a new narrative of God by looking for truth, beauty, and goodness every day.

So, I assigned myself this project for 2018...to daily enquire, "Where do I see truth? Where do I see beauty? Where do I see goodness?" While other parts of faith feel confusing and shaky and exhausting, this has become my transcendental liturgy. I don't know where exactly it will lead, or what "box" I'll end up back in, and I'm at peace with that. I'm in no rush to get this figured out.

If you want to follow along, check out my #TBGproject hashtag on Twitter.

For more thoughts on Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, head here.

PS - I've seen Evangelicals, at best hurriedly attempt to silence with platitudes and book recommendations, and at worst mercilessly mock and belittle, those who ask questions and don't tow the theological line. As such, I'm not about to crack the lid on all my thoughts and feelings about faith for the whole world to take a shot at. In time, I will. For now, I'm slowly processing with my husband and a small circle of trusted friends, and that's enough.