Yes, I admit it. I´m being lazy about blog posts. From what I gather, this is a common phenomenon. My excuse is that I´ve been taking in so much and writing so much for classes that my writing and reflecting energy is totally spent most of the time. It´s a pathetic excuse, I know.

However, we´re all in luck. I just got back from free travel with a delightful individual named Rose Jantzi. Free travel is essentially spring break on cross-cultural. We have a week to do whatever we´d like. Rose and I had a fabulous week trekking to random places in Guatemala that intrigued us. Rose happens to be a much more disciplined and faithful blogger than I am. You can get a taste of our last week together on her blog: 

http://rosejantzi.blogspot.com/

God of the journey,

Of exciting new adventures,

Of tired feet covered in volcanic ash,

It seems like we’ve only just arrived, yet we have changed so much and traveled so far from home that our souls feel as if we’ve been here longer.

We are tired sojourners. We need your strength.

God of diversity,

Of cultures we are immersed in but don’t completely understand,

Of overwhelmed minds, constantly translating from one language to another

Our strangeness in this place is good, yet it is also a burden we carry

We are homesick foreigners. We need your love.

God of the unknown,

Of strange encounters that make us question what we thought we knew

Of eyes longing to connect with others, but afraid to do so,

Many of us have come closer to violence, poverty, and oppression than we have yet in our previous journeys.

We are exhausted with new awareness of our collective brokenness. We need your peace.

God of the journey, the diverse, the unknown,

You are also the God who is with us.

Every day you give us strength in the laughter, smiles, and embraces of the people traveling with us.

You give us love through the continuing patience and good humor of our teachers and our host families.

You give us peace in moments of beauty in this land and with the people who call it home.

God with us, we thank you that we do not journey alone.  

It has come to my attention that this blog post is necessary, and therefore, I am creating it. 

First off, thank you for all of your lovely birthday emails! They were wonderful! Many of them made me chuckle. You’re all spectacular individuals…even if you didn’t send me a birthday email…but you’re especially spectacular if you did. ;)

Anyways…I’m guessing you all want to know how my 21st birthday was celebrated here in Guatemala. It was fantastic. I highly reccommend having a birthday on a cross-cultural experience. It’s quite fun! My day started out with birthday hugs from my host parents. It was a wonderful way to start the day. Naturally, we had a celebration with the group from EMU at school that involved cake and ice cream. And then, my host mother being the smart woman that she is, decided that since we were having a celebration at school on my birthday, it would be wiser to spread out my birthday and have another celebration at our house the next day. I was also able to effectively communicate to her that I was interested in learning how to cook.

So, in the evening I was summoned to the kitchen and together, we created my Guatemalan (I’m assuming) birthday cake (yes, I memorized the recipe). The cake was plenty good enough, but the next day, we created whipped cream and then we mixed strawberries with cream and cinnamon and sugar (excellent combination as I’m sure all of you can imagine) and we piled this on top of the cake when we ate it with some loud and rambunctious family members. Did I understand much of what was going on? No. But it was lovely anyway, and the cake was delicious. 

Other details that might be interesting: There was a candle on the cake. It was in the shape of a “4.” It effectively served its purpose.     

Um…that’s it for now. I hope this is satisfactory.

And now for the rest of you lovely people, I have a story: 

This is a story about getting from place to place in Guatemala, mainly about buses. Let’s be real here, those of you who’ve been in Guatemala, how can I not have a bus story? 

In the CASAS program, coming to school each day by bus is considered part of the experience, and quite an experience it is. Let me further illustrate this point: I was at a birthday party this past Sunday and met some wonderful younger Guatemalan people (who spoke perfect English. It was such a relief after an entire weekend of attempting to communicate in Spanish). They asked me what I was doing in Guatemala and I explained the whole cross-cultural study situation and told them I was living with a host family and going to classes at SEMILLA. 

“How are you getting there?” they asked. 

“By bus,” I said matter-of-factly. 

The looks of shock and horror I received probably shouldn’t have been unexpected. If you’d like to truly understand the life of a sardine, going on a Guatemalan bus is a great option. They are packed to the brim. Personal space does not exist. And on top of that, I‘ve heard enough stories about peoples‘ backpacks being slashed and whatever other horror stories you‘d like to come up with that, yes, I‘d agree: Guatemalan buses are pretty scary if you think about them too hard. Naturally their response was, “You can’t go by bus! That’s not safe!”

Yes, friends. Even the Guatemalans are scared of the buses. They gave me their phone numbers just in case “things didn’t work out.” 

So, that was reassuring to say the least. 

Now a word about my host family. I’m living with an older couple. If I understood their Spanish correctly, they’re in their very late seventies, I think my host dad might be eighty. They’re adorable and perfectly capable individuals. I love them. Anyways, it’s standard procedure for host families to accompany their host children on the bus the first couple of times until we’re comfortable with the route. On Monday, my host mother accompanied me and I paid close attention. It was simple - especially after playing Mr. X twenty billion times this past New Year’s eve. It went like this in my head: Two green buses, then two red buses. No problem. 

 So, when my exhausted, adorable host mother asked me if I was ready to go solo the next day, what was I going to say but yes? I knew, while it would be a smidge risky that I was perfectly capable, confident enough at traveling, and knew the route well enough for having gone on it once each way. And honestly, I didn’t want to make my tired host mother take all that time to do it again when I was so close to comfortable. 

This morning, I set out with 5 different phone numbers, 2 quetzales for bus fare, a copy of my passport, and my bag of school things, ready to brave the terrifying buses of Guatemala city completely and totally alone. I wasn’t that worried about the green buses, and in fact, they went fine. It was the red buses that I was most concerned about. The red bus route wasn’t as clear to me and did I mention the rest of the conversation I had with the wonderful, younger English-speaking Guatemalan folks? It went like this:

“Well, which buses are you taking?”

“I’m pretty sure green and then red.”

“Green is passable, but red? You can’t go on the red bus! That’s WAY too dangerous!”

So naturally, when I got to the red bus, I was slightly nervous. There was a strange man trying to talk to me in rapid Spanish before I got on. I tried to ignore him. I couldn’t place whether he was attempting to be kind or lecherous. It occurred to me that perhaps he was being both kind and lecherous, which is confusing in and of itself, hence my confusion. I still don’t have the answer. Needless to say, I got on, and off we went…until…the bus broke down.  

Yes, that’s right. The scary red bus with the kindly lecherous man broke down in the middle of the extremely busy road. 

And I said to myself. Now what?

We waited for a bit, and I decided to follow the crowd. This was a good choice. It wasn’t long until another red bus came along and we happily boarded. 

But here’s the problem: I was completely relying on my intuitive time sense to get myself to know when it was time to get off the scary red bus. I knew there were two stops, yes, but one of them was barely noticeable, and I wasn’t entirely certain if it stopped there every time. Now I was completely thrown off. 

So, I stuck with my intuition anyway, and got off the bus. As I began walking, I felt strongly that I had gotten off too early. I was convinced that my blond-haired, blue-eyed, young, American self was lost in the middle of Guatemala City.  It was now time to call on all of the common sense my grandfather has attempted to bestow upon me throughout my life, the amazing city-walking lessons given to me by Chelsea Wimmer, and all the cultural advice given to me by SEMILLA to get me through alive. Let the adventure begin! :D (I’m fully aware that the thrilled adventurer part of me could get me into severe trouble someday.)

I knew the address of SEMILLA, and I knew that I was safest talking to women. I started out asking a lady street vendor which direction the street I needed was in. She pointed, I went. And after 5 minutes of walking, I reminded myself that in Guatemala, when you ask for directions, you will always get them, but they won’t always be right. People are too concerned with saving face than being correct. This seemed to be the case for me. Nothing looked familiar and the road was about to end. So, I located another woman, but this time, I ended up talking to a man, a fellow street vendor to the woman I had selected. I got a general “good vibe” sense from him, so I told him the street name. He looked at me knowingly and said, “SEMILLA?” And I breathed a sigh of relief. This time, I would get good directions. 

The rest is history, folks. Despite all of these mishaps, I actually arrived at SEMILLA early! I may or may not have scared the receptionist a smidge when I realized this…

Also, I found out on my way home that I HAD gotten off at the right stop - I just thought that I didn’t and therefore walked in the wrong direction. Does this story sound familiar to any of you? Ah well, some things never change… 

Hi, guys. I’m in Guatemala. 

And for those of you that are confused as to the general situation, here are a few fun facts: 

1. I, Emily Hedrick, Goshen College student, am currently enrolled in EMU in their cross-cultural program in Guatemala and Mexico. <—This sentence is correct. 

2. I’m living with a Guatemalan host family, hanging out in an Anabaptist seminary called SEMILLA and am enrolled in their program, CASAS. If you’re truly intrigued, here’s their website: semilla.org.gt

3. The entire group from EMU arrived safely in Guatemala City on Thursday of last week. We are all safely situated with our host families and are well-fed.

For those of you who are into short blog posts (I will refrain from mentioning names…), I’ll end here. Don’t bother with the next one. ;)

Today I left Iona.  I’m writing in the train from Oban to Glasgow.

I’ve learned a few things since I last posted, and a lot of them have had to do with the Iona Community. The Iona Community was started by George Macleod in 1938. From what I’ve gathered, it started out of George Macleod’s desire to close the gap between the church and working people. He did this by gathering a group of trainee clergy as well as unemployed skilled craftsmen to begin the rebuilding of Iona Abbey.  This was not because he enjoyed refurbishing the ruins of old sacred buildings, but because he wanted the abbey on Iona to be a symbol for the renewing and refreshing of the church.

As these people lived and worked together, it was inevitable that a community was formed. Long story short, the Iona Community emerged: an ecumenical group that focuses on cultivating renewal for the church, working for justice and peace and the integrity of creation. *  

Now that the abbey church has been rebuilt, the Iona Community does not live on Iona. They are not monks and nuns. They are simply people like you and me who have decided to dedicate their lives to the pursuit of justice and peace and living out the resurrection of Christ together.  And they do this all over the world - not in a closed-off monastery. I had the amazing opportunity to actually be on the isle of Iona with a large amount of the current Iona Community for “Community Week,” but that only happens once or twice a year. If you’re searching for the “official” Iona Community, you will find a member or two on the island, but you won’t find the whole lot of them. They’re too busy pursuing justice and peace and bringing Christ to the world to chill on an island for too long.

I say “official” Iona Community because it has come to my attention that there is, in fact, an Iona Community that lives on the island of Iona: the volunteers and the resident staff that run the retreat centers. It’s an odd assortment of people. The volunteers are not required to be Christian. They are not required to follow a “rule”. They are not even required to go to the worship services. They are people of all ages from all over the world with all kinds of life experiences. There were many times throughout the summer when I was amazed at the people I spent my social life with. It wouldn’t be surprising to see me, a young woman from Paraguay, a fiesty 60 something year-old woman from California, a virtually incomprehensible Scottish man from the Isle of Mull, and a soon-to-be University student from Yorkshire all talking in the pub together.  Only on Iona would this ever occur.

How did this odd assortment of people come to be on Iona working together anyway? I’ve had plenty of conversations about this and at the root of it, the answer is always the same. People don’t just randomly decide to show up at Iona. You read my blog post about how many different forms of transportation it took to get there. It’s never a spontaneous trip. People are drawn to Iona.

As I spent 11 weeks with the strangest bunch of people imaginable, I realized that we actually had a lot more in common than we thought. All of us were in the middle of some type of transition whether it be discerning what’s next after losing a spouse, trying to figure out what it means to move from adolescence to adulthood, seeking healing from past trauma, or even just waiting for university to begin again. All of us were at the threshold of something new.

As we attempted to discern what our next steps would be, we did not sit around waiting for enlightenment. We worked our butts off in the kitchen, doing laundry, painting fences, lighting candles, unloading boxes, and trying to politely convince guests that honey jars are inevitably sticky and they’re just going to have to deal with it.

I can’t give you a magical formula for what creates community. As Peter MacDonald, current leader of the Iona Community and temporary Warden of Iona Abbey, has said many many times throughout my stay at Iona, “Community cannot be forced. It is a gift. It can only come about by the grace of God.”  And it did for me and the volunteers that happened to be on the island with me during the summer of 2011. 

This all sounds chummy and lovely, but in truth, community on a place like Iona is insufferably cruel. Things happen on that God-infested island. I’ve heard it described as a greenhouse. It speeds things up. Two months on Iona often brings about the equivalent of two years of growth somewhere else. It sounds crazy, but over the past 11 weeks I’ve watched the transformation of so many people coming in as new volunteers, guarded, unsure, and discovering the beauty within themselves, others, and the world we share in unexpected, powerful ways. And let me tell you, that kind of transformation is not easy. It’s work. It’s confronting deep-seated fears and embracing the numbed pain that was set aside because its seemed easier to forget about it. It’s learning to tell the truth instead of spouting off what’s “supposed to” be said. These things cannot be achieved without much love and deep connection from those who surround us. It is the stuff of the soul, and it binds people to one another.

But like I said in my last post, coming to Iona means nothing unless you leave. And that was the cruel reality I had to face this morning. The people who have embraced me in my time of growth and healing, the people who (probably unknowingly) have been able to look past my clever defenses and interact with who I am beneath all of it, the people who made me feel truly safe for the first time in a very, very long time, these people are on an island off of an island off of Scotland. And I am not with them anymore.

Getting on the ferry this morning and leaving behind the people who have been so close to me for such a crucial part of my life was one of the most painful experiences I have ever had in my short 20 years. I felt as if the deepest part of myself was being ripped out and left on the island and I would never be able to find it unless I returned. But that’s the thing about Iona. It’s a different place every time you go back. The people I left behind will leave the island as well. They will move on with the rest of the lives that they were preparing for while living on Iona. I can never go back to this summer. 

But I’m okay with that because when I left that deepest part of me on Iona, I made a trade. I now carry Iona with me wherever I go. Iona has taken the place of the deepest part of me that I left behind. And while I know that I can never return to Iona during the summer of 2011, when I do go back, I’m certain I will receive a huge hug from the island itself. The rocks there are some of the oldest rocks on our planet. I trust them. They will not forget me.

Besides, I know that I will see at least some of these people again. I’ve heard stories about old volunteers meeting up during their travels and spending time together. Another odd assortment of people but this time in Switzerland or Germany instead of on Iona. Iona may be an isolated little island, but I guarantee it, she travels all over the world, and I hope that perhaps, she’s coming to Pennsylvania and Indiana and maybe even Guatemala and Mexico in a few short months… 

So concludes my summer adventures. Thanks for coming along for the ride! I anticipate seeing all of you when I get back to the States! 

*If you’d like, find out more here: http://iona.org.uk/iona_community.php

As of Wednesday, I will have a mere three weeks left at Iona. I have been going through the process of preparing myself to leave since I reached my halfway point a few weeks ago. This combined with an experience off-island last week has caused me a lot of reflection. What is different about this place that I need to acknowledge and remember when I leave?

The question has many answers, but today I reflect on the presence of the ocean. In countless conversations I have mentioned how much I’m going to miss living by the water. It was one of the first things I noticed when I got here. When I am near the ocean I feel more connected, I breathe more deeply, I remember to listen.

Living on a small island, surrounded by ocean makes one very aware of the movement of life, the many cycles that we experience. Just as the tide has a rhythm, so do we as human beings experience cycles of life. This is very prominent living as part of the community of volunteers here on the island. Each week is a cycle as we welcome new guests on Saturdays and wave them off on Friday morning. Each volunteer lives through a cycle: We arrive, go through that awkward period of time when nothing makes sense, gradually start to ease into the rhythm of life here, work out the kinks, and finally, right when it’s time to depart, we realize the odd paradox of how much we truly belong yet that our time here means nothing unless we leave. 

I have been here two months now, long enough to watch the different phases of many volunteers as they go through the natural cycle of what it means to live on Iona. It has been fascinating to look back and watch the different phases of that cycle interact. I remember my first day working as a volunteer when I didn’t know how to get to the refectory. I bumped into another volunteer who had only a week left of his time here. He showed me where to go. Now I have reached the phase in my cycle where I can be the one to give guidance to the lost and confused volunteers that I run into. 

This cycle awareness has taught me many things. I have realized the depth and significance of what it means to live as people in the midst of a cycle, in different phases of our cycles. It is the reality of continual cycles that keeps this place vibrant and alive. I am at the phase in my cycle now where the reality of departure is looming ever nearer. Just tonight I attended a “Leaving Service,” an optional event for those who are at the last stage of their volunteer cycle. As I sat there, I became jealous. Why were these people ahead of me in their cycle? I will miss them. I don’t want to finish my cycle alone. 

Then I remembered, that just as I am experiencing these feelings, the volunteers I will be pining for in a few days time experienced these feelings a few short weeks ago. I am not alone. I am simply in a different phase. And just as these volunteers will leave on the 9:00 ferry Wednesday morning, a new group of volunteers will arrive that same day at 2:30 in the afternoon. And so the cycle continues on…

This cycle awareness has given me the opportunity to extend grace to those in different phases than I am. I have realized that every phase of the cycle is important, necessary, and right. I am often tempted to cringe at the insecurity of new volunteers, but as I watch the ocean’s waves crash upon the shore, I’m reminded that I was once the insecure new volunteer. As soon as I have that wise, mellow outlook that can only come from a completed cycle, I will be thrust anew into the cycle again, arriving at another place, entering a different world, being lost for awhile. Such is the life of a pilgrim. Such is the life of all of us. 

Iona is simply a representation of a larger reality. Just as Iona is kept vibrant and alive by continual cycles, so is the rest of our world. We cycle through life itself from birth to death. We cycle from brokenness to wholeness, ignorance to wisdom, turmoil to peace. Even the life-sustaining act of breathing is a cycle.  To live is to be in the midst of a cycle. Each phase of every cycle that we experience, is not only necessary, but complemented when we embrace each other in different phases of these cycles. It is important to respect the reality of living in the midst of a cycling world. 

I am filled with grateful sadness as I appreciate how much I will miss being near the ocean, a reminder of this cyclic reality. I am tempted to push that feeling to the side, but I must remember that mourning my upcoming departure is a phase of the cycle I am in, and while I may not anticipate leaving this place behind, that too is an important part of a cycle that must be respected and upheld. 

And on that note, and with a deep, cyclical breath, I’m going to go enjoy the crash of the waves upon the shores of Iona. 

He’s been gone for awhile actually. My apologies for the delay. 

Unfortunately, I don’t have as many stories as one might suspect. But I’ll scrounge up something because that’s what this blog is all about, right?

For those of you who don’t know who John Bell is, now you get to find out. John Bell is virtually the reason I am here, and actually he’s more difficult to describe than one might think. Essentially, I know who he is because he’s part of a group called “The Wild Goose Resource Group.” This is a project of the Iona Community based in Glasgow that “exists to enable and equip congregations and clergy in the shaping and creation of new forms of relevant, participative worship .” * There are multiples ways in which this is done. If you’re interested, I suggest you read up on it. You’ll probably find what you need here: http://www.iona.org.uk/wgrg_home.php

One of the things this group does very well is compiling music for worship, whether finding it in various places around the world or writing it themselves. I first heard of John Bell in high school when I encountered some of his songs in choir and also in our Mennonite hymnal supplements. Then during the winter of my freshman year of college, John Bell actually showed up in Indiana and I got to go to a workshop he did which involved quite a lot of singing and telling the stories of our lives in honest ways through worship. It was like a breath of fresh air!

Because of this John Bell awareness, I became more aware of the Iona Community and consequently the idea that I might want to hang out on the isle of Iona for this summer. 

I’ve found the music and lyrics that have come from my encounters with John Bell and the publications of the Wild Goose Resource Group to be refreshing, inspiring, and theologically sound. It’s been very hard for me not to buy up all the song books in the shop. Just to give you a taste, here’s one of my favorites (I feel guilty directly quoting all of it, but I’m going to do my favorite verses):

Excerpts from “The Sorrow” by the Iona Community, Glasgow

taken from Enemy of Apathy

Don’t tell me of a faith that fears

to face the world around;

Don’t dull my mind with easy thoughts

Of grace without a ground.

I need to know that God is real!

I need to know that Christ can feel

the need to touch and love and heal

the world, including me!

Don’t set the cross before my eyes 

Unless you tell the truth

Of how how the Lord who finds the lost

Was often found uncouth

So let the Gospel come alive 

In actions plain to see

In imitation of the one 

Whose love extends to me. (90-91)

That was way too hard. I had a lot of trouble picking favorite verses. But seriously, imagine singing that on Sunday. I have done this. It was splendid. 

If you’d like to find the rest of the verses along with the actual melody, I suggest you find me when I get home because I bought the book with the music in it. Or if you can’t wait that long, go to their online store** and buy either Enemy of Apathy by John L. Bell and Graham Maule with the Wild Goose Resource Group or Love and Anger by the same folks. 

*http://www.wgrg.co.uk/pages.php?page=what_is_wgrg&osCsid=bmbip7iddc4gnb3kus0ta1n0k2

**http://www.wgrg.co.uk/index.php

It’s true. 

But that was mainly to get your attention…

Who is John Bell? I’ll tell you in another post. He’ll be here all week, so I’ll have more stories then.

All that being said, I think it’s time to start talking about the people I’ve been encountering. It has been a whirlwind of learning, meeting, discussing, and telling stories. People are drawn to Iona from all over the world. The volunteers here are from the UK, various places across the US, Canada, Germany, the Netherlands, the Czech Republic, Australia, New Zealand, and even Paraguay - and these are just their home countries. In addition to those places, I have heard stories from Palestine, Colombia, Honduras, Ireland, and many more I can’t recall right now. It has been fascinating to have these different perspectives informing my experiences here.

One of the most fun conversations I’ve had just happened today. I work in the kitchen with a young woman from Germany. She was talking about her family, saying something to the affect of, “My family is really boring. They all live in Franconia.” Naturally, I did a double take and said, “What did you just say?” There are lots of reasons why I found her statement to be highly amusing/amazing/unbelievable, but to sum it all up: I believe I may have made a connection to the original Franconia!* We were comparing notes about different aspects of where we live. Franconia in Germany is a pretty rural area with a lot of farming from what I’ve been told. Hm. Sound familiar? 

Naturally, my German friend was interested in how another Franconia could possibly exist and we got to talking about Mennonites and things. This led to another fun exchange. She said, “We don’t have any Mennonites in Franconia.”** (weirdest thing I ever heard) I responded, “Um. Yeah…we ran away.”

This leads me to reflect on the ecumenical state of things here. Beyond all of the different countries represented, I can’t even remember the complex hyphenated names of all the different denominations people have come from. The cool thing about it is that Iona has a tendency to draw people who are open to conversation across belief-systems. It has been healing for me as a Mennonite to receive so much respect from people from Lutheran and Reformed Traditions, along with many others. I didn’t even know I needed to heal in that way! 

I’ve also heard many stories about the different painful experiences as well as the moments of growth that have happened in different denominations as they have had to face difficult issues - many of the same difficult issues Mennonites face. As Christian denominations, we have such a wealth of resources and stories to offer each other. I wish we could find more venues in which to share the wisdom that we each have gained through our different experiences. I guess Iona is a start.  

So, there you have it. While some days are easier than others, I continue to be in awe at the gift it is to be here. Even if there weren’t all these great people from all these amazing places, John Bell is coming. What more could I possibly desire?

Yes, I’ll tell you more about him later this week. 

Please don’t die of suspense…

*Franconia is my hometown in PA. It’s chock full of Mennos.

**Apparently, Menno is a common name in the German Franconia area…there just aren’t any Mennonites.

I went to visit Fingal’s Cave the other day… no big deal. That’s what we do around here. We go visit famous caves.  

If you haven’t heard of Fingal’s Cave, I’ll tell you all about it. It’s a sea cave, part of the uninhabited island of Staffa, and it’s about a 45 minute - 1 hour boat ride from Iona to get there.

There are so many reasons why this cave is spectacular. First off, it’s formed entirely of “hexagonally jointed basalt columns.” I shall explain this by further quoting wikipedia. Essentially, when the island was being formed, “the cooling surface of the mass of hot lava cracked in a hexagonal pattern in a similar way to drying mud cracking as it shrinks, and these cracks gradually extended down into the mass of lava as it cooled and shrank to form the columns, which were subsequently exposed by erosion.”* Creates an awesome affect. As I was walking around the island to get to the mouth of the cave, I was stepping from one hexagon to the next. I thought often of geometry.

Okay, so that’s pretty awesome, but let’s talk about the inside of this cave. It’s basically a natural cathedral. How cool is that? The acoustics are phenomenal! But beyond that, it’s a sea cave, so you know, the sea goes inside the cave.  Combine that with the interesting acoustics in the cave and you get some eerie sounds. If you stand in the cave and listen, you can hear haunting melodies in the rhythm of the waves.

All of this leads up to the reason I was so excited to visit the cave. Ready? Here it is: The reason I was so excited to visit the cave was because of a wonderful man named Felix Mendelssohn. In his early 20s (gosh, that’s me!), Mendelssohn visited Britain. During that time he went on a rather stormy two-day cruise through the inner Hebrides on which he visited, you guessed it, Fingal’s Cave. Very soon after that cruise, he sent a letter home to his family that included 20 bars of music that is practically the same as the opening of his Hebrides Overture, also titled, “Fingal’s Cave.”**

I played that overture in orchestra a little over a year ago!!! I had no idea I’d be coming here then, but now I’m super psyched about it.

If you’d like to hear the overture, here’s a url:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3MiETaBSnc&feature=related

After you’re done listening to that, feel free to watch the video I took while I was in the cave. Disclaimer: I’m not very good with cameras. I apologize if you get ridiculously dizzy. Watch at your own risk. Actually, I suggest starting at 1:00. It took me that long to stop moving.

I could hear parts of Mendelssohn’s overture while I was standing in there. Incredible. Unfortunately, the sound quality of my video is not so good, but maybe the amazingness can sort of come through? I should also say that the “eerie” singing at the end of the video is human-produced. Gives a feel of the acoustics, I guess. I have no idea who that was, but now their voice/s have been captured forever in my video. Lucky them.


*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fingal%27s_Cave

**http://www.bhso.org.uk/repert-196-Mendelssohn-Hebrides-Overture-Fingals-Cave.htm