Dom had already planned a day full of anniversary surprise destinations exploring our new city of Austin.

To take this, we stood in  the middle of South Congress Ave, my favorite street full of funky stores and hip restaurants. I love how the Capitol building sits humbly in the middle of all the tall skyscrapers.

The Capitol building, where we toured, learned some Texan history and in front had a picnic lunch on a bench under a shady tree in the 75-degree weather .

The UT-Austin bell tower. Dom wanted to go up to the top, but there were menacing signs by its elevators that said Authorized Personnel Only, so we chickened out. But I did teach Dom what chicken out means, so that was profitable.

And the quad reminded me of dear UNC-Chapel Hil, which of course has a far prettier campus than any Texas university’s.

When we pulled up to this building, I thought, “Why are we going to a rag shop?! Are you sure you are at the right place Dom?”

But he certainly was.

Dom knows how ever since Wyoming and seeing artistic, beautiful cowgirl boots everywhere I have yearned for a pair of my own.

He researched thrift stores with cowgirl boots on Yelp and found that Roadhouse Rags had rave reviews.

I felt like the whole store was the definition of Austin: vintage, artsy clothes that someone in an indie band would wear, eclectic atmosphere, and a super-friendly owner.

She was sitting on a cozy couch reading the newspaper, and didn’t see us right away. When she saw me drooling over the stand of boots, she welcomed us.

She learned that we were new to the area and had just gotten jobs. She has lived here since the 80s. She shared with us  some Austin trivia, told us about other cool thrift stores, showed us the venue in the back where they have live shows, taught me how to find boots that fit properly—my foot should come up when I walk, but not feel like it’s falling out of the boot—gave us her card and said she could be our surrogate mom, so if we ever needed any help at all, give her call.

We love Austinites.

I didn’t buy boots though because none of them fit just right, but I will definitely be going back to check again and again.

After some more boot-browsing, we went to the Domain, a mall that reminded us of Europe in how the shops lined the walkways. But it had its Austin accents with a monument of instruments—it is the live music capital of the whole world—and fun, random artsy benches.

For some sunset pics, we trekked the five minute hike up the highest point in Austin, Mount Bonnell, at 780 feet! It made us miss the Grand Tetons at 13,770 feet. But it was still a romantic, sigh of contentment view of the city and the river.

Until, we took this picture.

Savor it, because it’s the last picture of Dom’s camera.

Dom had set his tripod up behind us, we were staring at the inspiring sunset, when all of the sudden we heard, “BANG!”. Dom jumped and glanced back to see the tripod holding his precious camera blown over by the wind and smashed onto the hard ground.

The camera that he had attached to his hand the past two years, our companion on all our journeys, was dead. We were very sad.

We left quickly before the sunset got any prettier, and Dom took me to the last surprise: Love Balls, an awesome Japanese food trailer. Food trailers are an Austin thing. They are all over the city and a fun place to get cheaper food, and hang outside.

Our meal was the perfect comfort food for after his camera’s funeral.

We couldn’t stop saying, “Yummm, soooo good, wow!” while we indulged in takoyaki, a ball shaped dumpling filled with goodness and topped with flavorful sauce and bonito flakes. I got the veg, and he got the octopus, along with sides of garlic yaki-onigiri. We sat outside under the romantic glittering  lights hung in the trees with Bob Dylan playing in the background.

These pics from yelp will have to do since our dear camera was already in its grave.

Other than the camera tragedy, it was  the perfect Austin day, and a splendid way to celebrate our three years of adventure together and new jobs.

We are blessed, so so so blessed.

Paycheck?! To have a paycheck you have to have a job…He got a JOB!!!!!!! I was jumping up and down in my towel, silently screaming, so the woman wouldn’t hear and freak out, and wonder why she was hiring a guy who lived with strange screaming people.

He hung up the phone with a startled look. “I got the job,” he said.

I let out my screams and danced because I couldn’t hold in my excitement anymore. After two and a half years of applying, not hearing back, interviewing, not getting the job, being depressed, searching again, and waiting, the search for a job in his field was over.

There were hugs with our roomie, and high-fives, and all day we kept saying to each other, “You got the job!” “I got the job!” “You got the job!”

The job: he will be working at Data Foundry in Austin as a data center technical representative. It is an entry-level, full-time with benefits and advancement opportunities.

It’s also a night shift. Four days on, three days off, four days off, three days on. It’s going to be an adjustment, but if we can handle 2.5 years of job searching, we can handle anything.

So on Monday we both start our jobs. Oh yeah! My job! I’m starting a part-time internship at Fahrenheit Marketing doing content development. I get to write, he gets to do IT work. We are both happy.

Of course, life is not perfect now that Dom has a job, but it’s a new chapter of our journey.

Our years of waiting for work for Dom were not wasted. They were full of living life to the fullest—as seen below. During those years we saw that God is good. All the time—because it’s his nature. Not just when we get what we were hoping for,

but all the time.

“So do you like it here so far?”

“Yeah, we like the city. It’s artsy, everyone is welcoming, and it’s very active,” we say smiling at the friendly person.

“Great!”

Then suddenly, their faces darken, and a fore-boding tone comes to their voices as they gaze at us intently,”But just wait till the summers though…Oh wow, they are horrible! We had the hottest summer last year. A million days straight of over 100 degree weather!”

Maybe I’m being a little dramatic, but that is essentially what Dom interprets as his smiling face falls to a mournful frown.

Last night, when we were walking with our friends around a neighborhood looking at Christmas lights he was wearing a T-shirt and shorts when it was 40 degrees. The rest of us were in jackets and boots.

Even though Dom is Thai, he was miserable in Thailand growing up in the heat and humidity. His polar bear body just wasn’t made for it. He comes alive in the cold, and he melts away in despair in the heat.

How will he be joyful like he was in cold Wyoming during the raging, terrifying Austin summers?

At least we’ve got a few months till we have to worry about it. All I have to do in the mean time is learn how to quickly change the subject during our new to Austin hot hot hot summer convos to something that will make Dom happy:

the 100 degree days with 100% humidity only lasts for a few months here, and it’s year-round in Thailand

we have freezing cold delightful A/C in our car, house, and hopefully future work places, and…umm…

Wish me luck.

This summer my customers had the following conversation with me at least 2.4 million times, “So what are you doing after the season ends?”

“Well, we have no clue. We are going wherever we find work.”

“Oh, that’s exciting! What kind of work do you do?”

“I studied journalism, and my husband is a Network Engineer,” I would reply kindly, like it was the first time anyone had asked me all summer.

“You should move to AUSTIN! There are sooooo many IT jobs, it’s a a lower-cost of living than Silicon Valley, fun, artsy town with the best music scene in the country!”

1.1 million of my customers told me that exact line this summer. Maybe it was a sign? Should we go to Austin, even though we don’t have jobs there yet?

We did have a place to stay with a dear friend who we met in Bangkok, and no job offers anywhere else in the country. We said why not, and after our Europe trip, drove four days from Wyoming to Austin.

And now we are looking for jobs, and exploring this great town. But Dom, who usually carries his camera with him wherever we go, has left it in the closet lately. After I asked why, he said, “Because I feel at home here in Austin.” After three weeks of living here, he feels at home.

It’s a good sign.

But it’s hard. It’s hard to believe we will finally get full-time jobs  in our areas of study after waiting years for them. It is hard to not see a paycheck coming in week after week. It is hard to fill out the same online application thirty times for different companies. It is hard to refresh emails every five minutes, and anxiously check our phone messages, and not hear anything back. It is hard to interview and wait days and days and wonder if we will get it, and we don’t.

Waiting is one of life’s hardest trials. But we are trying to have faith—believing without seeing that things really are working out for the good.

For now, these verses are what we are hoping to live out.

Though the cherry trees don’t blossom
and the strawberries don’t ripen,
Though the apples are worm-eaten
and the wheat fields stunted,
Though the sheep pens are sheepless
and the cattle barns empty,
I’m singing joyful praise to God.
I’m turning cartwheels of joy to my Savior God.
Counting on God’s Rule to prevail,
I take heart and gain strength.
I run like a deer.
I feel like I’m king of the mountain!

Habakkuk 3:17-19 The Message

We felt like high society Europeans.

“Oh, I’m tired of work! Darling, why don’t we escape to Paris, just for the day?”

“Oh, what a delightful plan. Let’s do!”

When we arrived, I felt the same thing I had sensed in the air on my first trip with my dad: Romance.

It whispered sweetly off the wrought-iron, yet delicate balconies; the cozy cafes diffused its rich, loving scents through cafe au laits in ceramic bowls, flaky, fresh croissants, and artistic food that that must be admired like an inspiring painting before eaten; the Parisians showed its beauty through their out of a fashion magazine accouterments they glided in down the cobblestone streets.

I fell in love with Paris on that trip with my dad years ago, and knew I must return one day with my love. Whoever that would be.

We lived out the theme of the city that day. Peter and Luise admired each other with loving eyes and held hands. Dom and I walked arm in arm in a sweet daze all over the avenues in a wonderland of love.

With millions of other people.

Avenue des Champs-Élysées was flooded with tourists. We weren’t sure why. It was Halloween, but was that a big day to visit Paris? We pushed through the visitors and still enjoyed Notre Dame, the Seine, and Arc de Triumph–along with crunchy baguette sandwiches, heart-warming quiche Lorraine, and succulent nutella and banana crepes.

And of course the Eiffel Tower.

Dom and I decided we had to go to the very top. My dad and I had gone to the second level, but never made it all the way up. Peter and Luise had already done it on another trip, so they took off, while Dom and I joined the rest of Paris waiting in a maze of lines under the Tower’s strong legs.

We waited, gazing up at its massiveness. And waited, listening to the fellow tourists speaking different languages and all shivering a bit in the cold breeze. And waited some more, in Dom’s warm arms, looking up as the sun went down. For 2 hours.

Then we went up to the second level, and waited in a squished line to go to the top. For 30 more minutes.

Ah, but then we rode the last elevator to the top. And the wait was worth every second.

We couldn’t get enough of joining in with the delight of all the visitors around us, especially the couple to the left who were leaning next to the wall.

The gentlemen shakily got out a small box from his bag, and whispered a question in the ear of his love. Her face lit up like the lights blinking on the Tower. She shyly nodded, whispered something to him, and he slipped on the ring.

They embraced. I held Dom a little tighter, knowing what that joy felt like.

Oh Paris. What a place to experience the icing on the cake of love, romance.

What a perfect end to our our Europe getaway. We have so many memories to refresh us during this weary job searching desert.

Even though we have no jobs at the moment, and are low on cash, we are rich—in friends, adventures, and God’s faithfulness.

“That man is th’ richest whose pleasures are the th’ cheapest.” Thoreau

]]> http://immigranteyes.wordpress.com/2011/12/02/paris-romance/feed/ 15 sherengchard 300908_10150924395690153_548670152_21727004_1001639164_n 378104_10150924394245153_548670152_21726989_323711714_n 307770_10150924396610153_548670152_21727016_1992244883_n 374276_10150924393715153_548670152_21726985_1590624162_n 379959_10150924394745153_548670152_21726996_750077894_n 302991_10150924393480153_548670152_21726983_1071133731_n 312852_10150924393180153_548670152_21726980_129767038_n 390210_10150924397390153_548670152_21727030_1212572210_n 379814_10150924397910153_548670152_21727034_1353222721_n 378030_10150924398455153_548670152_21727040_1886812705_n 381281_10150924399340153_548670152_21727050_867857466_n 376197_10150924399475153_548670152_21727051_848506026_n 310228_10150924399730153_548670152_21727053_829862860_n http://immigranteyes.wordpress.com/2011/11/30/thai-taste-in-belgium/ http://immigranteyes.wordpress.com/2011/11/30/thai-taste-in-belgium/#comments Wed, 30 Nov 2011 00:53:00 +0000 Sherri Phengchard http://immigranteyes.wordpress.com/?p=934 ]]>

Belgium = amazing, homemade Thai food. These will forever be connected in my mind thanks to Filip and Pat and their sweet son Simon, our friends we met at the gym in our Bangkok apartment who have now moved back to Filip’s hometown— Turnhout, Belgium.

We wanted to visit them while in Europe, but traveling from Germany to Belgium, although close, isn’t cheap or easy. We looked up the train tickets while at Luise and Peter’s: 125 euros each. One way. What?! And it was only 390 km away.

But before we went to Europe, I researched cheap ways to get around and stumbled upon car-sharing, a.k.a organized hitch-hiking.

There are websites like this which many university students or people on a budget will advertise where they are headed, when they are leaving, and how much it costs to catch a ride with them. Usually the fare goes towards their gas money.

Luise looked on the website and found us a ride, for only 25 Euro each, that would leave from a town 20 minutes away, and go to Maastricht, Netherlands, where we could catch a cheap Belgian train to Turnhout.

It was fun to chat with our driver, who was going to grad school in Maastricht, majoring in European studies. Dom and he got into a serious convo about the Euro, and the EU. I listened and enjoyed looking at the deep, lush green countryside flying by.

We arrived at the train station in time to make a train to Turnhout. But we missed one of our connections because the train ran late. There ensued a long night of Belgian angels helping us find our way to Filip and Pat’s home:

a considerate train ticket man gave us directions to a safer connection that wouldn’t land us in the middle of Brussels Red Light district.

a kind woman in Turnhout who at midnight was the only smiling person we found who let us use her cell phone.

a friendly passer-by who stopped to help us, a bewildered bunch who couldn’t figure out what numbers to type in the phone. He showed us the right way, and Filip answered.

He arrived quickly, and we and our stomachs were delighted to have finally arrived at our destination.

Pat, Filip’s Thai wife, had Thai food ready and waiting. We ate super spicy chicken with bamboo shoots, and a Thai omlette with veggies. It was so authentic we felt like we were in Thailand, but we were in Belgium?! Yeah, Thailand’s cities don’t have the humble, noble quality that Belgium’s do or castles everywhere.

My dream to go to a castle came true over and over in Belgium and Germany.

Het Steen in Antwerp

The Turnhout one had a moat around it. I felt like I was in some medieval fairy tale.

Castle of the Dukes from Brabant in Turnhout

Dom and I both connected with our family history in Antwerp—me at a cafe called Den Engel (my maiden name is Engel which means Angel in German and Dutch), and Dom at a Thai grocery store in Asia town.

And of course we checked out all that Belgium is famous for:

Chocolate. Oh Belgian Chocolate. I’ve never had chocolate so artfully created as the box Filip generously bought us from The Chocolate Line.

The peeing boy, Manneken Pis, in Brussels. One of the oddest tourist attractions I’ve seen. Legend has it he apparently saved the city by peeing on an explosive that was going to blow up the city…

Wonderful, warm, waffles that perfumed the air with their sweet goodness wherever we walked.

And between the touristy stops we feasted on good ol’ Thai home-cooking. Pat let me be her sous chef, and I learned some tricks of the trade that I brought home to Austin, much to the delight of Dom’s taste buds, and mine.

We were too mesmerized each meal to actually take photos, but here is one of our Thai chef and me.

But after a few days, all the yummy Thai food and Belgian fun had to come to an end. Luise had found a ride for us from Brussels to Frankenthal.

After anxiously waiting at our chosen pick up spot by the train station, we miraculously connected with our ride. We rode in a small car packed with three students and us. It was another fun adventure, but long, and we were so happy to see Peter when he picked us up late that night in Frankenthal.

What a journey of igniting old friendships, delighting our Thai taste buds, and exploring a new land.

“Do you want to go to Venice while you visit us in Germany? We can get cheap plane tickets from Ryanair and stay there a few days. I can go with you on a little vacation,” our friend Luise said. She is a mother of two lil ones, and said her kind husband was sweet enough to stay at home while she came with Dom and me.

YES!

Rome and Florence were two of our stops during a whirlwind Europe tour with my dad after I graduated high school. I never forgot eating gelato that was so smooth and creamy it was like silk.  The perfect cappuccinos sold every five feet on each avenue. And the classic aroma of Italian pizza made with fresh from the market ingredients.

I told Dom how excited I was to eat all of the above again, and his tan face looked a little green just thinking about it. He is lactose-intolerant, and milk and cheese laden Italian delights aren’t meant for stomachs like his. But there would be a plethora of photo ops, so he could handle it.

Italy was one of our few stops where we didn’t know anyone there, or have any connections. The closest we came was Luise, who was from Europe, and had been to Venice one time. She was our guide who directed us with her little paper map through the maze of alleys by the canals. The brick paths seemed to lead nowhere, but she always landed us exactly where we needed to be.

I had never been to a city with no cars, or motorcycles, or buses, just boats, water buses, and water taxis. It felt like a magical deserted island, and Dom loved how the sound of the water splashing and flowing was the city’s beat and rhythm.

When we were walking on one of the many bridges around the city, we saw some gondoliers hawking their services. One of them came over to us in his black and white striped sweater, and black pants, flashed a huge Italian smile and offered us a ride in his boat.

The price was a little high, so we walked on over the bridge. Then the other gondolier friend followed and gave us his suave smile, winked his dark brown eyes, and offered us a lower price than his friend.

We took him up on his offer, and he lead us to his gondola, his pride and joy.

It was our first real interaction with a Venetian during our trip other with the outgoing servers and shop owners. I was hungry to learn about Venice from Luciano our hired local friend for 40 minutes.

Luciano was born and raised on these winding waterways. He told us in a slightly concerned voice how he has watched the water rise up the brick walls one meter since he was a kid. And it keeps rising.

He has always wanted to be a gondolier since he was young, and is proud of his highly regarded position on the Venice waters. The boat we were in was his very own, and from saying, “buon giorno ” to every other gondola man we paddled past I assume he has had his job awhile.

While he had short conversations in Italian full of laughter and smiles with his other strong, striped friends I wondered what he was saying: maybe where he was going for an espresso after our ride, or about the funny old lady in the boat next to us. I felt like we were his guests along for the ride.

Dom asked him if he goes to the gym, and he pushed his oar hard into the water, smiled that Italian smile and said, “This is my gym.” He said that gondolas have also been used as funeral boats, wedding boats, taxi boats, and of course now as tour boats.

As he paddled in a tight inlet, I asked him where was the best place to get pizza in Venice. Immediately he said, Muro, they have the best. He told us exactly how to get there and already my mouth was watering for dinner.

After we paid him and said farewell, we wished we could have joined him as he left his boat for a break at a nearby cafe with his friends he had chatted with on the waters.

Dom loved learning from Luciano about the relaxed, fun and laid-back personality of Italy.

Verona

Venice isn’t too big. We completed our tour that day and felt that we could probably see another city the next day. Luise and I chose Verona, the setting of Romeo and Juliet.

I didn’t think it could top Venice. But it certainly tied.

We felt like we were transported back to AD 30 when we walked around the rows and rows of dusty, steep seats in the Verona Arena.

Then we zoomed back to 2011 when we ambled down the shopping streets full of Italian designer stores that smelled new and fresh with warm inviting air pouring out onto the shivering shoppers.

We flipped back to the Renaissance when we went to Casa di Giulietta (Juliet’s house). It was the most popular spot in Verona with tourists swarming the courtyard in front of the house with the famous balcony where Juliet called down to her lover.

Ahh, but my favorite part of Verona was when we climbed the hill that overlooked the city. Other tourists were too lazy that day to climb up, or perhaps it was a hidden secret garden of sorts. I loved smelling the refreshing forest air and gazing over the humble, peaceful city—in awe that I visited it with my dear friend and my very own Thai Romeo.

We all fell in love with Italy: the laid-back feel to the whole country, the scent of espresso around every corner, drinking at least three perfect cappuccinos with Luise a day, Dom having a million scenic photo shots to chose from, gaping at the rainbow of gelato flavors and smiling with glee in every bite.

Italy was a great idea Luise.

In college, I read a NY Times article about Austrian Kaffeehauses (traditional coffee houses). They began long ago when artists, politicians, and philosophers would sit for hours in their espresso infused second homes, chat and debate while sipping coffee drinks made with artisan skill. And they still exist today.

Ever since I was 9-years-old coffee and I have been best friends. When I read that article, I knew one day I must go to an Austrian kaffeehaus, explore their extensive coffee menu, sip my cappuccino, and talk with friends for hours, just like an Austrian kaffeehaus connoisseur.

When we were in Munich, we decided to take the train with Luise and Peter and their kiddos to Salzburg, Austria for the day. Images of kaffeehauses danced in my mind as I peered out the rushing train window at the vivid green hills, and quaint homes flashing by.

We spent most of the morning wandering the narrow pedestrian only paths in the old downtown area. We learned that Mozart was born and grew up on these streets–thus the Mozart cafes, Mozart shot glasses, Mozart dolls, and Mozart marzipan chocolate in every cheesy souvenir shop.

Mozart’s birth place

We loved standing on the bridge over River Salzach and admiring the town’s skyline, gaping at leather shops from the 1500s, and peering up at Hohensalzburg Castle on the hill protecting the city.

But our day was coming to an end, and we still hadn’t visited one of the many kaffeehauses lining the avenues. Our German friends recommended not going since we didn’t have much time left, and instead enjoy the rest of the city.

I looked crestfallen. “My dream to not come true and be so close? Oh no!”

I didn’t say this, but my face certainly expressed it. They relented, and asked me to chose whichever kaffeehaus I wanted. I led them back to a modern looking one with comfy white, leather armchairs I had seen through the window.

My friends laughed at how enamored I was with the coffee menu’s many pages, and how I analyzed the barista’s latte art abilities. I sipped my cappuccino with closed eyes, savoring the perfect taste of espresso made with love–a perfect accompaniment to the apple strudel drizzled with warm vanilla sauce that we all shared.

Dom, who never cares much about coffee, had this face when drinking his carmel latte. Austria helped him start to actually enjoy coffee, much to my delight.

Luise and Peter thought it was weird I wanted to get coffee in Salzburg. Coffee shops are everywhere in Europe, who cares?

It was here that I taught my German friends that where I was from in Waxhaw, N.C. it is very hard to find good coffee-shops with baristas that care enough to make good espresso, along with a good atmosphere.

I loved how the Salzburg kaffeehaus had a modern room with cozy seats, and no smoking, as well as an classic room with a smoking section, and traditional gentlemanly look to it. It was the best of both worlds, and my cappuccino had perfect espresso and foam.

It was just what I always envisioned. Thanks for letting me live out one of my dreams dear Luise, Peter and hubby.

A month ago we were in Germany on our way to explore Europe.

As we now sit in Austin, TX, enduring the miserable job searching process, our European memories are like refreshing drops of rain in the midst of a drought…or like finding a tasty morsel of German bread during a famine.

As we left the Frankfurt airport, it felt like our friend Theo’s BMW was our fourth airplane of the day. We flew up to 130 m.ph. on the autobahn, the German highway, which is legal since you can go as fast as you want in some parts of it. Dom reveled in the speed and squealed with delight, but my mind was fixated on finding a German bakery as fast as we could.

Ever since I met my first German friend, and she told me how amazing German bread is, I have always dreamed of going to a German bakery and buying it. And during our first two hours in Germany my dream came true.

I was a bit jet-lagged, but even in my stupor my face lit up as I gazed at the bretzels (pretzels), loaves of bread full of seeds and goodies, crusty rolls, and pastries of all shapes and sizes. Our friend bought a few different types of breads, and grabbed the big, flaky, layered pastry that I was infatuated with and couldn’t take my eyes off.

When we walked into his modern Ikea-inspired house the table was set for a European breakfast feast. We sat down right away, took the fresh, warm bread out of the paper bags, they prayed in German, and we devoured.

It was hard to choose what to put on my whole wheat roll with sunflower seeds: a variety of savory cream cheeses, fresh cheeses, lunch meats, liverwurst, sausage, hard-boiled eggs, cucumbers, tomatoes, jam, or nutella.

I watched Theo cut a bretzel (pretzel) to make a sandwich with meat and cheese. And Adina cut a roll and put tomato, muenster cheese and ham and at it like an open faced sandwich.

So many choices. I think I tried every option possible before I left Germany.

We ate and ate and ate and we talked about our flight and what we would like to do, and laughed at their one-year old’s funny noises, and taught them some new English lingo, and attempted to pronounce German words that only resulted in lots of giggles.

It was love at first sight with German breakfast.

In Munich, during another perfect, simple, relaxed German breakfast I commented on Peter eating sandwich after sandwich like he hadn’t eaten for days. Klaus smiled and said,”There is a German saying, “You eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, and dinner like a pauper.”

It was during these royal meals that we discussed what we would do that day:

explore Neuschwanstein, the castle the Disney land’s was modeled after. My friend Luise told me, “We have to go to Neuschwanstein because that is where Peter proposed to me—it is the most romantic place in Germany.” And it was.

tour the BMW Museum in Munich, and think of the BMW bikes my dad sells–owner of Engeland Moto, a European motorcycle company.

visit Hofbräuhaus in Munich, a beer house/brewery from 1589: listen to yodeling, traditional German music, and Germans drinking beer, being merry and hitting their tankards on the wooden tables–as they have done for the past 500 years.

meander around Worms, where Martin Luther was put on trial and excommunicated for refusing to retract his 95 theses that jump-started the Protestant Reformation.

learn from German chef Luise how to make spätzle, a type of egg noodle, comfort food—the German form of mac and cheese.

 stroll by the old castle in Heidelberg, gaze at the ancient town, and amble along the streets on a crisp fall night, and end the day by eating together at a cozy restaurant with friends.

But of course all our fun started out at our German breakfasts: eating crunchy, soft, flavorful bread, with our dear friends who made us feel like a king and queen by encouraging us, feeding us, hosting us, and loving us so well during our journey.

We miss you, even more than German bread!

And that was just Germany! Austria, Italy, Belgium, and Paris are coming up next…

]]> http://immigranteyes.wordpress.com/2011/11/21/german-breakfast/feed/ 2 sherengchard 384066_10150929148010153_548670152_21765057_889197667_n 297833_10150929142580153_548670152_21764973_679266261_n 304208_10150902246805153_548670152_21557271_554098955_n 319994_10150902247035153_548670152_21557277_27684798_n 311035_10150902247205153_548670152_21557281_369155223_n 315808_10150929150140153_548670152_21765102_10567072_n 388789_10150929151150153_548670152_21765119_752338453_n 380172_10150929151415153_548670152_21765122_1644233194_n 387961_10150929152830153_548670152_21765145_142002166_n 303898_10150929154085153_548670152_21765164_1785786382_n 316774_10150929154825153_548670152_21765183_925359106_n 374118_10150929154665153_548670152_21765180_745656396_n 386176_10150929143410153_548670152_21764987_2012100656_n 312161_10150929148395153_548670152_21765066_814987542_n 298915_10150929150865153_548670152_21765114_1299759194_n http://immigranteyes.wordpress.com/2011/10/14/epic/ http://immigranteyes.wordpress.com/2011/10/14/epic/#comments Fri, 14 Oct 2011 03:32:22 +0000 Sherri Phengchard http://immigranteyes.wordpress.com/?p=792 ]]>

When I went running today it was quiet. It wasn’t a peaceful quiet. But it was an eerie quiet like something was not as it should be. Even the birds weren’t singing, and the breeze wasn’t blowing.

I felt like a bear was going to jump out of the woods at any second to pounce on me since I was probably the first sign of life it had seen all day. I even thought I heard animal sounds behind me, but turned around anxiously and nothing was there.

Our usual bustling cafeteria was dead at lunch. Dom made cricket noises, and I laughed. It was the loudest sound in the whole building.

Even though everything around us feels dead, the mountains aren’t. Dom couldn’t resist one last Teton photo shoot today before it snows again tomorrow. We drove a few minutes down the road to take pictures at Oxbow Bend of the orange leaves, snow-capped Mount Moran, and the cloudy blue sky.

Yet it isn’t the scenery that makes this place, but the people.

Jackson Lake Lodge closed on Sunday at 11 a.m. and ever since then the fun that filled the area all summer has been slipping away with each good-bye hug and farewell wave.

It was our friends we met that made our summer Epic. When we first arrived to the snow and cold in April, I was depressed. We had left a great church community, a loving family, and close friends and now we were alone. The mountains were gorgeous, and we loved taking pictures of them, but I still was sad to go back to our dark dorm room at night with no one to hang out with.

But a month in, things changed.

We found a gospel community group at our church where we felt like we had joined a long-lost family.

We met Georgi, and Lacy who were just like us but different and became fast friends.

Dom found a great hiking/adventure buddy in Norbert, and I re-connected with my dear college friend Isabel.

And then there were the hundreds of other employees here—crazy, funny, and sweet characters that made our days.

Lately I have felt the same as when we left NC. My eyes were red and puffy for a few days when I said good-bye to our friends and family we had spent a year and a half with. And even after only 6 months of living here, the ripping apart of the strong ties we have made is daily smudging my mascara as the tears fall again.

And now we are packing, cleaning, and getting ready to leave on Saturday morning. We are glad to leave since everyone else is gone, but sad to leave behind a place that around every corner holds a precious memory.

We fly to Europe on Monday from Spokane, WA, and will be there for 18 days enjoying not just the new cities and cultures, but being with our German and Belgian friends and the new ones we will meet.

Then we hope to move to Austin, TX where we have been told from at least a hundred customers this summer that it is the place to go for IT work for Dom. Also, it has a lower-cost of living than most big cities, has a great music and art scene and is full of young people.

But it doesn’t really matter if it does have all that.

It is the people we meet there that will make the place. We are excited about our friends we are going to live with, and the new ones who will make Austin feel like our new home and not just a big, hot, city.

Thank you God for an Epic summer and hope for the Epic winter that awaits.