After trying the information desk a few times, Nick did finally find me. It was strange seeing him, knowing that I would from this point on, be trusting him with my life, yet we had only known each other for a short time. But we were as close as two people could be who came from entirely different backgrounds. We were completely taken with each other and excited about our adventure.

Back then Nick and I were romantically linked. We had dated some before I left Oklahoma and, in my mind, this trip was also a test for our relationship. Nick had made it clear that his intentions were to graduate from college and work in foreign missions. I was in love with him already, and thought this trip would be a good way for me to determine if I was cut out for a similar role. To complicate matters, I was about to spend a few weeks with his family, whom I had never met.

To start off right, he took me to an airport restaurant to have a glass of Rivela, a soft drink made from milk extract that tasted like a cross between ginger ale and creme soda. Looking back now, that drink was a good symbolic gesture for the rest of my trip- The same, only different. That is the way of the world, no matter where you go. Things are pretty much the same – only different in ways that are difficult to describe.

(Possibly, this is where the idea of using “milk” as the name of my artist management company and these memos came from) To be sure, Nick was thrilled to be showing off this lovely place that his parents had lived for 5 years, but I know he was equally nervous about how I would adjust.

The Swanson’s lived on the campus of ENBC (Eastern Nazarene Bible College), which is located in Busingen, just a walk from Schaffhausen. Schaffhausen is a charming village, often featured in Switzerland guide books. It attracts a lot of tourists; however, it is incredibly expensive to do much else besides float the Rhine river. After meeting Dwight, Kathy, Rachel (Nick’s sister who was about 13 at the time) and his best friend, Jon Burrows, we crossed the German border to do just that. Since I’m not much of a swimmer and I had jet lag, I stayed on the beach area to relax. I felt like I had moved into a theme park. Everything was so different and beautiful. My journey, in those first days, resembled more of a holiday.

The first challenge I faced, believe it or not, was there in Switzerland and it stemmed from an unlikely source: other Americans. Before leaving America, I believed that because the Swanson’s were American, I would be able to relate to them, that they would be a source of comfort to me because they too had once been in my shoes. But Dwight and Kathy had not lived in the US for 15 years. Not only did their behaviour and opinions of the world reflect this, but so did their humor. I was someone with no prior education, experience or warning about cultural conflict. Only months before I watched on national television my hometown be ripped open by a terrorist bomb. I could not have been in a more patriotic mood. Any slight, however small or unintentional, felt like a glaring insult to me. It was the first time in my life that someone suggested to me that being a US citizen meant anything but cause for celebration.

There was the added stress of little things. Like the fact that I could do nothing as I had done it only days earlier. Do you know what happens to a person when sleeping, eating, thinking and speaking patterns are all interrupted? Well, let me put it like this: If your whole life you have been a meat eater and then one day, without warning, you will not be able to buy another piece of meat again, only veggies, it will be a shock to your system. When it comes to adjusting to a new life, that is called culture shock. And believe me, no one is immune.

All day we take in information and process it through our eyes, ears, nose and mouth. What’s going in us affects what comes out of us. And if there is no one there to tell you that your reaction to all these new things is normal, that you will actually change and become the kind of person who can handle it, well, you start to wonder if you can handle it. The Swansons, who were packing up their own lives to move to an unfamiliar place were in no position to cater to an angry, confused young woman who probably appeared to be pretty ungrateful to their hospitality. Nick’s father, Dwight said he liked my “German quality” meaning that he thought I was a blunt person. I took it as a compliment.

To top off my less than intelligent introduction to life as a missionary, Nick wanted me to hike the Alps with him while I had the opportunity. It was hard going up, but he wanted me to see the view so much, I drudged on until I thought I would collapse. (I never did make it up that freaking mountain, though it sure seemed like I had hiked for days.) A sniffle that had began the day before turned into a full blown head cold and by the time I had thrown one leg in front of the other to get back down the mountain, I was soaking wet and cold from the rain. Never mind the fact that I could hardly move my legs, I was now delirious from a fever!

What then, do you think happened? Yes. The car broke down. I have a very vivid memory of sitting in the car while Nick went for help. I felt so far from home, so unsafe and I started to get more than a little paranoid. I actually got to the point where I had conjured up images of Nick getting kidnapped by a Swiss German and my trying to flag down another car and convince someone I wasn’t a desperate drug addict, but merely an innocent American with a head cold who needed help. When Nick finally made it back to the car I was ecstatic. I think I even thanked him for being alive. He just laughed, no doubt wondering what kind of freak he was about to traverse Europe with.

A few days (?) later, after having tea with a friend, Abraham, at the college, we boarded a lovely train, with accommodations similar to a passenger airplane from home to begin our 2 day journey to Bucharest. I was frazzled, but excited. Broke, but happy. Terrified, but willing to go. And I can tell you, with great certainty, that I had no idea what was ahead of me. Not a clue.