Yet another trip slideshow...
Just some more pictures. With a little more monolog for good measure.
(Most of these pictures were take by David. Any blurriness is directly his photographic ineptitude and any artistic aesthetic to be found must come from my tasteful framing).
Ah, the adventure of praying with Dad before leaving. The little canister of oil on his keychain refused to open; I joked to David that God refused to anoint us.
As David may attest, the best part of the trip was hanging out with Tia. This picture is heart melting. I'm going to move on.
Tia took it upon herself to feed this squirmy and ungrateful cat; a straggler from the Thompson family. The thing seemed to prefer rats and moles over dry cat food. When, in jest, I offered the bag of dried cat food to Serif, he asked me if I ever had eaten the stuff. The young Serb proceeded to informed me that "it is a food that will not kill you". I was promptly humbled.
The place was pretty cool. I always seem to qualify that it seemed so isolated, but just walking around the grounds was a treat. In short, big fancy places are fun, especially when you get to live in them for extended periods of time. I neglected to mention that the place has some pretty lively acoustics, in large domed rooms, hallways and staircases. It was ear candy just to walk through there.
Me in Rose's room. (With that stupid purple shirt on. Dad had brought me a navy blue CCBCE "Reaching Europe" shirt and I managed to bleach it an emasculated purple. Everyone and their monkey wanted the custom color. I got questions about it by the hour when I wore it, and I enjoyed the attention.) Tia's ministry at the castle is larger and much more diverse than her job description. Pray for the discipleship and encouragement that goes on in this room. And the following room.
I spent an inordinate amount of time hiding from Mike Armor in the staff kitchen, considering I was not on staff and most people enjoyed coffee or tea once or twice a day. I daily enjoyed one of two gallons of the stuff. On the right is the refrigerator and Tia, on the left is the refrigerator, me and Ági. Ági is an extremely cool woman and was more than happy to engage in sarcasm with me. Most Hungarian find sarcasm to be rude, not funny, which kind of took away all of my opportunities to be intentionally humorous. The kitchen made a great hangout place.
I began to teach Tia guitar and she began to learn for the third or so time. I fear I left her with not enough tools to continue, but I promised to find her a guitar of her own if she progressed enough (maybe something with a forgiving scale length and a resonant, comfortable body).
From that beautiful day in Budapest, after the freak downpour. We made many trips there, and spent a lot of time on the Metro. The city is one of the prettier things I've ever seen. I love the expression on my face.
Also in Budapest is István's Cathedral. No, we are not making "claw" gestures on the steps. (Do you happen to know how many years of purgatory that might entail?) The basilica was incredible, by the way.
Here's a terrible picture but great perspective of the modern day, pickle consuming and dinner defending, Hungarian István's. (Though the picture offers no proof, I ensure you that his Holy Right is indeed intact.)
This is good king Steve's skull. In Esztergom.
Fun with sarcophagi in Esztergom, a personal favorite. (cbgb!)
They have two coffee shops at the castle. (And enough zucchini bread to kill a horse.) You find that you just can't pass up 70 cent lattes. Most missionaries there seem to have a running tab.
The dish room was not generally a place of mirth, as Jake, Argau, and Maximilian may lead you to believe. This was a place of drudgery, suds, and a cool dish elevator. And a deadly mix of U2, Apologetix, and Coldplay blares over the din of rattling dishes.
Lassie played Gidget substitute for David and me. What a pathetic and simultaneously awesome dog.
The walk into town. The village was pretty quaint, if you call wild dogs that would gladly relieve you of your entire left leg "quaint". More than once I cracked myself up using the phrase "the Village People".
And with that view of our butts, the pictures are concluded.