so, so sleepy

I can barely keep my eyes open but there is work to be done yet tonight. One of the serious bummers about teaching is that I'm tired when I get home and don't exactly feel like lesson-planning and organizing all evening too. This week's started lightly but will be very busy at the end. I just want to move Hazu off my blanket, and crawl under, or, if I'm very lucky, to be able to jam my feet under her warm little body and hear no protest. Usually the protest is in the form of a disgruntled short snarly meow, but sometimes it's half-hearted as her laziness is greater than her annoyance. She has adopted CK embarrassingly. They talk to each other eyeball to eyeball until she's had enough then she drapes herself over his shoulder and just hangs there. Would do it for hours if he didn't have to move periodically. She has taken to sitting in front of her food bowl willing it to fill itself. Lo and behold! it does! He always caves in, even if she's just eaten. He's trained. He's also spent all evening reading his new books--2008 restaurant and wine guides to Vienna. He may never speak again, unless it's to ask: what's the name of that place again? you know, the one with great Tafelspitz? Hmm.

There is a bowl of ginger cookies, hidden under a large pineapple. Not hidden enough. I want one. Since we have no oven, and molasses is not available here (one import store had it, told me they'd sold the last in August), how is it that I have fresh yummy homemade ginger cookies? I borrowed a friend's oven as I tried two different ways to substitute molasses. Turned out fine. When I asked some of my students where to get molasses, they knew what it was, but then said it takes months to make, should start it in summer for Christmas. And where, pray tell, does one get sugar cane? In July? That, they couldn't answer.

It has snowed twice already--just enough to frost the tops of the huts, which are wreathed in greenery. We stood outside in the snow yesterday drinking hot punsch with a mix of locals cramming under the market umbrellas at the punsch stand. It's wicked, wicked stuff. One cup will put you under. Hot, spicy, and nothing but alcohol. I had the thought that the alcohol would burn off, but the temperature is j u s t under that point. So the devilbrew hits the bloodstream awfully fast.

I saw my first fur coats of the season! The old Viennese women pull out their fur the moment snow hits. Often with sensible ankle boots and brown nylons, more often with insanely high heels and very red lipstick. Grandma, you're a looker. I don't know how they do it. The shoes I mean. I don't want to know how they do fur coats. Really, seriously fabulous shoes on cobblestones. Skip the maryjanes, little Susy! You're a Vienna Girl! start with 3 inches, the world will be your oyster! Oy vay. I have periodic notions of pulling out my favourite shoes but then I remember I have to walk and where. I waterproofed my flat, can-fit-thick-pairs-of-wool-socks boots last night. That's my concession to sexy: dry feet.

CK is now brewing coffee, and I just saw him sneakily put the rum bottle back in its somewhat-hidden spot. Coffee with a hit of rum. Yum. The cat is stretching as tall as she can to reach the tops of the upholstered kitchen chairs to make sure the pinprick holes her nails make are as high as possible. Time to get a scratching post.

Christmas markets opened this weekend. The downtown (Stephansplatz) uBahn station is always a treat to get out at--one exit takes you in an escalator to ground level, the top half of the escalator uncovered. It is amusing in the rain to watch umbrellas pop open one by one as people glide higher and get hit by the rain. Until it's my turn. It is the only escalator I know of that brings you from your subterranean journey and places you at the foot of a Gothic cathedral. It's awe-inspiring, even if you're in a rush somewhere else.

There is another delightful seasonal surprise at Stephansplatz. Another subway exit pops you up to Graben, an expensive, pedestrian, shopping street. The first thing you see above you is an enormous swag chandelier of thousand of white lights strung from one side of the street, then another, and another. They go all the way down the street, and I saw a little narrow side street with identical miniatures slowly spinning in the perpetual Vienna wind. I haven't seen them turned on yet--but even in the daytime they are gloriously beautiful.

CK wanted to go away somewhere for Christmas, but I voted for Vienna for our first Christmas together. I think it will be amazing. As long as I find a Christmas gift for him before then...

The huts on our Fußgangerzone (pedestrian zone, literally, "foot-going-zone") have multiplied--now there are about 26. Lights are strung between them on wires. None are open yet, if you don't count the all-winter roasted chestnut stall and the Russian lady who parks her huge, snorting beast of a panel van outside our windows at 6 a.m. when she sells her knock-off bags and fake pashminas on folding tables under a market umbrella. It is a perfect autumn day--golden sun, crisp, cool, and Christmas everywhere. I always found it a bit irritating that in Vancouver the Christmas things appeared in the stores immediately after Hallowe'en. Here, Hallowe'en is a "new" idea (although they celebrate All-Saints' Day Nov. 1st with a national holiday, they somehow think it's an "American" tradition. Tell that to your fellow Europeans, the Brits) So without too many witches and goblins in the shops, I saw the first Christmas things in shops October 1st. I suspect that Austria does Christmas very, very well. I'm excited about the Christmas markets all over Vienna that apparently will open soon. My students have strong opinions on which are the best, which have the best Gluhwein, which are "real" and not touristy.
It is going to be a vigorous struggle between my wallet and my desires. As always. Christmas things are different though. I love the season, the holiday, the reason behind it, the suspension of all things cynical and jaded, even if only temporary.

Just got back from Bad, bad Billa, and Bipa. (There's also a Turkish shop around the corner called Bima). Billa is the disorganized, crowded, badly stocked grocery store that unfortunately is the closest to us. Not that the others are much farther, but its regrettable proximity makes it our default shop. The proportion of available goods is truly interesting. Questions I would like Billa's management to answer:
why don't your employees wear deoderant?
why do you wait for your line-ups to get to over 20 people before opening a second cash register?
why are there milk products scattered randomly around the store? Why is the milk not together, and why is it separated from all other dairy products?
why is there next to no fruits and vegetables and meats, but an inordinate amount of candy and chocolate, filling almost one full aisle? Why do you not offer shopping baskets?

I could go on. And probably will at another point. Grocery shopping here makes me crazy.

However (in case you are not asleep yet) I was pleased at Bipa. Bipa is the cosmetics and random supplies store next to Bad Billa. I was able to find all kinds of essential oils (for soapmaking) there for dirt cheap compared to Canada. And grave candles. I love grave candles. They are a soy or wax based candle in red or, if lucky, clear plastic cups. They are cheap beyond compare, as they are used at gravesites as burning vigils for the dearly departed. I suppose it is considered tasteless to overcharge for the rites of bereavement. Perhaps that philosophy can be considered by governments and directors of funeral homes in future. Today I found them in glass votive holders, looking more like normal candles. Since I am candle-obsessed, I am delighted to find another source. The red ones are a little too obvious when Catholics come over to dinner.

Speaking of Catholics, I have accepted a part-time job in addition to the business English teaching. It is at a high-end private Catholic school. I will be a language assistant in the classroom. It is about 24 hours per week, and as I will be support staff I will get paid by the Sacre Coeur Archdiocese. Never been paid by the Catholic church before. As LK commented, what would the Holy See say about paying the offspring of Anabaptist rebels?

Well, time to put away my shopping and head off to meet a friend. We are heading to a Bookcrossing meet-up tonight. Fabulous. I have been a member for a few years but not very active. When Sandra approached me a few weeks ago and told me she was part of a group she thought I might be interested in, she said it in such a way that I thought I would have to gracefully decline shaving my head and wearing orange robes and drink arsenic kool-aid, or, even worse, Amway. Turns out she thought I would think she was a bit of a book nerd if I didnt like the idea. She organizes the local English bookcrossing meet-ups. If these are the biggest kooks I meet, bring it on. I will feel at home. Might have to confess to the junk Ive been reading lately though. Hmm. Suppose commenting on Mein Kampf is out for tonight, or any night here?

Always something new...

Yesterday when we got home after dinner, there weren't 17 wooden huts spaced 20 feet apart, lining our street. Now there are. CK said, "Oh, the huts are up!" with glee. When I pressed for information, all I got was "it's the Christmas season!" Meaning, I presume, Gluhwein (I expect I've blithely skipped an umlaut there, apologies to all German-speakers), or Punsch. Both are hot variations of mulled wine, I think. Both delicious, anyway. We also saw, on our evening stroll, the first handwritten sign for "Ganserl", the Viennese word for goose, at a little pub. The signs propped up in little restaurants for "Sturm" are disappearing as it is getting all drunk up. Mostly by me. Sturm is a fleeting autumn treat. Now, apparently, hot wine and goose are all the rage. It is typically Austrian to mix wine, or, in fact, any liquid, with any other liquid to create a new drink. Maybe I'm exaggerating a little--but not much. All juice and wine (and sometimes beer) are cut with something. Usually sparkling mineral water, but in the case of beer with lemonade to make Radler, which is basically like a British shandy. I heard a new one this week--Coke with red wine. My students banded together in front of my aghast expression to insist it's simply delish. They told me I have to try it and report back to them. I wonder if they like me. Cruel jokes to play on foreign teachers. No really!!! it's the custom here!!! Sure, and you can come to class in dirndls and lederhosen and I'll try it. Not that they wouldn't come to class like that. I've already had one student in trachten (traditional dress, with the dirndl (skirt) and all. Yesterday a student brought her dog to class, and it bit me.

another digression: this is the place to be if you're a dog. You get to go to work with your people, you get to go for coffee/dinner/dessert with your people, and how do you get to these restaurants/cafes etc? On the buses, UBahns (subway) and trams, of course! I've never seen so many dogs, so well socialized. They very rarely display bad canine manners (well, except for biting the teacher, but it was just a little taste) as they are so used to people and other dogs being around them all the time. It's so civilized! If Hazuki wouldn't have an evil fit at another animal in her space, I'd love to have a dog.

Other strange things my students have told me:
me: what did you do on your weekend?
him: put the turtles in the fridge.
me: you put turtles in the fridge? (give me a break; it was an early morning class and I often misunderstand students anyway, like the woman who said I have a husband, but I have a boyfriend. Meant to say "haven't a husband". I think.)
him: yes. They were in the garden, now they're in the fridge.
me: (greatly puzzled) Why did you put turtles in the fridge?
him: for the winter

he lives alone. A little less alone, now that 3 old turtles are enjoying their 2 heartbeats a minute next to the kraut at 5 degrees celcius. Who knew? Maybe there are turtle-fanciers out there who know this stuff. I didn't. Brought it up at dinner with Viennese friends last week and was told that my dining companion had inherited the family turtle from Grandma. Granny got it in '47. She is no longer with us, but the turtle is. Who needs family silver when you've got a turtle to pass down?

The Ships of Yule

My "fleet of forty sail" that goes "from Babylon to Rome" (with the most delicate of curtsies to my mother, who introduced Bliss Carman to me at an early age) has carried me to Vienna, a city about which I knew nearly nothing prior to moving here in January 2007. This will be a collection of observations about life here, descriptions of our frequent short trips to neighbouring cities/villages, and purely whimsical non-sequiturs--as LK says, I'll be "shifting without a clutch" just as I often do in conversation. Hey, keeps people on their toes. Pay attention! as another friend often said, "follow the bouncing ball of my consciousness!"

William Bliss Carman wrote the poem "The Ships of Yule" in 1909--further info here:
http://www.lac-bac.ca/canvers-bin/entry?entry_nbr=1205&l=0&page_rows=10&clctn_nbr=1

Living in Vienna is a joy, a challenge, and a culture shock. Today is Allerheiligen, All Saints' Day. As it is a religious (Catholic) holiday, everything is closed. For once we weren't wakened by the trucks outside our window delivering clothing and shoes--now, seasonal scarves and boots--to the large clothing store across the street. The sun is bouncing into our small flat from the vibrant yellow "house" (apartment building) across the street. It's cool, crisp, and perfectly autumnal. We are enjoying the day doing very little except read and drink coffee. Luxury! Even the noisy public markets by our place are quiet today.

Last night we went out to dinner at the Gasthaus Grünauer in the 7th. It's a small, crowded, noisy Beisl with fantastic Wiener food. (No, not food made of hoghoof and horsehock sausages, you cretin!)
Digression: I love the word Vienna; abhor the city's name for itself and its adjectival form: Wien and Wiener. Doesn't "Vienna" and "Viennese" sound so much better?

Second Digression: horse meat. There are several little "Imbiss" sprinkled around the city, in fact a few on each corner, it seems (snack bars, little cafes with stand-up tables outside where you buy a beer and sausage and consume right there, sometimes with actual tables inside). I was drinking a beer after work one day on my way home and contemplating life in general when I noticed a sign with a pretty picture of a prancing black horse. I thought--that's weird--I didn't see any other indication of this Imbiss being a "Sportswetten", or sports/racing betting bar. Hm. Then I realized it wasn't--it was an advertisement for their "real" horse meat of a very high quality, served proudly here. Barf. My friend Flicka, meet my pal plate. Not to say that in a starvation situation I would turn up my nose, but as CK always says when we are debating a minor splurge, "The war's over". He usually pulls that one when I'm doing my best to salvage slightly softening vegetables and contemplating soup. He'd rather watch yesterday's purchases rot on the counter as he tops them up with today's. But lack of fridge space, European daily food shopping, and Bad, Bad, Bad, Bad Billa, which doesn't make me feel so good, are digressions for another day.

Third Digression: I mentioned the district, the 7th, when referring to the restaurant we went to last night. Why does this matter? Because we live in the 10th, a terribly unfashionable "ethnic" and "working class" district. I love it. But where you live in this city is very important. Whenever I have a new class of students, the first question they ask of me during introductions is: where do you live? As we walked down Hermanngasse last night, CK told me that a colleague had told him about a study done of prejudice and area here: 2 resumes were sent to 100 local companies with exactly the same credentials. The only difference was the postal code. One resume gave an address in the 10th or 11th, one gave an address in one of the stylish districts. Of the responses, there were 3 companies that responded to the "workers" district applicant and 21 interviews offered to the person from a "better" district. Same companies--nearly identical resumes--clear bias.
Fourth Digression: I think I'm starting to assimilate into the Austrian mindset. Yesterday I commented on the "good air". This is a uniquely European idea, I think. Yes, cities that get a lot of smog and pollution might comment that it's a particularly smoggy day, or, that air in the wilderness has a wonderful smell, but there is an obsession here about the "air". In fact, at the Technical Museum last month, I was looking at an exhibit about the city planning here, how the wide avenues were designed to facilitate the wind blowing through the city to remove the "bad air". Commendable indeed for a city whose inhabitants think nothing of pissing on the sidewalk, against walls, between parked cars while chitchatting with their friends, and spitting loud gobs of phlegm on the street at will. SO--the plague--caused by bad air? Let's take a closer look at some public habits, non? The city has a perpetual smell of urine.
Shoot me the moment you hear me say that sleeping with an open window causes colds. Last I checked, it was viruses. Or, if not given to violence, feel free to put together a fund to return me to Canada forthwith. If that's a word.