From Babylon to Rome

2011-11-06T11:13:00.000-08:00

Christmas! wow it starts early here. We got back from our vacation in Italy this summer (well, early September) and lo! and behold! Shops were already putting out their Christmas things. It is Just Too Early! and people I meet here have the temerity to tell me that they disapprove of the American-style commercialization of Christmas. Oh, whatever! At least in N. America people at least wait for Hallowe'en, or American Thanksgiving to be over.
In blatant disregard of my own disdain of shops which begin with their Christmas displays when it is 25° out and people are still in flipflops, I have been swayed. Yes, I made a wreath. Yes, I pored over some Christmas CDs to put on my iPod. And bought candles. More candles.
And I think the tree will go....there...a little to the left...

From Babylon to Rome: History in the (un)making

2011-07-19T14:14:00.000-07:00

From Babylon to Rome: History in the (un)making

History in the (un)making

2011-07-17T12:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to the Ring to watch the kilometre-long funeral procession of Otto von Habsburg, who died on July 4th. Why, you ask? why, because of the hats of course.
DH, being uninterested in hats unless they're on his or my head, was not enthralled by the idea of attending a funeral of some guy who predates local democracy. Some newspapers agreed. Is there any excuse in a republic for what looks suspiciously like a state funeral?

Despite DH's naysaying, I didn't want to miss a moment in history, or, rather, laying history to rest: the Habsburgs ruled from 1282 to 1918, although the family dates from the 10th century. So the death of the son of the last Emperor of Austria marks the end of a period of more than 600 years of rule.

I found it fascinating, a glimpse into a historical world of pomp and power. The funeral cortege wended through the inner city from the Requiem in Stephansdom, down Graben, Kohlmarkt, through the beautiful Hofburg arches, Heldenplatz, turning onto Burgring to the Opera, from where I watched it turn back into the First District to end up at the Kapuzinergruft, where Otto von Habsburg plus his wife but minus his heart, will be laid to rest. The heart goes to Hungary, to be interred there as family tradition would have it.

Some extra fascinating tidbits:

ooohhh, ahhhh!
plenty of Europe's royal families were in attendance, although I could only place Karl Gustav, king of Sweden, and only because someone behind me said hey! there's the King of Sweden! I'm following true to myself here: I have met/seen rather a lot of famous people and I seldom recognized them. When it comes down to my little socialist heart, people just, kind of, look like people. Perky little fuzzy puppies? Them, I notice!

follow your heart
already mentioned the heart: body goes with wife (she had to be brought along I guess, since she was buried elsewhere when she passed away last year and was reburied with him Saturday. Follow your heart ain't a philosophy for him, I guess, since his is in Pannonhalma, Hungary, in a Benedictine monastery.

they don't know him (either!)
when brought to the Kapuziner-Kirche (yes, where we get the name cappuccino, if not the brew)there is a wonderful tradition, where the church is asked three times by the master of ceremonies, "Wer begehrt Einlass?" (who desires entry?). The first reply begins with all the titles--in this case, "Otto von Österreich, einst Kronprinz von Österreich-Ungarn, königlicher Prinz von Ungarn und Böhmen, von Dalmatien, Kroatien, Slawonian",yada yada yada for several paragraphs; the priest replies coolly, "Wir kennen ihn nicht" (we don't know him).

The priest asks again, "Wer begehrt Einlass?" and this time, the answer is all of his accomplishments: "Dr. Otto von Habsburg, Präsident und Ehrenpräsident der Paneuropa-Union", blah blah blah for a few long sentences. The priest remains unimpressed, and says again, "Wir kennen ihn nicht!".

For the third and last time, the priest asks, "Wer begehrt Einlass?". This time, however, the answer "Otto--ein sterblicher, sündicher Mensch" (Otto, a mortal, sinful human) and finally the answer comes: "So komme er herein" (so let him enter).
Equal in death.

time for a flick

2011-01-18T13:34:00.000-08:00

Tuesdays, ah, Tuesdays. My long and busy day. Got home late-ish and decided the perfect post-prandial would be a movie. Fortunately, there is a theatre just around the corner. It has a smoky little entry with 4 tables and a bar with dusty plastic flowers in vases next to the ashtrays.

This is the coolest, grimiest little place. a) you can bring your own drinks, and b)the first German-to-German subtitled movie I ever saw was here, Swiss German apparently requiring explanation for the rest of the German-speaking world, and c) you probably won't see mice running across the theatre floor in the warmer months. Sadly, today does not find itself in a warmer month.

Tonight I thoroughly enjoyed "Die Unabsichtliche Entführung der Frau Elfriede Ott", which is an Austrian comedy set in Graz. The title loosely translates as "The unintentional kidnapping of Mrs. Elfriede Ott" Ms. Ott happens to be a real actress who plays herself. Oh, such wacky good fun. Can't imagine enjoying it more even if I DID understand that Graz dialect. So what is this all about then? Well, an accidental kidnapping. Of Ms. Ott. High art it ain't. But go see it if you want a midweek chuckle & mouse sightings.

bottom's up! for health, of course...

2010-10-23T15:42:00.000-07:00

Achtung! looonnnggg post ahead!
Am disappointed to be missing a party I really wanted to be at, due to some weird flu-like things that render me useless in public, like fever and incredibly itchy and dry, bloodshot eyes. However, I AM celebrating the season by reading "apartment therapy" online and drinking beer grog.

One Saturday ritual I love is waking up to the sounds of CK making coffee, after which I hear the door squeaking and him returning with the paper, from which he tosses the Saturday magazine insert on the bed beside me. I get up to snag a big gorgeous mug made by Natalie, fill it with life-giving joe, and crawl back into bed with the Freizeit magazine. The photography is stunning, week by week I understand a bit more of the German too. I love the cooking section. Really. It is the part of magazines I HATE normally. But this one is SO GOOD. a) they have a half-page about what is in season right this second and what to do with it, its different names and types, and big pictures b) they have a "cooking for one" recipe that is fresh, using the produce they mentioned, and super simple, c) they have across the top of the page, cartoon-style, a children's item with clear pictures and simple directions--today it was making popcorn, which was weak, but normally it is something like baking an apple, or whisking up pudding from scratch, or making a simple salad. Then there is an article from a famous German chef whose equally famous restaurant got shut down cuz he was a cokehead, and, since Austria is very loosey-goosey about morality (just not the appearance of morality) and eminently practical, they immediately scooped him up to write a weekly column on food. So he will pick something apparently random, like horseradish, or celery root, or, again, whatever is in season, and write well, humourously, and knowledgeably about this thing. Then, there is the top 5 list. It is different weekly: where is the best Tafelspitz (boiled beef, served with Rösti and horseradish applesauce), Biergarten (summer, obviously) to where is the best Martini Gans'l (today's). November 11 is St. Martin's day (every day of the year has a saint assigned to it, and if you have a saint's name, you celebrate a mini-birthday on that day. It is your "saint's-day." On most calendars here the daily saint is mentioned. At several uBahn stations there are large-screen tvs where you watch the news clips while waiting for trains and they scroll through headlines, weather, and today's saint and the saint's basic info.

Naturally, some Saints are more famous than others. St. Martin, for some reason, requires a goose to be eaten on his name day, which is Nov. 11th. http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A17953608 So for the days around that day, Gans (diminunitive form in Austria: Gans'l is goose) is offered on all menus from every low-brow beer pub to high-end restaurants. And it is served with Blaukraut (red cabbage) and roasted chestnuts and dumplings and a lot of beer, or, wine if served in a wine tavern. It is delicious. We have reservations at a Buschenschank on the 14th, about 10 in the party. (Buschenschank is a Heuriger--wine tavern at a vineyard--where the bush is hung outside above the door to indicate open for business) We are going to Klüger's in Stammersdorf again this year, fabulous meal, fabulous wine, fabulous schnapps to ensure fabulous digestion of all that fabulousness.

The next big saint is St. Barbara.
We buy a Barbarabund at the market for her on Dec 4th or the Saturday before. This is a bunch of twigs for about 4 Euro. Bund is something that is bound, hence, bundle of sticks, bundle of flowers etc. You stick the twigs in a vase of water, and the twigs flower by Christmas Eve. St. B was being taken in a carriage by her father to meet her executioner when a twig from a tree got caught in her cloak and flowered before she reached the beheader. Her crime (about 306 a.d.) was converting to Christianity. St. B's life sucked, really, as she had already been locked in the tower by her merchant father who took off on a sales trip and kept her there for safekeeping for months while he was away. She had the servants cut 3 windows in her bathhouse to indicate the Trinity. Bad move for ensuring a long life, Babs. http://www.saintbarbara.org/about/frp_stbarb.cfm

all of which to say I am drinking Biergrog. Now I have had grog, and I have had beer, but this brings both out of the nosebleeds into the boxes. So this is what the Freizeit had on offer today in a sidebox:
125 g sugar ('bout 1/3 cup, can substitue stevia or whatever), 1 litre light beer (e.g.Pilsner or Budweiser) I used one non-alc and one regular, 1/2 cinnamon stick. Then heat the beer and sugar and cinnamon stick just to a boil and stir the whole time. When the sugar is dissolved turn off the heat and let it sit while you beat 4 eggs and add 1 cup (250 mL) rum to them. Then whisk the eggs/rum with the beer/sugar/cinnamon and pour into glasses et voila! Biergrog! fun to say, fun to drink.

CK says that it is very good for colds and flu, and it is true, I am sweating profusely when moments ago I was shivering. Let the healing begin.

just watch out that you don't return it to heat, the eggs will get custardy in there. Not bad, just marginally chunky. Best to avoid. Serves 4 people who like grog, 6 who are being polite. Two of us.

When things drive me nutso about life here (difficulty galore with this impenetrable language, pushy, shovy, whiny, complaining people, obsession with what the neighbour is doing, courtesy-is-a-shameful-weakness and waiting for one's turn is for wimps) I then have moments where the richness of the traditions, the history, the fact that at our lokal the Napolese chef brought out his Russian coin from the 1700s to show us, then his Roman ones, (imagine! the hands that have touched these coins! the pockets they have jingled in!), and I go to the market-behind-the-market and pick up gorgeous firm pale green heads of cabbage, and tight heads of cauliflower, and the last of the season's farm tomatoes and red peppers. And I look for the first bunches of Barbarabund, and love life here again.

Biergrog, not just for flu anymore! bring your maudlin here!

Nirvana

2010-03-16T14:36:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to rely overly on my gps to get around this curly-
streeted city. Nonetheless, I may have overstepped the possibility of even google maps with my request to find an Indian restaurant.

directions to Nirvana, starting at Current Location, struck me as somehow odd.
would that it were so easy

There's no accounting for taste

2010-03-14T14:30:00.000-07:00

Periodically I look through holiday photos and am astounded at what other people find attractive. I love these stairs, and according to Picasa, this photo of mine received a few visits, whereas a picture of my flipflops received 227 hits, a bee buzzing around Provence this summer got 483 hits, and what I consider a ho-hum, yes another photo of the Eiffel tower which I didn't bother straightening got a whopping 922 hits from strangers who happened on my Picasa page.

Balance

2010-03-14T12:40:00.000-07:00

I adore the idea of grand old halls with their stillrooms, for distilling herbs and spices for the health and welfare of the house's masters, servants, and villagers alike. I lived at Capernwray Hall in the north of England (Carnforth)for a year and a half, many years ago now, and caught some of the feeling of what it must have been like when modern medicine was in its infancy and the ages-old ideas of plants' healing properties was the science of the day. I loved to go to the beautiful kitchen garden--a walled garden which brought to mind Frances Hodgson Burnett's Secret Garden. There was history made tangible--in the orderly rows of vegetables, and the walled edges of herbs and climbing vines which both flavoured the cook's creations and provided healing remedies to the house's residents.

The nostalgia of "pure and natural" appeals to me tremendously.

But what does that mean? Ársenic, hemlock, willow bark, digitalis, the more "pure", the faster they will affect us adversely. And when is "artificial" good? When is "natural" bad?

I wear gel nails--as fake as one can get. Yet I clean my home with distilled vinegar, and baking soda. I make my own soap--but don't read the ingredients list on the toothpaste I put in my mouth a minimum of twice a day.

So where, in our rich western world, do we find balance within our necessary hypocrisies?

I believe in being conscious of our idiosyncrasies, of minimizing our chemical footprint where we can, if only to indulge our whims with less of a guilty conscience elsewhere. I decide to recycle, to separate waste, to buy locally, to reduce consumption in general, to not own a car in a city with above-par public transportation, to read labels (usually!), to use eco-friendly products when it is effective to do so, to turn off lights. And then I refuse to feel guilty about taking a flight to go on holidays yearly. Perhaps then this is the balance--to be aware, to make deliberate choices, to be conscious of my choices.

Now I'm going to make an appointment to get my nails done and book that flight! After taking out the recycling. Naturally.

just cuz I'm bitter

2010-02-19T14:41:00.000-08:00

so once in a while a girl's gotta vent. So, I live in Europe, in a gorgeous city, work with Good Folk, have a particularly Good Folk as a husband, like my cat a lot, verging on crazy cat lady (can happen, yes, even with only one feline, and not actually living alone on tins of tuna)since ccl is a state of mind. And everything's hunky dory. But I'm bitter. Why?

because tonight I'm reading some blogs on organizing, which is so much more fun than actually organizing, as that resembles work.

I drool, I stare at photos of perfectly appointed storage areas, I go to my mental happy place, then...I read the forums. Ah. The forums. Great stuff. Creative ideas for living more harmoniously with fewer things, living more deliberately, and with more purpose. I'm at peace.

Ahhhnnnddd then, it invariably happens: someone suggests that (Extra! Extra! Read all About It) you could maybe clear out some boxes of, I dunno, mildewing books/clothes from 1981/rotting garbage/whatever, from the double garage/1200 sq. ft. basement/4th bedroom/guest room ensuite/linen closet, whaddeva. It worked for her, after all, and now she has all her extra stuff neatly organised in plastic bins and one of the cars can now park in the garage! Hurrah!
Are you people on drugs????? This is helpful in real life in a small space with no cellar no storage no nuthin'---how?

I shake my head. Who are these people who are so chaotic that they fill enormous spaces with junk and then sanctimoniously write useful tips to small-space inhabitants such as "use the space under your bed to store blah blah blah" Telling someone who lives in a tiny place with spouse and cat to think outside the box by using under-bed storage is nonsense. That's a given, people. Grrrrrr....

Now just because I live in a tiny crack shack flat(nice ring to it, no?) doesn't mean that others' experience may not be useful to some, but you get my point. I'm jealous.
I want to live in such space that I get to ponder which of the storage areas I should purge first.
And until then, I want information to be truly useful, not facile crap from some la-la-land-get-thee-to-a-talk-show hoarder who thinks that using vertical space is nouveau.

EOM, EOR
(end of message, end of rant)

Vancouver 2010

2010-02-19T11:59:00.000-08:00

As I watch bodies fly into the air and crash on the icy slopes in Whistler during the men's Super G, I contemplate the sheer bravery, discipline and athleticism of these athletes. Of course I get extra excited when I see Canada or Austria do well, but I applaud all of these amazing people who throw themselves into years of bloody hard work to even get to the point of being eligible for the Olympics. As sentimental as it may sound to those of us who are usually a bit cynical, every single athlete who makes the rigorous Olympic qualifications is a champion, and as a member of the same human race I'm proud of them, regardless of country. To be declared a "winner" or "loser" based not on seconds but 1/100 of a second is purely arbitrary. Even the slowest on an Olympic course moves faster down the slopes than I could fall down them. So while I want Canada to be successful--and rightfully proud--of our Games, I am
cheering for every amazing athlete giving his/her all.

Testing, testing, 1,2,3

2010-01-31T07:48:00.000-08:00

Isn't technology amazing? During the day I have so many ideas about
blog posts, but then I'm so tired by the time I get home, and all
those impressions and thoughts have disappeared. Now I can email from
my phone, et voilà! A blog post appears.

lesson learned, or, if you keep this up you'll get your eye washed out with soap

2010-01-31T06:02:00.000-08:00

well last night I splashed raw soap into my right eye, necessitating a trip to emergency last night and a follow-up appointment this morning. To my relief, there doesn't appear to be permanent damage and it is healing.

For those unfamiliar with soapmaking, it is a simple but artistic process of adding NaOH (lye, or, caustic soda, aka sodium hydroxide) to water (or whatever liquid one chooses), then adding that to oil, stirring like a madwoman, then pouring the liquid into moulds of some type. The countless variations vary from peculiar (breast milk soap can be made, for example, although I can't begin to imagine the market for that. Or the marketing) to the most complicated and gorgeous concoctions marrying delicious scents with rainbow colours.

For me, though, soapmaking is primarily to keep unnecessary ingredients/potions off my skin--which has proven to be my best skin-care tip ever--and when I control every aspect of my soap's production I avoid a lot of troubled skin. Bonus! So if I pass on soap to you--don't expect bright colours (those are dyes, and can be a lot of fun for creative purposes but my skin doesn't like them). And when you lift a block, bar, or cake to your nose (very first reaction of EVERYBODY when looking at soap) it will be unusual if you smell strong, flowery or perfumey scents, because I use essential oils and not artificial fragrances. And for essential oils to survive the reaction that creates mild, pure soap, you'd have to use an enormous quantity, with a few exceptions (peppermint, patchouli, lemongrass etc.) And essential oils are very expensive to use, for very faint final results. Nonetheless, I like them.

I also love the nostalgia factor of soapmaking. That's probably why I prefer big rustic blocks in the style of Savon de Marseille, with its "72% Olive" stamp on it. I also love how they warp as they cure.

A lot farther to go...

2009-10-01T13:57:00.000-07:00

according to this website, I have been to 9% of the world. So much more to see and do!
it makes me want to travel much more...

Pigeons. Those flying rats

2009-02-01T11:11:00.000-08:00

the other day I was waiting for my S-Bahn at Rennweg and was watching the behaviour of pigeons on the tracks. They are quite bold, and scavenge around until the very last minute possible when the the train came snorting in before lazily taking flight and going either up, or on the platform, to get out of the way. The next day, I was in the same spot, off in my mental happy place. This is where commuters, I being no exception, go whilst waiting. Also recognised as the condition of being off in space. I noticed a wing sticking up above the track. Some morbid curiosity compelled me to move closer to the edge to look. So one bird didn't accurately judge train speed. I wonder about the pigeons here. Somewhere along the line, they've sunk in my estimation from European local colour and charm to being annoyances. Could have been being shat on (but that was Karma. I howled with laughter when CK got shit-bombed; less than a week later it was my turn. In my latte, no less. Then on my leg. Or maybe my attitude changed after being smacked in the head on several occassions by strong, beating wings as they take off. I've also had my hair combed a few times by befouled bird feet when the landing gear hasn't been raised yet in flight. They're either not good judges of speed/velocity of approaching trains and/or people, or, they simply don't care if their unmanicured toenails rake my head. So I'm not too troubled by a dead one.
However, there was a spate, last spring, of dead birds on the streets. I still can't figure it out. There's a carcass in our garden courtyard which interests Hazuki greatly, and periodically on the street I see one that's reached the end of its natural life, but last spring I saw 2-5 new corpses daily. The question is--was something in bloom that enticed them and then made them drunk or high and unable to avoid cars? Or made them fall over dead? It was weird. Nothing says winter's over like a spate of dead pigeons. Hmmm...

German words I love

2009-01-25T15:56:00.000-08:00

Okay, literal translation is a minefield for miscommunication yada yada yada. I know. But I LURV how literal the language is:
gums--Zahnfleisch. Tooth meat.
mulled wine--Glühwein. Glow wine.
light bulb--Glühbirne. Glow-pear (think of the shape)

and then there's the -zeug ending. Zeug roughly translates as "thing/stuff":
Feuerzeug--fire thing (lighter)
Flugzeug--flying thing (airplane)
Werkzeug--work thing (tool)
Fahrzeug--driving thing (vehicle)

I snort every time I learn a new one:)

What would you pay for castor oil?

2008-11-08T14:00:00.000-08:00

because today I paid 21.50 euro. That's roughly $30 for 500 mL. That's 1/2 a litre. That's a 1-l. milk carton at Safeway--but half.

No, I'm not constipated. I use it in soapmaking. It has to be bought at a pharmacy, which is The Business to go into in Austria if you want to rake in money hand over fist. These "apotheke" don't really sell anything "OTC", or, over the counter. They also don't sell, without a fight, anyway, any generic drugs. So you must pay premium price for everything they sell. And you can't buy anything they sell, anywhere else. Like aspirin, for example. Instead of going to Superstore or Safeway or London Drugs or Shoppers and picking A.S.A. off the shelf and trotting it to the counter and paying generic price rather than Bayer's Aspirin price--you can ONLY get Bayer's and you can ONLY get it at the Apotheke at a grossly inflated, hey! check it out, we're a monopoly! price. Burns my butt. Ghastly expensive. And the Austrians pay up, as do the Canadians, because there's no other option. When will capitalism come to this democracy?

Austrians and death

2008-10-31T12:48:00.000-07:00

the local dj is playing Hallowe'en appropriate songs, starting his show with Michael Jackson's Thriller ("the only man this night who doesn't need a mask") and just played "Am Zentralfriedhof", a comic song about the party there tonight. Zentralfriedhof is Vienna's huge, famous cemetary. This is a shot I took of it in 2006. It's got about 2 1/2-3 million dead in it, and the Viennese use it as a place for a picnic and stroll. It has several entrances, bus, Schnellbahn, and tram stops. There's a Jewish section (several Adolfs, but none born after Hitler's rise to power, oddly enough...) and sections just for composers (such as Haydn and Beethoven and Mozart) and a section for artists, etc. It really is a lovely place. There are bullet holes in some of the graves, where a shoot-out took place in WWII. Purportedly, the Austrians are fascinated with death. The humour certainly is black here; it's what I love about the Austrians. They are a funny, witty people.

Weird school system and seasonal magic

2008-10-31T12:00:00.000-07:00

Learned an interesting fact about the school I work at: new students transferring from another school don't get graded for two years to give them a chance to catch up. ????????????? TWO YEARS? High school is only 5 years (well, 8 here) and to not get grades for TWO of them? Of course, if they are good in a class, they can opt in to be graded. Otherwise...why work? you don't get a mark anyway. I find this beyond bizarre. What's wrong with doing poorly for one semester then catching up on the next? You not going to be that nuclear physicist if you have one poor mark, one semester, out of 8 years of high school? In a couple of weeks I'll be teaching the Headmaster English so maybe I'll inquire...

Autumn. October 31 today. Happy Hallowe'en! In school this week I had classes with windows looking onto the courtyard "garden" where the children play. The school has a couple centuries under its belt, so the trees are gorgeous and mature and in full fall colour. As I'm in class the sun catches the leaves in a glorious glow and they drift past the window as they fall. It's unbelievably beautiful.
It's also been 15-20 degrees out in daytime, so it seems a bit early for Christmas decorations but last week I went for a walk around the Ring (road which used to be the city walls surrounding Vienna) and noticed in front of the Rathaus (city hall, but I like Rat House. It seems appropriate somehow) all the huts were up already preparing for the Christkindlmarkt (Christ Child Market, the Christ Child no longer being the babe in the manger but some ethereal female angel in lieu of Santa Claus). And since mid-September, the new drogerie (drug store, without drugs--no pharmacy) across the street has had Santas clambering up its sparkling new facade. We complain in N.A. about the commercialisation of Christmas, but I tell you a country that is largely unfamiliar with Hallowe'en and Thanksgiving has no reason to wait until November to start with Christmas decorations and displays. However, Austria does Christmas very, very, very well indeed. It is a magical time. No late shopping though. Since this is a country with very early closing hours and no Sunday shopping (at ALL) I guess the retailers want to get all their Christmas earnings when they can. I am already sick with anticipation about the Christmas markets. I only managed 3 of them last year; I'm convinced I can do better this year. They are a marvel of impressions: wooden huts side by side, row by row, lit up and selling their wares, be it handcrafted wooden toys, artisan cheeses, glassblowers, honey and handmade beeswax candles sold by the apiarist himself, and of course the many stalls selling Punsch and Gluehwein (hot mulled wine) with people milling about stamping their feet, redcheeked from the cold. There's also a penchant for dark bread with salted lard on top. Sounds gross, but goes surprisingly well with the sweet Punsch. I also love the handmade advent wreaths (Adventskränze) with flowers and herbs and leaves surrounding the candles.
Considering it is warm enough to go out without a coat, just a top and pashmina, it seems peculiar to be anticipating Christmas, but I am! I'm hoping for a lot of snow this year. Our summer was rainy and cool compared the previous year (several humid days last year between 36 and 40 celcius) but we've had the autumn to make up for it, so I'm ready for toques and boots and pink cheeks and scarves and festive cheer.

2008-10-27T11:03:00.000-07:00

and the milk machine tutorial:

open door , insert 60 cents, wait, enjoy your litre of milk! I thought this was hilarious!

The Milchautomat (milk machine)

2008-10-27T10:58:00.000-07:00

Strange things I've seen...this barn, in a tiny village, has an automatic milk machine in this little doorway. Tutorial in next post

Der Krocha--Hallowe'en Party Get-up

2008-10-26T08:42:00.000-07:00

Went to a great Hallowe'en party last night. My costume was a Krocha, a typical type of young "style" here. On the 5-minute walk to G&T's house, I passed a bunch of them lingering around acting cool.

The costumes were great--winning costume went to a couple who were Mona Lisa and daVinci. CK was a little unnerved by the look--said he wasn't sure that it was still me:)

moments at school

2008-10-26T06:58:00.000-07:00

The Austrian school system is quite different from Canada's--to be expected, I suppose, but nonetheless I have moments of sheer delight in the differences. For example: Hausschuhe. House shoes, or slippers, are compulsory for the students. So it is not uncommon to see a hulking quarterback sized 18-year-old in fluffy pink slippers. Just because he can. Crocs and Birkenstocks are also acceptable. So on Thursday, when the students were required to wear their "Festkleidung" (Feast Clothes, literally), or, the formal uniforms, it was distracting to see navy skirts, white blouses and scarves, navy tights--and white Birks. The boys in their pressed trousers--and Bart Simpson slippers.

As the teachers here don't have their own classroom (the kids stay in their own classrooms except for art, music, science labs, and P.E.), there is a "teachers' room" where you have a desk as wide as your chair, and quite shallow. So these desks are stacked with towers of papers, texts, lessons, assignments to correct--and they have 5 minutes to get from whatever floor/wing they were teaching in to their desk, drop the previous lesson material, grab the next lesson's material/stacks of paper, take a sip of water and a bite of a sandwich, and fly off to the next class. It is a room of perpetual chaos, crowding, and movement. At some point I will take a photo of it. I've never counted, but I think it has to be about 40-50 teachers in there. It is a scene reminiscent of Harry Potter. Strange but wonderful.

Another moment: teaching the 10-year-olds body parts. They all know eyes/ears/nose/arm/leg in English, but the extra bits are missing. So with my conversation group I played a game to review what had been covered in another lesson. They all stood, and for each pair of students I pointed to a body part and the first child to shout out the correct name could stay standing, the other had to sit. Eventually of course the winner is the one left as you continue around the classroom. So eyebrow, earlobe, jaw, forehead, no problem. Then I pointed at my chin. In great eagerness to be the first with the correct answer, little Helmut shouted out "DOUBLE CHIN!" It's such a pity he'll fail the class. Seemed like such a bright boy, too... I could barely continue. The students weren't quite sure what was so funny. Reminded me of that teeth-whitening ad when the kindergarten teacher was teaching colours and pointed to her teeth and the children called out "beige! cream! eggshell! ecru!"--everything but white:)

Another school moment: At the end of the little ones' conversation class lessons I read aloud for 10 minutes to them. As I was reading Robin of Sherwood to a rapt circle, I saw out of the corner of my eye one little boy had flopped over and laid his head on another boy's knee. The second boy was absent-mindedly stroking the other's hair. This will never again occur in their high-school career, I have no doubt! They're not at the punching/chasing/wrestling/showing off stage yet. It was adorable.

Perfect Autumn

2008-10-19T13:09:00.001-07:00

Today we went to Laxenburg for the day. It is a small town about 17 km from Vienna, with a beautiful Schloss and park. After lunch at the Rathaus Stüberl (city hall pub, where I had a Käsekrainer, locally known as an Eitriger, or "pus", due to the white cheese in a sausage which oozes out when you bite into it. Num Num:) in the sun, we happened upon a tiny, wonderful museum, rather optimistically called "Laxenburg Museum". The curator was a tiny, warm woman who greeted us graciously and drew us in. On exhibit is a Bulgarian painter named Miglena Alexandrova. I fell in love with some of her paintings--various inspirations from Klimt and Van Gogh but the style absolutely, uniquely, her own. I didn't find her work overly expensive for what it is--I'm dreadfully tempted by a piece I definitely can't afford though. I was both enthused and moved by her colours and iconography. Now how do I get me the pieces I want? HMMM...have no firstborn to sell...when will I be able to afford the art I want? Maybe, say, after I can afford to move my stuff to Europe from the storage locker somewhere in the bowels of Richmond? I want 3 pieces from her collection...total 4200 Euro. Now is that too much to ask out of life? Again...HMMM. I wonder if she'd take Hazuki in trade (sorry Puddy Tat). But paintings, no matter how lovely, don't wake you by jamming themselves in the negligable space between man and wife purring loudly so the first thing wife experiences in the morning is silky fur pressed against her cheek with the sounds of a motor running. Can't trade that for art. It's performance art, Cat Style.

Our lovely curator recommended walking to the "pond" in the castle park. So we did...and it was amazing. The fall colours were out in full glorious golden force, with miles of parkland and lakes and canals. Not to mention various 16th century bridges and grotto and "outbuildings" like the mini-castle (also 16th century) with a tiny passenger ferry on a cable to get you to the island. We rented a peddle boat and cruised around just before dusk. There was another couple on the lake--but they were on a floating wicker sofa. With a motor and boatsman. We had to WORK to get around. :) There was also a remarkable children's playground, and a jumping ring/corral for horses (don't know the real name for it--but also the same age but still in use). There are paths only for riding as well. Apparently people come in the winter to skate on the canals too. It is a place to which we want to return. There's a "Postbus" from just down the street that takes us there in 35 minutes, for about $2.50. The Postbuses date from the days when the "Post" wagons carried passengers and dropped them off at Hotels Zur Post (Inns). These still exist in every village. I told CK that I want to stay in one--just for the history. After all the 17th/18th/19th literature I've studied I want to feel like I'm recreating a journey--albeit dressed in technology--that Jane might have taken. Had Austen ever left Hampshire.
Smelling the leaves, seeing the turning trees, hearing the lapping of the water, all made CK nostalgic for nature today. When we got home tonight, he wrote up a list of what he wants: a mountain hut for the weekends, easily accessible by car even in winter, no other houses in sight. Preferably in Styria or Kaernton. There are countless mountain huts here in Austria, most of which, if they are still in use, are used as inns to keep them financially viable. So we'll start looking. I think what he's aiming for is a sort of time-share--but ideally only with the owner. It sounds like heaven.

Although Vienna is no bigger than Vancouver, due to its layout and history it feels like a more urban centre. Every "house" (apartment building) nearly is mixed-use (see Jane Jacobs, "The Death and Life of Great American Cities" for urban geography inspiration). That makes city living easy, viable and safe--but essentially urban. We are slowly getting to know the parks around our area, which helps us get into "the nature" as people here say. There's another "Kur Zentrum" Oberlaa (cure centre, which means holistic spa) about 15 min.'s drive away, with, again, acres of parkland and trails and "ponds", which are more like small lakes. I believe it is due to the sheer numbers of people in Europe in a relatively small landmass that make people here value their (extensive and well-cared-for) green spaces. Many of my students go "to the mountains" on their weekends. They hike a lot here. Sunday family outings often involve church in the morning (VERY Catholic country), then a drive to the mountains for a hike in the afternoon.

Well, after a perfect day, it's bedtime. I'd plans to make some more salt bars (cold-process soap with a 1:1 ratio of sea salt to oils) tonight but it's going to be a short night before a long week. So instead I mixed the essential oils I want to use to scent the soap so they can blend overnight, and I have oatmeal and sea salt and fennel soaking in distilled water to mix with lye and oils tomorrow. I love my salt soap. Taking two drying ingrediants--coconut oil and salt--and mixing them to create an amazingly moisturizing soap is a miracle of synergy. I made some last week with the intent of creating an Earl Grey tea scent in a "winter" bar for dry skin in wintry air--and it worked! They smell like Earl Grey and they are like lotion on your skin after showering. And they've not even fully cured. They don't cut well (too hard) so they ain't the purtiest gals on the block but oh! how I love them:) The latest creative fad for me...addictive process. This week I have to carve out some time in my insane schedule to meet with a local fashion designer to arrange for her to sell my soap in her shop. A mutual friend is setting this up and I'm very excited about it. I also have a meeting with a company to teach English to a logistics company. Great pay, difficult schedule. How did my simple life get so busy AGAIN? I vowed when I moved to Vienna I would embrace the quiet life of solitude and introspection I long for. So where is It?

Canadian identity

2008-10-14T15:35:00.001-07:00

excerpt from an email to Luana:

Did you vote today? I have thought less, and more, about Cdn identity since moving here. We are always reflected in light of the US. How we compare. I have also often thought that our international reputation is interesting--for Europeans, we represent nature, nature, nature. I've only had a few students say that Canada is the same as the U.S. My response was that Austria and Germany are the same, then? But you have the same language? They get the point immediately. They feel towards Germany as we do to the U.S. Yes, big powerful neighbour (Germany is the economic, sports, medicine, science, technology powerhouse of Europe. It's the second largest country in Europe--France is the biggest--but Germany is the clear leader in everything) But Germans are big and loud and wear ugly clothes, and Austrians are soft-spoken and charming and much more stylish and petite and have a sense of humour. Or so the Austrians believe. But I have to agree. A different history makes for a different folk. I love the Austrians, but I find the Germans somehow comforting. They're so damn competent. Brisk. No room for error. Precise. CK says that if he ever gets sick he's heading for the border immediately. My point is that the parallels between US/Canada and Austria/Germany are significant. We're a bigger country than the US geographically, but smaller in population and pop culture. Austria is smaller than Germany, but used to be much, much bigger (Austro-Hungarian Empire) in living history. But never as dominant. A student in my evening course said something interesting tonight. She's doing her PhD in International Criminal Law, in English, her boyfriend is Norwegian also doing his PhD in Vienna. They use English at home as their common language. Her view as to why the Scandinavians and the Dutch have such fantastic English, and why the French and Italian and Spanish have none, and Germans/Austrians/Swiss are somewhere in the middle, is due to TV. The S. and D. don't have dubbing on TV. They have English-only(American) programming, with subtitles. Other than the sad fact that T.V. is such a big part of our lives, it also struck me that it is AMERICAN t.v. That also explains why I am told over and over and over that people here understand my Cdn (vs. British) accent so well. I'm told almost daily how clearly I speak. Wasn't aware of it before. They're used to t.v. with accents like mine. Which is why Cdns have difficulty establishing identity. Next to a neighbour with such incredible world presence, how do you be yourself without being a faint, slightly bland shadow of your neighbour, who happens to be the leader of the free world? And the most powerful country in the entire world? And the richest? and the most wasteful? and the fattest? okay, added the last one out of spite. But it is true. Yet the American scientists, doctors, athletes, movie-makers dominate the world stage. Why? I think it's all marketing and promotion. And having a population from which you can glean the best then train them. I think middle America--the vast majority-- is made up of right-wing daft morons. Dumb as toast, as Tova says. But you are likely to get some stars out of a population of 340 million. Statistically impossible not to.

Promotion: Self-promotion, in particular. One thing that has struck me over and over and over in Austria is how they work damn hard on making sure people buy Austrian products. Every grocery store, and each product packaging, has a little red-and-white Austrian flag on the package and on the price sticker. The message is loud and clear--buy Austrian. Made in Austria. Unique to Austria. I could not tell you one single thing that is made or produced in Canada. Can't Canada market itself better to its inhabitants? Okay, bananas are not viable, nor kiwi fruit. But how about Cdn beans, or berries, or pasta from our breadbasket, Saskatchewan? Or fish from our 3 oceans? or apples from our orchards? Milk from our cows in Chilliwack? Cheese from Quebec? All that mustard grown on the prairies. Can't we process it ourselves then proclaim it loud and clear that this product is not sold to the U.S. which then manufactures it then sells it back to us? granted, our distances are oh, just a bit farther to transport than in Austria. No question. But there's no import/export taxes, no fighting internally about lumber/NAFTA disputes, free-trade agreements. Just ship the damn stuff within the country and have local companies produce it and sell it back to Canadians. I'll bet if that on every price sticker on every store shelf there was a proud little Maple Leaf flying, people would want to buy it. Then there's the issue of pricing. Why is it more expensive to buy (sadly, sometimes still inferior) Canadian wines than Californian wines? It makes no sense. Taxes, schmaxes. In France it's cheaper to buy French wine, in Italy it's cheaper to buy Italian wine, in Austria it's cheap to buy all wine (and that would be why I'm living here!!!) but especially Austrian wine. So WHY is it more expensive to buy Cdn wine in Canada than other countries? Do they not WANT to sell? okay, this has become a rant.

about Cdn style: Particularly loved the mag you sent me last year. That was great. Made me so proud. The problem with such a large country is that it means different things to different regions. I think our style is not fussy. Cosy. Warm. For me that means wood and creamy white. For Jody that means orange and red. As to rustic, as much as I love Tawnya's gorgeous products and drool-worthy website (I was on there again last night, dreaming of being as talented as she is), I'm not earthy rustic girl. I'm essentially urban Canadian woman. And that brings me full circle to your email. What is Cdn femininity? it's a good question you pose. (A digression: Maple syrup doesn't exist as a product in eastern nor northern nor western Cdn. It's Ontario/Quebec. So I do balk at that as being symbolic of Canada:)

back to topic: I think the Cdn woman is sensual, a bit reserved (oh! how like me!), elegant, but practical. And witty. But that might just be my friends:) I think of Pam, chopping down trees with her axe to make tent poles for us each night while driving to the Yukon, setting up camp while I made cocktails on the tailgate. She would go hack down a sapling, strip it, hone the ends into points, drive it into the ground, then start dinner on the campstove, looking chic all the while in her cute black hat and sweater, without breaking a perfect, polished nail. And she's absolutely elegant. I, however, was camping-retarded. But I slept well. Being refreshed must be a style statement of its own. Of course, she did attempt to kill my snoring, and by default me, one night by forcing a pillow over my face and screaming "shut UP, shut UP for God's sake", but she was still elegant, if dementedly so at that sleep-deprived minute.

CK is pondering the issue of what he thinks is the Canadian identity, from the perspective of him as a person and a German. Will get back on the topic when he gets back to me.

so, so sleepy

2007-11-19T12:56:00.000-08:00

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...

2007-11-06T06:35:00.000-08:00

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...

2007-11-01T14:58:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-01T03:31:00.000-07:00

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.