Well blog readers, if you did not receive an email from me I apologize. Now that our time in Vienna is over this blog is done....but I have decided to do a blog for our time in Connecticut. New Haven isn't exactly Northern Exposure, but it sure isn't Sex and the City either. Check out the blog to see what it's like living in the state between Boston and NYC...and all the merry misadventures that occur there too. Here it is:
www.kristeninconnecticut.blogspot.com
Monday, September 10, 2007
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
The Requisite Reflections
My dear friend Jenny jokingly says that she decided to pick up and move to Manhattan after watching too many episodes of “Sex and the City.” For me, I think perhaps the decision to move to Vienna and work for the UN resulted from watching too many episodes of “The West Wing,” (thanks Justin) and – let’s face it – a little “Sex and the City” too. I wanted to feel like I was an environment where I was making a direct impact on the issues – ala West Wing – but I had also always dreamed of living in Europe someday and taking a grand adventure.
It is hard to encapsulate all the emotions that have arisen from the past four months in a blog post, but all in all this has been even more of a learning experience than I imagined it would be. I learned that I have a deep and profound respect for the work that is done by the staff of the United Nations, but I also put the UN on a pedestal before I arrived here. There is certainly a lot of redundancy, overlap, and bureaucracy, but most of the people who work there do so because they passionately believe they can make a difference in the world, and they are experts in their field. They work long, tireless, and often thankless hours. And while I share their passion, I am not sure that the UN would be the right place for me – at least not at this point in my life. I found I truly missed being ‘in the field’ and connecting with the people I serve on a daily basis. At the UN I often found like I was in an ivory tower, so disconnected from the issue that I couldn’t be as fulfilled as I would like to be.
I learned that now – more than any other time I have traveled abroad – is a precarious time to be an American in Europe and abroad. This was a sentiment echoed by multiple other Americans we met while traveling – a massage therapist from Sedona, a public defender from Laguna Beach, a recently married couple from Wisconsin who have relocated to DC. All were experienced travelers, and none of them were loud, obnoxious, or ‘ugly Americans,’ and they too had some unsettling experiences while traveling. In Siena and Budapest Todd and I had other minor anti-American incidents, and while they were minor, they demonstrated a tension and palpable anger towards Bush and the US that I can’t quite describe. You need not point out the irony that the person who is yelling, “Burn the US!” in the square is wearing a Nike shirt and Levis jeans. There seems to be no problem embracing the music, movies, fashion, and pop culture of the US, but there is little love for the US as a whole. Like I said, it’s just hard to describe.
On a lighter, and more personal level, I have found from this experience that I feel more confident in my skin. All my life I have idolized European women – or the pictures I saw of their models in magazines – and their tiny figures and ability to eat large quantities of butter and not gain a single pound. I have always struggled with my physical self-esteem, and in an odd way, being in Europe has made me realize that European women are no different from us. Ok, maybe they do have better metabolisms. It may sound strange, but the fact that when I arrived I realized I have a ‘normal’ body, and that every woman here isn’t a size 2 made me start to realize how silly I have been my whole life. I’m not a big blob, which at times I felt I was. I am very, very normal (by global standards now I guess), and I am ok with that. I’ll always have to work to stay fit, but knowing that European women are mere mortals too was oddly comforting. That isn’t to say that whenever I saw a 5’9,” 120 pound Slavic Amazon chowing down on a cheeseburger I didn’t think to myself “Damn her,” but you get my drift. J
Finally, this whole experience has made grow to love and appreciate Todd in a new way. I wouldn’t say that I ‘love him more,’ because I don’t think you can quantify an emotion. But being able to quit your job of five years, move 6,000 miles from home to a country where you don’t speak the language and know no one, and have your boyfriend be your rock and true partner in crime (and not an additional source of stress) is a really amazing thing. Whenever I had homesick days or frustrating moments he was always there to make me laugh, give me a hug and kiss, or just hold me steady. Even that fact that we could travel together for three weeks and not only not kill one another, but in fact love every minute, makes me love and appreciate him in a whole new way. True, the 38th time he started singing “Good King Wenzeclas” in crowded, 100-degree heat Prague I was about ready to throw my shoe at him, but then he would do something to make me laugh, and we’d be right back where we started. And that pretty much sums us up. I never would have had the courage to do this without him, and I am thankful that he agreed to take this adventure with me.
Well blog readers, this is my last post from abroad. I could keep writing for another hour, but I am about to go to bed, as tomorrow morning we fly back to the States. This blog has been one of the most enjoyable things about this whole experience, and I thank everyone for reading it, posting comments, sending emails, etc. I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me, and I hope you have enjoyed hearing snippets of our European adventure. Todd thinks I should start a new blog entitled “The Merry Misadventures of Kristen in Connecticut,” but I am not sure how interesting of a blog that would be. We’ll see. If I do decide to keep a blog on the relocation from West Coast to East, you will all certainly be the first to know. Thank you again for sharing your lives with me, and allowing me to share some of my thoughts with you. We love you all.
It is hard to encapsulate all the emotions that have arisen from the past four months in a blog post, but all in all this has been even more of a learning experience than I imagined it would be. I learned that I have a deep and profound respect for the work that is done by the staff of the United Nations, but I also put the UN on a pedestal before I arrived here. There is certainly a lot of redundancy, overlap, and bureaucracy, but most of the people who work there do so because they passionately believe they can make a difference in the world, and they are experts in their field. They work long, tireless, and often thankless hours. And while I share their passion, I am not sure that the UN would be the right place for me – at least not at this point in my life. I found I truly missed being ‘in the field’ and connecting with the people I serve on a daily basis. At the UN I often found like I was in an ivory tower, so disconnected from the issue that I couldn’t be as fulfilled as I would like to be.
I learned that now – more than any other time I have traveled abroad – is a precarious time to be an American in Europe and abroad. This was a sentiment echoed by multiple other Americans we met while traveling – a massage therapist from Sedona, a public defender from Laguna Beach, a recently married couple from Wisconsin who have relocated to DC. All were experienced travelers, and none of them were loud, obnoxious, or ‘ugly Americans,’ and they too had some unsettling experiences while traveling. In Siena and Budapest Todd and I had other minor anti-American incidents, and while they were minor, they demonstrated a tension and palpable anger towards Bush and the US that I can’t quite describe. You need not point out the irony that the person who is yelling, “Burn the US!” in the square is wearing a Nike shirt and Levis jeans. There seems to be no problem embracing the music, movies, fashion, and pop culture of the US, but there is little love for the US as a whole. Like I said, it’s just hard to describe.
On a lighter, and more personal level, I have found from this experience that I feel more confident in my skin. All my life I have idolized European women – or the pictures I saw of their models in magazines – and their tiny figures and ability to eat large quantities of butter and not gain a single pound. I have always struggled with my physical self-esteem, and in an odd way, being in Europe has made me realize that European women are no different from us. Ok, maybe they do have better metabolisms. It may sound strange, but the fact that when I arrived I realized I have a ‘normal’ body, and that every woman here isn’t a size 2 made me start to realize how silly I have been my whole life. I’m not a big blob, which at times I felt I was. I am very, very normal (by global standards now I guess), and I am ok with that. I’ll always have to work to stay fit, but knowing that European women are mere mortals too was oddly comforting. That isn’t to say that whenever I saw a 5’9,” 120 pound Slavic Amazon chowing down on a cheeseburger I didn’t think to myself “Damn her,” but you get my drift. J
Finally, this whole experience has made grow to love and appreciate Todd in a new way. I wouldn’t say that I ‘love him more,’ because I don’t think you can quantify an emotion. But being able to quit your job of five years, move 6,000 miles from home to a country where you don’t speak the language and know no one, and have your boyfriend be your rock and true partner in crime (and not an additional source of stress) is a really amazing thing. Whenever I had homesick days or frustrating moments he was always there to make me laugh, give me a hug and kiss, or just hold me steady. Even that fact that we could travel together for three weeks and not only not kill one another, but in fact love every minute, makes me love and appreciate him in a whole new way. True, the 38th time he started singing “Good King Wenzeclas” in crowded, 100-degree heat Prague I was about ready to throw my shoe at him, but then he would do something to make me laugh, and we’d be right back where we started. And that pretty much sums us up. I never would have had the courage to do this without him, and I am thankful that he agreed to take this adventure with me.
Well blog readers, this is my last post from abroad. I could keep writing for another hour, but I am about to go to bed, as tomorrow morning we fly back to the States. This blog has been one of the most enjoyable things about this whole experience, and I thank everyone for reading it, posting comments, sending emails, etc. I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me, and I hope you have enjoyed hearing snippets of our European adventure. Todd thinks I should start a new blog entitled “The Merry Misadventures of Kristen in Connecticut,” but I am not sure how interesting of a blog that would be. We’ll see. If I do decide to keep a blog on the relocation from West Coast to East, you will all certainly be the first to know. Thank you again for sharing your lives with me, and allowing me to share some of my thoughts with you. We love you all.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Eat Me
Hello faithful followers of Kristen’s blog! While Kristen is busy doing our laundry, I (Todd) have hijacked her blog for the purpose of reflecting on the culinary and gastronomical (aside from the “roulette” described in an earlier post) experiences of our trip, which is unfortunately coming to an end. This is my first attempt at publishing, so please be nice.
I have arranged my thoughts into a sort of “best of” list, food and drink destinations followed by a brief description and reasons for inclusion. I have organized the contents by travel destination, in the order visited.
Austria
Austrian cuisine is hearty, consisting usually of red meats, potatoes in various forms, and thick sauces, but I found it more sophisticated than its Czech or German counterparts. I should also mention that Austria has helped significantly to develop in me a true appreciation for white wine. Their Gruner Veltliner is a true star, and they don’t do a bad Riesling either.
Vienna
On the whole, it is easy to eat mediocre food in Vienna, which is much easier to find than either good or bad food (though we found both). A big lesson is that more expensive in Vienna, does not equate to better food. Vienna also does ethnic foods very well. Don’t be afraid of Indian and Asian cuisines in Vienna (but do your homework).
1) Wrenkh – This first district gem right off the Graben specializes in vegetarian cuisine (though they have non-vegetarian options), a rarity here. Its mod decor and friendly staff compliment the inventive flavor combinations and textures used in many dishes. We had a great late night meal with the restaurant practically to ourselves.
2) Orpheus – This was the best Greek we had in Vienna period. I had stuffed squid which was absolutely fabulous (see adjoining picture).
3) Wild (pronounced Veeld) – This recommended restaurant was under-whelming in all respects except for its Strudel, the best we’ve found in Vienna.
4) Demel – The tourist’s choice for pastry and coffee, Demel can be a challenge. However, their Heisse Schokolade (Hot Chocolate) is stunning, in spite of its over-inflated price.
5) Salm Brau – This is where we are going back to tonight for dinner. Taking the best all-around category, this lively little (not really that little) restaurant with a great front garden serves authentic Austrian cuisine. Everything’s terrific (though the service can on occasion be a little poopy). Plus, they make their own marzen beer, which tied with the Augustiner Brau variety in Salzburg as our favorite.
6) Gasthaus Immervoll – We think…the best Wienerschnitzel in Vienna.
Salzburg
1) Stadt Krug – We had one of the best meals of the trip on my birthday here. I can’t remember what I got (because I was drinking more than I ate), but I remember it was fabulous. It is expensive, but great for a special occasion.
Prague, Czech Republic
Czech food sucks. It’s really that simple. The basics are of other Germanic and Slavic cuisine; it’s just bad. Prague is a beautiful city, and the Czech people we met were friendly, intelligent, and multi-dimensional, but their food reflects this as a black hole reflects light. But the beer…oh the beer almost made up for it…almost. Really tasty, incredibly cheap pilsner.
1) Orange Moon – Very decent Thai food; and a great choice for those who don’t enjoy chewing on their own shoes.
Budapest (pronounced BudaPesht), Hungary
Nope not going to do it, not going to make the obligatory joke about Hungary in the food post. Appropriately though, we found Hungarian cuisine to be delightful, especially after Prague. A good mixture of German, French, and Paprika, Hungarian food matches the Magyar (pronounced MUD-yar) language for complexity and richness. All the food we had in Budapest was good, many honorable mentions. Ironically, only one of the three winners below served traditional Hungarian cuisine. Go figure.
1) Shalimar – This is an Indian restaurant, a very good one. Try stuff you normally wouldn’t.
2) Chez Daniel – Great traditional French restaurant with a great little courtyard and really friendly staff. The food was phenomenal. I had the duck with a berry sauce (see the adjoining picture). Three-course meal with wine for the equivalent of $20 to $30! This was one of the best full meals of the trip without a doubt.
3) Karpatia Restaurant – Fancy, expensive, a little cheesy and really, really good. This was traditional Hungarian at its best. Hot goulash, cold fruit soup, dumplings, and I had the duck again. Whew! The desert was so-so, but the previous courses, wine, and company were stellar. (Thanks to Pierre!)
Italy
Italian food varies by locality. Don’t just think of pizza and pasta, though its mostly pizza and pasta. Pastas are made from scratch and served a little al dente if good. Overall, we weren’t disappointed with Italian food in Italy. Though we’d often had the dishes before, we’d rarely had them as good. Italian wines are great too. Chianti Classico of course, a great reliable Sangiovese, but not in all areas (Florence and Sienna the best). Try the white wines with seafood in the Cinque Terre. Fruity, not at all like the Gruner Veltliner.
Rome
1) Miscellania – The best lunch place…possibly ever, anywhere. A great lunch-only, family-run, student-favorite. The staff was so freaking awesomely cool. We could stay there for hours. Great fresh fruit (melon this time of year), fantastic salads, and he-UGE sandwiches. Even free strawberry wine, for us. Not only that, but cheap. Definitely best bang for buck! We want to go back tomorrow. Stay, talk to people around you, talk to the staff, listen to the conversations, and watch people interact, hugging each other, laughing, singing even. (Okay I’ll try to keep it shorter.)
2) Mystosis – Best wine list. Octopus spaghetti had sand in it, had to send it back. A little overpriced.
3) Giolitti’s – Best gelato place in Italy as far as we’re concerned, in terms of ambiance, service, and flavor. We went several times. Buy your ticket first, then try to choose, or ask for their recommendation. Kris did the later and got a special banana split thing with three flavors, nuts, hazelnut, the works.
4) Pizzeria Remo – Off the beaten path, family-style, and the best thin-crust pizza we’ve ever had.
Thanks to Marlena for pointing us to Giolitti’s and Pizzeria Remo.
Florence
In keeping with the overpriced and touristy nature of the city, good and reasonably priced food in Florence was harder to find. But we found…
1) Trattoria de Sergio – One of the best meat loafs (yup I said meat loafs) Kristen’s ever had
2) Italy Loves – The best wine shop (plus oils and vinegars) we found. The two guys working there were fantastic. Strike up a conversation and taste, taste, taste. Then buy, we didn’t regret it.
(Note: between Florence and Sienna we were at a wine tasting party in a little town called Giocalto, near Poppi, in Tuscany. This was one of the best times we had on our trip, and some of the best wine too. Thanks again to Marlena and her very generous family.)
Sienna
1) Traverna San Giuseppe – We had the pear, gorgonzola, and shallot risotto, and Florentine steak (prepared perfectly). Highly recommended, a little on the expensive side.
Vernazza
1) Restaurante Castello – Great seafood spaghetti
Monterosso
1) Via Venti – Great chocolate soufflé. Food’s not bad either.
Venice
1) Casa dei Nobili – They had the best pasta and seafood pasta we had on the trip. Plus, they have a great little courtyard in which to sit, eat, drink, watch the dusk turn to night, and listen to Billie Holiday. I had the scallops. Mmm yes. They also have a cool art nouveau-style logo. That’s right.
Whew! Okay. Well, for the sake of space. I’ll just mention briefly that Nightfly’s and the Museums Quarter are our favorite places to go for a drink in Vienna (apart from the heuriguens).
Okay. Done. Sorry. Hope this is useful to people. Enjoy.
I have arranged my thoughts into a sort of “best of” list, food and drink destinations followed by a brief description and reasons for inclusion. I have organized the contents by travel destination, in the order visited.
Austria
Austrian cuisine is hearty, consisting usually of red meats, potatoes in various forms, and thick sauces, but I found it more sophisticated than its Czech or German counterparts. I should also mention that Austria has helped significantly to develop in me a true appreciation for white wine. Their Gruner Veltliner is a true star, and they don’t do a bad Riesling either.
Vienna
On the whole, it is easy to eat mediocre food in Vienna, which is much easier to find than either good or bad food (though we found both). A big lesson is that more expensive in Vienna, does not equate to better food. Vienna also does ethnic foods very well. Don’t be afraid of Indian and Asian cuisines in Vienna (but do your homework).
1) Wrenkh – This first district gem right off the Graben specializes in vegetarian cuisine (though they have non-vegetarian options), a rarity here. Its mod decor and friendly staff compliment the inventive flavor combinations and textures used in many dishes. We had a great late night meal with the restaurant practically to ourselves.
2) Orpheus – This was the best Greek we had in Vienna period. I had stuffed squid which was absolutely fabulous (see adjoining picture).
3) Wild (pronounced Veeld) – This recommended restaurant was under-whelming in all respects except for its Strudel, the best we’ve found in Vienna.
4) Demel – The tourist’s choice for pastry and coffee, Demel can be a challenge. However, their Heisse Schokolade (Hot Chocolate) is stunning, in spite of its over-inflated price.
5) Salm Brau – This is where we are going back to tonight for dinner. Taking the best all-around category, this lively little (not really that little) restaurant with a great front garden serves authentic Austrian cuisine. Everything’s terrific (though the service can on occasion be a little poopy). Plus, they make their own marzen beer, which tied with the Augustiner Brau variety in Salzburg as our favorite.
6) Gasthaus Immervoll – We think…the best Wienerschnitzel in Vienna.
Salzburg
1) Stadt Krug – We had one of the best meals of the trip on my birthday here. I can’t remember what I got (because I was drinking more than I ate), but I remember it was fabulous. It is expensive, but great for a special occasion.
Prague, Czech Republic
Czech food sucks. It’s really that simple. The basics are of other Germanic and Slavic cuisine; it’s just bad. Prague is a beautiful city, and the Czech people we met were friendly, intelligent, and multi-dimensional, but their food reflects this as a black hole reflects light. But the beer…oh the beer almost made up for it…almost. Really tasty, incredibly cheap pilsner.
1) Orange Moon – Very decent Thai food; and a great choice for those who don’t enjoy chewing on their own shoes.
Budapest (pronounced BudaPesht), Hungary
Nope not going to do it, not going to make the obligatory joke about Hungary in the food post. Appropriately though, we found Hungarian cuisine to be delightful, especially after Prague. A good mixture of German, French, and Paprika, Hungarian food matches the Magyar (pronounced MUD-yar) language for complexity and richness. All the food we had in Budapest was good, many honorable mentions. Ironically, only one of the three winners below served traditional Hungarian cuisine. Go figure.
1) Shalimar – This is an Indian restaurant, a very good one. Try stuff you normally wouldn’t.
2) Chez Daniel – Great traditional French restaurant with a great little courtyard and really friendly staff. The food was phenomenal. I had the duck with a berry sauce (see the adjoining picture). Three-course meal with wine for the equivalent of $20 to $30! This was one of the best full meals of the trip without a doubt.
3) Karpatia Restaurant – Fancy, expensive, a little cheesy and really, really good. This was traditional Hungarian at its best. Hot goulash, cold fruit soup, dumplings, and I had the duck again. Whew! The desert was so-so, but the previous courses, wine, and company were stellar. (Thanks to Pierre!)
Italy
Italian food varies by locality. Don’t just think of pizza and pasta, though its mostly pizza and pasta. Pastas are made from scratch and served a little al dente if good. Overall, we weren’t disappointed with Italian food in Italy. Though we’d often had the dishes before, we’d rarely had them as good. Italian wines are great too. Chianti Classico of course, a great reliable Sangiovese, but not in all areas (Florence and Sienna the best). Try the white wines with seafood in the Cinque Terre. Fruity, not at all like the Gruner Veltliner.
Rome
1) Miscellania – The best lunch place…possibly ever, anywhere. A great lunch-only, family-run, student-favorite. The staff was so freaking awesomely cool. We could stay there for hours. Great fresh fruit (melon this time of year), fantastic salads, and he-UGE sandwiches. Even free strawberry wine, for us. Not only that, but cheap. Definitely best bang for buck! We want to go back tomorrow. Stay, talk to people around you, talk to the staff, listen to the conversations, and watch people interact, hugging each other, laughing, singing even. (Okay I’ll try to keep it shorter.)
2) Mystosis – Best wine list. Octopus spaghetti had sand in it, had to send it back. A little overpriced.
3) Giolitti’s – Best gelato place in Italy as far as we’re concerned, in terms of ambiance, service, and flavor. We went several times. Buy your ticket first, then try to choose, or ask for their recommendation. Kris did the later and got a special banana split thing with three flavors, nuts, hazelnut, the works.
4) Pizzeria Remo – Off the beaten path, family-style, and the best thin-crust pizza we’ve ever had.
Thanks to Marlena for pointing us to Giolitti’s and Pizzeria Remo.
Florence
In keeping with the overpriced and touristy nature of the city, good and reasonably priced food in Florence was harder to find. But we found…
1) Trattoria de Sergio – One of the best meat loafs (yup I said meat loafs) Kristen’s ever had
2) Italy Loves – The best wine shop (plus oils and vinegars) we found. The two guys working there were fantastic. Strike up a conversation and taste, taste, taste. Then buy, we didn’t regret it.
(Note: between Florence and Sienna we were at a wine tasting party in a little town called Giocalto, near Poppi, in Tuscany. This was one of the best times we had on our trip, and some of the best wine too. Thanks again to Marlena and her very generous family.)
Sienna
1) Traverna San Giuseppe – We had the pear, gorgonzola, and shallot risotto, and Florentine steak (prepared perfectly). Highly recommended, a little on the expensive side.
Vernazza
1) Restaurante Castello – Great seafood spaghetti
Monterosso
1) Via Venti – Great chocolate soufflé. Food’s not bad either.
Venice
1) Casa dei Nobili – They had the best pasta and seafood pasta we had on the trip. Plus, they have a great little courtyard in which to sit, eat, drink, watch the dusk turn to night, and listen to Billie Holiday. I had the scallops. Mmm yes. They also have a cool art nouveau-style logo. That’s right.
Whew! Okay. Well, for the sake of space. I’ll just mention briefly that Nightfly’s and the Museums Quarter are our favorite places to go for a drink in Vienna (apart from the heuriguens).
Okay. Done. Sorry. Hope this is useful to people. Enjoy.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Peace at the End of the World
My skin smells of sea salt. It is a smell I have deeply missed, and something I have taken for granted for most of my life. Being landlocked for four months (the only time in my life I have not lived near the Pacific), tears started welling up in my eyes when I saw my first glimpse of the Ligurian Sea. The ocean is one of those things that promptly puts you in your place, and one of the few things I feel myself almost cosmically drawn to.
We are currently in Vernazza, one of the small towns that makes up the Cinque Terre, the semi- off the beaten path area of the Italian Riviera. It's a no shirt, no shoes, no problem kind of town where neighbors inexplicably burst into song with the Judy Garland songbook, and multiple generations of families, strangers and locals, all come together to relax. It is also the first time in recent years that I have developed a true, legitimate tan. In short, it is paradise.
Following our Tuscan adventure, I wasn't sure that our Italian experience could get much better, but Vernazza and the Cinque Terre have proven to be one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. Each day we walk up the 112 steps to our room and look out over the sea on our terrace and truly experience the good life. People here are relaxed, friendly, and I find a sort of peace here that you only rarely experience.
On our first day, Todd and I went to the small, pebbly Vernazza beach/harbor, and both of us couldn't begin to express our happiness at seeing the ocean. Todd immediately ran into the water, demonstrating a near state of euphoria, and through all of this completely forgot that our room key was in the pocket of our boardshorts. Whoops. Needless to say, our room key is probably half-way to France by now, but when we called the woman from whom we are renting a room, she was so relaxed about it it was almost disturbing. We asked if we could go to a locksmith to replace the key, and she seemed surprised that we would even think to replace it. She says, 'But you have to go to Monterosso to do that.' For those of you not familiar with the Cinque Terre, Monterosso is about a five minute train ride (literally) from Vernazza. Not a problem, and all in the relaxed frame of mind we have here.
We sadly leave Vernazza tomorrow, but we travel to Venice, our last stop in our travel adventures. I am excited, but also looking forward to wearing clean clothes and being back with all of you. I hope to post again, but if not, I will do another post from Vienna before we fly home. Lots of love to you all!
We are currently in Vernazza, one of the small towns that makes up the Cinque Terre, the semi- off the beaten path area of the Italian Riviera. It's a no shirt, no shoes, no problem kind of town where neighbors inexplicably burst into song with the Judy Garland songbook, and multiple generations of families, strangers and locals, all come together to relax. It is also the first time in recent years that I have developed a true, legitimate tan. In short, it is paradise.
Following our Tuscan adventure, I wasn't sure that our Italian experience could get much better, but Vernazza and the Cinque Terre have proven to be one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. Each day we walk up the 112 steps to our room and look out over the sea on our terrace and truly experience the good life. People here are relaxed, friendly, and I find a sort of peace here that you only rarely experience.
On our first day, Todd and I went to the small, pebbly Vernazza beach/harbor, and both of us couldn't begin to express our happiness at seeing the ocean. Todd immediately ran into the water, demonstrating a near state of euphoria, and through all of this completely forgot that our room key was in the pocket of our boardshorts. Whoops. Needless to say, our room key is probably half-way to France by now, but when we called the woman from whom we are renting a room, she was so relaxed about it it was almost disturbing. We asked if we could go to a locksmith to replace the key, and she seemed surprised that we would even think to replace it. She says, 'But you have to go to Monterosso to do that.' For those of you not familiar with the Cinque Terre, Monterosso is about a five minute train ride (literally) from Vernazza. Not a problem, and all in the relaxed frame of mind we have here.
We sadly leave Vernazza tomorrow, but we travel to Venice, our last stop in our travel adventures. I am excited, but also looking forward to wearing clean clothes and being back with all of you. I hope to post again, but if not, I will do another post from Vienna before we fly home. Lots of love to you all!
Thursday, August 2, 2007
A Tuscan Block-Party
Nestled between the towns of Poppi and Bebbiana lies the village of Giocalto. I use the word 'village' loosely, as Giocalto is really nothing more than seven houses from the 13th century stacked beside one another on a olive-tree covered hill in the middle of Tuscany. It is here that Todd and I have found ourselves, finishing up the second week of our travels, as we spend an absolutely magical day and night with our friend Marlena and her family, whom we befriended during our UN stint.
Marlena and her two older brothers grew up all over the world, as their parents are teachers a international schools. Marlena was born in Los Angeles, then moved to Rome, Venezuela, Burma, and finally back to the US for college and law school, while her parents moved to Turkey for their final stint of teaching and administration before they retire. Their home in Giocalto is where they plan to retire in a couple of years, and because of our visit (and the visit of Marlena's college roommate Emily), they decided to throw the equivalent of a Tuscan block-party in our honor. You see, the village of Giocalto is made up entirely of friends of Marlena's parents (including Peter Rockwell, son of artist Norman Rockwell, who originally purchased the 15 acres of land in the 1980s and has been gradually selling the homes to his friends). They are all friends from college, and many of them plan to retire there, or at least spend the summers there during their retirement. Their is something incredibly attractive to me about retiring in a community of my life-long friends, and I think they are very lucky to have had this opportunity.
Giocalto and the surrounding countryside is even more beautiful than the fairytale that you imagine Tuscany to be -- being raised Catholic, I almost felt guilty to be able to visit and see such beauty. Shortly after we arrived, friends from Giocalto and some of the other neighboring villages stopped by with their families and guests, and we ended up having a lovely party with blind wine-tasting of wines of the region, eating typical Tuscan cuisine, and enjoying the company of people from literally all over the world.
It was most certainly one of the highlights of the trip to stay a night at a friend's house, in the company of family -- even if they aren't your own family, it's been one of the most peaceful nights sleep I have had in a long time. I have missed being in a family environment -- waking up to pancakes and coffee for breakfast, to the sound of roosters crowing (a sound I have not woken up to since my Grandparents Ogdon passed), and then just seeing that families are the same no matter where you are. It was a blessing to be with a family for a day.
We fly back to the US in less than a week, and I look forward to seeing many of you soon. We miss you very much!
Marlena and her two older brothers grew up all over the world, as their parents are teachers a international schools. Marlena was born in Los Angeles, then moved to Rome, Venezuela, Burma, and finally back to the US for college and law school, while her parents moved to Turkey for their final stint of teaching and administration before they retire. Their home in Giocalto is where they plan to retire in a couple of years, and because of our visit (and the visit of Marlena's college roommate Emily), they decided to throw the equivalent of a Tuscan block-party in our honor. You see, the village of Giocalto is made up entirely of friends of Marlena's parents (including Peter Rockwell, son of artist Norman Rockwell, who originally purchased the 15 acres of land in the 1980s and has been gradually selling the homes to his friends). They are all friends from college, and many of them plan to retire there, or at least spend the summers there during their retirement. Their is something incredibly attractive to me about retiring in a community of my life-long friends, and I think they are very lucky to have had this opportunity.
Giocalto and the surrounding countryside is even more beautiful than the fairytale that you imagine Tuscany to be -- being raised Catholic, I almost felt guilty to be able to visit and see such beauty. Shortly after we arrived, friends from Giocalto and some of the other neighboring villages stopped by with their families and guests, and we ended up having a lovely party with blind wine-tasting of wines of the region, eating typical Tuscan cuisine, and enjoying the company of people from literally all over the world.
It was most certainly one of the highlights of the trip to stay a night at a friend's house, in the company of family -- even if they aren't your own family, it's been one of the most peaceful nights sleep I have had in a long time. I have missed being in a family environment -- waking up to pancakes and coffee for breakfast, to the sound of roosters crowing (a sound I have not woken up to since my Grandparents Ogdon passed), and then just seeing that families are the same no matter where you are. It was a blessing to be with a family for a day.
We fly back to the US in less than a week, and I look forward to seeing many of you soon. We miss you very much!
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
It is like Space Mountain....
Hello readers, we are finishing up our time in Rome. I am in an internet cafe again, with another foreign keyboard, so I will have to keep this short. Here are some thoughts:
1) Rome is everything people say it is -- beautiful, fantastic, chaotic, and brutal. It is a lot to take in, but nighttime in Rome is really magical. Just finding a small alleyway or square that is away from the roar of the cars and vespas makes everything worth it.
2) While the UK is having record flooding, the record heatwave that is over Eastern and Southeastern Europe continues. It is sort of our luck that we travel in it, but honestly, 95 degrees feels downright pleasant after the 110 degree heat in Budapest.
3) For the Serra High readers: Every time I see a man with white hair, a beard, and a Rick Steves book I think it is Mr. Stankhe. Mr. Stankhe is here in Europe. I can feel it.
4) The one truly cliche Eurotrip moment we have had was at the Vatican Museum yesterday, and it might have been one of the more trying travel experiences I have ever had. Getting off the metro, we see the line and think, it cannot be that bad. Little did we know that the line to get into the Vatican Museum (and the Sistine Chapel) wrapped around TWO of the outer walls of the Vatican. Ok, no big deal. It is like Space Mountain, Todd says. You know it is the best ride at Disneyland and it always has a long line because it is the best ride, and you cannot go to Disneyland and not ride it. So you cannot go to Rome and not see the Sistine Chapel. The really stinky thing is that it is 95 degrees out, you are waiting in the sun for over an hour, and oh yes -- you are wearing pants and short sleeves because the modesty requirements of the Vatican say that you cannot bear your shoulders or show any skin above the calf. Unfortunately all the skirts I brought are knee-length, and they must be below the knee to get into St. Peter's. Needless to say we sweated like pigs. And once we got in, they hearded you in large groups like cattle for the next FOUR miles, with no places to stop and sit or drink water. It's nuts.
5) Ok, God can strike me down if he wants, but I have some beefs with the Catholic Church here. First of all, they charge 13 Euros per person (that's about $16) to go into the Vatican. Once you get there, after you have waited in line for hours, they have no A/C, and no water fountains inside. Tens of thousands of people visit the Vatican everyday. At 13 Euros a pop, they can darn well afford some A/C and water fountains. It is almost a health hazard to allow that many people in. Along those lines (I can feel God striking now), as beautiful as all the churches are, I can for the first time in my life see where Luther was coming from. After the 100th ornate, gold-covered church, I can't help but wonder what good that money could have used towards --feeding parishioners, clothing the needy, etc. If the money had gone to the ground level it could have really done some good. And while it is all so lovely, I just have very mixed feelings about all of it.
6) On a lighter note, there are definite advantages and disadvantages to being a woman in this country. The advantage of being the fairer sex means that I have paid half as much to go into museums as Todd, and have been given free food, and particularly attentive service. The flip side is that Roman men really will follow you. I understand that it is part of the culture, but from where I come from, following someone isn't the way to win a girl's affection. It's a way to get pepper spray in your face.
My time is about to run out, so I have got to go. We leave for Florence tomorrow, and I hope to post then. Let me know how all of you are doing!
1) Rome is everything people say it is -- beautiful, fantastic, chaotic, and brutal. It is a lot to take in, but nighttime in Rome is really magical. Just finding a small alleyway or square that is away from the roar of the cars and vespas makes everything worth it.
2) While the UK is having record flooding, the record heatwave that is over Eastern and Southeastern Europe continues. It is sort of our luck that we travel in it, but honestly, 95 degrees feels downright pleasant after the 110 degree heat in Budapest.
3) For the Serra High readers: Every time I see a man with white hair, a beard, and a Rick Steves book I think it is Mr. Stankhe. Mr. Stankhe is here in Europe. I can feel it.
4) The one truly cliche Eurotrip moment we have had was at the Vatican Museum yesterday, and it might have been one of the more trying travel experiences I have ever had. Getting off the metro, we see the line and think, it cannot be that bad. Little did we know that the line to get into the Vatican Museum (and the Sistine Chapel) wrapped around TWO of the outer walls of the Vatican. Ok, no big deal. It is like Space Mountain, Todd says. You know it is the best ride at Disneyland and it always has a long line because it is the best ride, and you cannot go to Disneyland and not ride it. So you cannot go to Rome and not see the Sistine Chapel. The really stinky thing is that it is 95 degrees out, you are waiting in the sun for over an hour, and oh yes -- you are wearing pants and short sleeves because the modesty requirements of the Vatican say that you cannot bear your shoulders or show any skin above the calf. Unfortunately all the skirts I brought are knee-length, and they must be below the knee to get into St. Peter's. Needless to say we sweated like pigs. And once we got in, they hearded you in large groups like cattle for the next FOUR miles, with no places to stop and sit or drink water. It's nuts.
5) Ok, God can strike me down if he wants, but I have some beefs with the Catholic Church here. First of all, they charge 13 Euros per person (that's about $16) to go into the Vatican. Once you get there, after you have waited in line for hours, they have no A/C, and no water fountains inside. Tens of thousands of people visit the Vatican everyday. At 13 Euros a pop, they can darn well afford some A/C and water fountains. It is almost a health hazard to allow that many people in. Along those lines (I can feel God striking now), as beautiful as all the churches are, I can for the first time in my life see where Luther was coming from. After the 100th ornate, gold-covered church, I can't help but wonder what good that money could have used towards --feeding parishioners, clothing the needy, etc. If the money had gone to the ground level it could have really done some good. And while it is all so lovely, I just have very mixed feelings about all of it.
6) On a lighter note, there are definite advantages and disadvantages to being a woman in this country. The advantage of being the fairer sex means that I have paid half as much to go into museums as Todd, and have been given free food, and particularly attentive service. The flip side is that Roman men really will follow you. I understand that it is part of the culture, but from where I come from, following someone isn't the way to win a girl's affection. It's a way to get pepper spray in your face.
My time is about to run out, so I have got to go. We leave for Florence tomorrow, and I hope to post then. Let me know how all of you are doing!
Saturday, July 21, 2007
The Americans Who Went Up a Hill and Came Down a Mountain
I am sitting in an internet cafe using a Magyar (aka Hungarian) keyboard, which is definitely the most challenging I have used in my life. I am missing most forms of English punctuation, and have s lew of letters I will never use. Oh well.
Continuing our global warming tour of Europe, we are currently in Budapest. While it is a mild 71 degrees in Paris, it is a steamy 106 degrees in Budapest. Thankfully, our hotel does have air-conditioning, but it is the only place that does. Here are some quick observations:
1) While Budapest lacks the fairytale charm of Prague, I find I prefer it as a city. It is much bigger, has great restaurants and nightlife, and the people you interact with are friendly and actually Magyar, or Hungarian. It really feels like a city shedding its communist past. Todd said it best when he said that Budapest has good bones. Like a great fixer-upper, all it needs is a little more time to be as beautiful as some of its neighboring cities.
2) Cabbies here are every stereotype of a thick-necked Eastern European. They are low-level thugs, but apart from them, the city is really safe -- even if a neighborhood does not look like it. It is the decay from 40 years of communism.
3) The title of the post comes from Todd and Iűs experience with the maps they provide tourists. We were trying to go to the famous Gellert Baths, and looking at the map, it appeared to be at the top of a huge hill, and it appeared that the only way we could reach it was by climbing up about 250 stairs in 105 degree heat. We did it, then walked about a mile and a half at the top of the hill and found the street that the baths are on. Unbeknownst to us, this street winds its way from the top to the bottom, and in large circulars. We walked a few more miles down the hill...only to find that the baths are at the bottom of the hill, and we had hiked about four extra miles than we needed to...uphill, in the sweltering heat. Sigh.
4) This really is a great city, and it has a very youthful spirit to it. Again, it might be the change from communism, but there is a great energy here.
5) We met Justinűs doppelganger yesterday. He is from Wisconsin but now living in DC. I swear, it was one of the creepiest things ever.
I am running out of time so I had better get going, but lots of love to you all. We head to Rome tomorrow, and hopefully I can get to a cafe there too.
Continuing our global warming tour of Europe, we are currently in Budapest. While it is a mild 71 degrees in Paris, it is a steamy 106 degrees in Budapest. Thankfully, our hotel does have air-conditioning, but it is the only place that does. Here are some quick observations:
1) While Budapest lacks the fairytale charm of Prague, I find I prefer it as a city. It is much bigger, has great restaurants and nightlife, and the people you interact with are friendly and actually Magyar, or Hungarian. It really feels like a city shedding its communist past. Todd said it best when he said that Budapest has good bones. Like a great fixer-upper, all it needs is a little more time to be as beautiful as some of its neighboring cities.
2) Cabbies here are every stereotype of a thick-necked Eastern European. They are low-level thugs, but apart from them, the city is really safe -- even if a neighborhood does not look like it. It is the decay from 40 years of communism.
3) The title of the post comes from Todd and Iűs experience with the maps they provide tourists. We were trying to go to the famous Gellert Baths, and looking at the map, it appeared to be at the top of a huge hill, and it appeared that the only way we could reach it was by climbing up about 250 stairs in 105 degree heat. We did it, then walked about a mile and a half at the top of the hill and found the street that the baths are on. Unbeknownst to us, this street winds its way from the top to the bottom, and in large circulars. We walked a few more miles down the hill...only to find that the baths are at the bottom of the hill, and we had hiked about four extra miles than we needed to...uphill, in the sweltering heat. Sigh.
4) This really is a great city, and it has a very youthful spirit to it. Again, it might be the change from communism, but there is a great energy here.
5) We met Justinűs doppelganger yesterday. He is from Wisconsin but now living in DC. I swear, it was one of the creepiest things ever.
I am running out of time so I had better get going, but lots of love to you all. We head to Rome tomorrow, and hopefully I can get to a cafe there too.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
An Open Letter to Rick Steves
Dear Rick:
I really like you. Your humor, lovable quirkiness and -- let's be honest -- dorkiness is unbeatable in the travel industry. You know your stuff, and I love your approach to traveling through Europe. You have never led me too far astray on my travels, and I thank you for that. And I am not even ashamed to admit that I Tivo your travel specials, and feel a little bit giddy when I see you have new travel specials to watch.
It is with great sadness then that I must report that you have failed me somewhat on this trip to Prague. The hotel is, of course, fantastic, and everything we are looking for. Hotels are one of the things you really do best. And your thorough, informative descriptions of sights and attractions is absolutely fantastic. But Rick -- dear, sweet Rick -- your food and nightlife recommendations have been so hit-or-miss I'm wondering when was the last time you visited Prague.
On our first night we went to the Czech restaurant you recommended as one of the best examples of Czech food. Now I've learned that Czech isn't always something to write home about, but my 'homemade meatloaf,' which was in fact a lukewarm piece of bologna, and Todd's white bread dumplings in gravy from a can, were almost inedible. That's saying something, because at the end of the day there are few foods I can't stomach. Dinner the next night at the Thai/Burmese/Malaysian restaurant you recommended was fantastic, and I thought you had redeemed yourself. But last night we went to the fish restaurant you recommended, the one with the 300 Kc fixed-price three-course meal with a view on the river. When we arrived, we found they have never had a fixed-price menu, and that you can't find an entree for under 300 Kc, and you have to pay additionally for a side -- unless you want to just eat a piece of fish. Admittedly, my fish was fresh, but it had so many bones in it is was also nearly inedible. And to top it all off, the restaurant would not give free tap water. You had to purchase small bottles of water for over $2 each. It was 98 degrees yesterday Rick. 98 degrees. Do you know how much it hurt to drink $2 worth of water in less than 30 seconds?
In fairness, all this isn't your fault. But I was so surprised, because you have always been so good to me Rick. All of our misadventures culminated when we went to the nightlife/entertainment section you provided on Prague. The place you recommended first for music clubs is a venue called 'The Roxy,' which you describe as 'a lively place with live bands and and experimental DJs.' Todd and I were about to go there when I checked the Prague book my friend and former co-worker Karaliese loaned to me. It describes the Roxy as the following: 'A former cinema stripped to its concrete essentials, and usually playing hard-core techno to match. It styles itself as an 'experimental space,' but largely sticks to raves of the most traditional kind, and due to the absence of adequate air-conditioning, descending onto the dance floor is usually like slamming into a wall of sweat. Popular among early 1990s nostalgists and recreational drug abusers.'
That, ladies and gentleman, is why I always buy two guidebooks for wherever I'm going. And I love you Rick -- I really do -- but I thank my lucky stars we had that other book. Otherwise Todd and I might still be stuck in some sweaty Nirvana haze in a post-communist basement.
Rick, I think you might be getting out of touch with the 'young' traveler, and that's ok. No one expects you to be hanging out in the coolest places. But I propose something to you: hire me to be that person. I'm young, qualified, a reasonably ok writer, and we're kindred dorky souls. Let me be the person to update your guidebooks with great restaurants, clubs, concerts, etc that can appeal to the younger traveler who's upgraded from hostels but still wants to travel on a reasonable budget. Save the hundreds of youths who might be out there right now, stuck in the early 1990s with recreational drug abusers at some club you've recommended. Save them Rick. Save them.
You're soon to have a second chance Rick, as we leave for Budapest tomorrow, and I'll see then if your recommendations improve. Until then, gentle readers, have a wonderful day, and hopefully I'll be able to put in a post before we leave Hungary.
I really like you. Your humor, lovable quirkiness and -- let's be honest -- dorkiness is unbeatable in the travel industry. You know your stuff, and I love your approach to traveling through Europe. You have never led me too far astray on my travels, and I thank you for that. And I am not even ashamed to admit that I Tivo your travel specials, and feel a little bit giddy when I see you have new travel specials to watch.
It is with great sadness then that I must report that you have failed me somewhat on this trip to Prague. The hotel is, of course, fantastic, and everything we are looking for. Hotels are one of the things you really do best. And your thorough, informative descriptions of sights and attractions is absolutely fantastic. But Rick -- dear, sweet Rick -- your food and nightlife recommendations have been so hit-or-miss I'm wondering when was the last time you visited Prague.
On our first night we went to the Czech restaurant you recommended as one of the best examples of Czech food. Now I've learned that Czech isn't always something to write home about, but my 'homemade meatloaf,' which was in fact a lukewarm piece of bologna, and Todd's white bread dumplings in gravy from a can, were almost inedible. That's saying something, because at the end of the day there are few foods I can't stomach. Dinner the next night at the Thai/Burmese/Malaysian restaurant you recommended was fantastic, and I thought you had redeemed yourself. But last night we went to the fish restaurant you recommended, the one with the 300 Kc fixed-price three-course meal with a view on the river. When we arrived, we found they have never had a fixed-price menu, and that you can't find an entree for under 300 Kc, and you have to pay additionally for a side -- unless you want to just eat a piece of fish. Admittedly, my fish was fresh, but it had so many bones in it is was also nearly inedible. And to top it all off, the restaurant would not give free tap water. You had to purchase small bottles of water for over $2 each. It was 98 degrees yesterday Rick. 98 degrees. Do you know how much it hurt to drink $2 worth of water in less than 30 seconds?
In fairness, all this isn't your fault. But I was so surprised, because you have always been so good to me Rick. All of our misadventures culminated when we went to the nightlife/entertainment section you provided on Prague. The place you recommended first for music clubs is a venue called 'The Roxy,' which you describe as 'a lively place with live bands and and experimental DJs.' Todd and I were about to go there when I checked the Prague book my friend and former co-worker Karaliese loaned to me. It describes the Roxy as the following: 'A former cinema stripped to its concrete essentials, and usually playing hard-core techno to match. It styles itself as an 'experimental space,' but largely sticks to raves of the most traditional kind, and due to the absence of adequate air-conditioning, descending onto the dance floor is usually like slamming into a wall of sweat. Popular among early 1990s nostalgists and recreational drug abusers.'
That, ladies and gentleman, is why I always buy two guidebooks for wherever I'm going. And I love you Rick -- I really do -- but I thank my lucky stars we had that other book. Otherwise Todd and I might still be stuck in some sweaty Nirvana haze in a post-communist basement.
Rick, I think you might be getting out of touch with the 'young' traveler, and that's ok. No one expects you to be hanging out in the coolest places. But I propose something to you: hire me to be that person. I'm young, qualified, a reasonably ok writer, and we're kindred dorky souls. Let me be the person to update your guidebooks with great restaurants, clubs, concerts, etc that can appeal to the younger traveler who's upgraded from hostels but still wants to travel on a reasonable budget. Save the hundreds of youths who might be out there right now, stuck in the early 1990s with recreational drug abusers at some club you've recommended. Save them Rick. Save them.
You're soon to have a second chance Rick, as we leave for Budapest tomorrow, and I'll see then if your recommendations improve. Until then, gentle readers, have a wonderful day, and hopefully I'll be able to put in a post before we leave Hungary.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Greetings from Praha
As it happens, our hotel in Prague has a free computer with internet for guest. So while I'm taking a break I thought I would include a quick post on observations on Prague:
1) Prague really is the jewel of Eastern Europe. It's absolutely beautiful in a picture postcard, almost Disneyland sort of way. It hardly seems real.
2) With that being said, Prague in summer reminds me a bit of the Las Vegas strip. No one you meet here is from here, and everyone is involved -- in some form or another -- in an outfit or scheme to take your money. All the locals who don't have to be here have fled.
3) Prague is no longer the inexpensive city of Europe. With the current exchange rate, 1 dollar buys you 20 Koruna, and as a result, most things are just as expensive here as they are in the US. Now, given the general ass-kicking the dollar is getting against the pound and the Euro, I guess it is less expensive, but I wouldn't call it a bargain by any means.
4) People here are very friendly -- much more so than in Vienna. Also, everything is in both Czech and English, but very few people speak Czech. It's nice, but also takes away from the 'local' experience.
5) The beer here is great, and by far the cheapest and best value. A half-liter of Pilsner will cost you about a dollar and twenty cents. It's awesome.
6) Holy moley is it hot here right now. Today it's been about 95 degrees, and no escape anywhere. I know I won't get much sympathy from the folks back home, because the news says it is pretty brutal over there too. Sorry guys, I feel your pain.
7) Cobblestones are pretty and romantic, but man they can make your body ache after walking on them all day long. My feet hurt, and even my lower back is a mess. But it's totally worth it!
8) For an interesting set of contrasts, today we went to the Prague Castle (incredible views over Prague), and the St. Vitus Cathedral (don't tell the Viennese, but I find it more impressive than Stephansdom), the Mucha museum (lovely graphic art), and finished it off with a visit to the Museum of Communism in Prague. Surprisingly interesting and informative -- it was recommended by a friend. As a big f-you to Lenin, it's housed above a McDonalds, which they proudly proclaim in their advertising. We're finishing our day with a walking tour of Haunted Prague tonight.
9) Speaking of McDonald's, I have seen more Mickey D's and KFC's in the Old and New Town of Prague than anywhere else in Europe in my life. And they are always packed. I saw that KFC now has a 'Quirrito,' which looks a cross between a quesadilla and burrito with fried chicken inside. Eeeeewwww. But man, when they embraced capitalism, they really embraced fast food.
10) UPDATED: For the past four days Todd has been singing the 'Good King Wenceslas' Christmas carol every day because it came from Prague. It's been fantastic.
11) Prague is officially the place for British men to come to have their bachelor party. They're all here, and none of them wear shirts -- or sometimes -- pants.
I've got to get going, but love to you all, and hopefully I'll have a chance to post more in the future!
1) Prague really is the jewel of Eastern Europe. It's absolutely beautiful in a picture postcard, almost Disneyland sort of way. It hardly seems real.
2) With that being said, Prague in summer reminds me a bit of the Las Vegas strip. No one you meet here is from here, and everyone is involved -- in some form or another -- in an outfit or scheme to take your money. All the locals who don't have to be here have fled.
3) Prague is no longer the inexpensive city of Europe. With the current exchange rate, 1 dollar buys you 20 Koruna, and as a result, most things are just as expensive here as they are in the US. Now, given the general ass-kicking the dollar is getting against the pound and the Euro, I guess it is less expensive, but I wouldn't call it a bargain by any means.
4) People here are very friendly -- much more so than in Vienna. Also, everything is in both Czech and English, but very few people speak Czech. It's nice, but also takes away from the 'local' experience.
5) The beer here is great, and by far the cheapest and best value. A half-liter of Pilsner will cost you about a dollar and twenty cents. It's awesome.
6) Holy moley is it hot here right now. Today it's been about 95 degrees, and no escape anywhere. I know I won't get much sympathy from the folks back home, because the news says it is pretty brutal over there too. Sorry guys, I feel your pain.
7) Cobblestones are pretty and romantic, but man they can make your body ache after walking on them all day long. My feet hurt, and even my lower back is a mess. But it's totally worth it!
8) For an interesting set of contrasts, today we went to the Prague Castle (incredible views over Prague), and the St. Vitus Cathedral (don't tell the Viennese, but I find it more impressive than Stephansdom), the Mucha museum (lovely graphic art), and finished it off with a visit to the Museum of Communism in Prague. Surprisingly interesting and informative -- it was recommended by a friend. As a big f-you to Lenin, it's housed above a McDonalds, which they proudly proclaim in their advertising. We're finishing our day with a walking tour of Haunted Prague tonight.
9) Speaking of McDonald's, I have seen more Mickey D's and KFC's in the Old and New Town of Prague than anywhere else in Europe in my life. And they are always packed. I saw that KFC now has a 'Quirrito,' which looks a cross between a quesadilla and burrito with fried chicken inside. Eeeeewwww. But man, when they embraced capitalism, they really embraced fast food.
10) UPDATED: For the past four days Todd has been singing the 'Good King Wenceslas' Christmas carol every day because it came from Prague. It's been fantastic.
11) Prague is officially the place for British men to come to have their bachelor party. They're all here, and none of them wear shirts -- or sometimes -- pants.
I've got to get going, but love to you all, and hopefully I'll have a chance to post more in the future!
Friday, July 13, 2007
State of Grace
For this, my final post from Vienna, I thought I would dedicate some time to two things I love: walking and footwear. Anyone who knows me knows that I love to walk, and I love fabulous shoes even more (thanks for that addiction Mom). Unfortunately, fabulous footwear and walking often don’t mix, and nowhere has this become more apparent to me than in the cobblestone streets of Vienna. The streets are quaint, romantic, and evocative of a time long gone by – and also utter hell to anyone walking in anything other than a tennis shoes.
I’ve gotten in the habit of packing my heels in my book bag and changing my shoes in the office, but even my dressy flats are a bit of a chore on the cobblestone streets because they have a narrower frame than your practical walking shoe. This often results in the “Whooooaaa wobble” where your ankle buckles and you have to catch yourself quickly before you face plant into the lovely stones on the road. Todd has a moderate amount of patience with this, but since he’s not the heel-wearing type, he just can’t entirely sympathize with the great pains we women make in the name of fashion. I also worry about taking a nosedive because it could mean I have to go to the “krankenhaus,” or hospital, and if there is one thing that scares me, it is having to utilize my already exorbitant individual Kaiser health plan while “out of network.” I might as well just sign away my first-born child. Here’s hoping that I make my way through the cobblestone streets of Prague, Budapest, and Italy without any trips to the hospital along the way.
My lack of grace culminated in an incident two weeks ago, when I lost my sandal in the subway. Yes, I lost my sandal in the six-inch gap between the train and the platform. I’ll pause for a moment for you to laugh and make whatever jokes you need to about my “not minding the gap.” Now that you’ve had your moment, let me explain what happened.
First, I should mention that there is absolutely no subway etiquette in this country. Unlike New York, San Francisco, or DC, where people line up for a train in a semi-orderly fashion, and most importantly, wait for the passengers departing the train to get OFF before cramming into the train, Vienna is a veritable public transit free-for-all. You’ll be shoved, pushed, and stepped upon each and every day as you try to get on and off the train. It is in this atmosphere that my poor Reef sandal fell victim to a ruthless public transit user who couldn’t wait to get on the train.
I was with Todd and our friend Marlena, and as we stepped onto the train, someone stepped on the back of my sandal, and I walked right out of it. I turned around, expecting to find my sandal, and instead found nothing. Oh no no no, I thought to myself. The gap is six-inches wide. There’s no way it could have fallen down there. I stepped off the train, glanced down the gap, and saw my poor sandal below. We stepped off the train and Todd looked at me, still in a state of disbelief that I could be this clumsy (and in my defense, it wasn’t MY fault), and I got him to go up to the station agent window and ask them to help retrieve my sandal. If this had been any other city, I simply would have said auf wiedersehn to my sandal, but as I mentioned before, Vienna is a very clean city, and frankly, it was my beloved Reef sandal. I’ve never owned a more comfortable pair of flip-flops, and with our travels only weeks away, I need a good pair of walking sandals. And with the dollar continuing to tank, I don’t want to have to buy one more thing than I absolutely have to.
Like a knight in shining armor, an orange-vested station agent came to the platform with a long hook and retrieved my sandal. Apparently this happens more often than one would realize. I never thought I would be so grateful to see something come out of a subway. After a good cleaning, my foot and sandal were reunited – and I am even more paranoid about my shoes on the subway.
Well dear readers, Todd and I leave tomorrow for our travels – a “Pickpockets Tour of Europe,” as one friend called it. We’re off to Prague, Budapest, Rome, Florence, Siena, the Cinque Terre, Venice, and a day at Marlena’s parent’s retirement home outside of Florence. We’ll do our best to mind our belongings – and the gap. I hope to post about my continuing travels, but I can’t make any promises since we won’t have a computer and my access to a computer for a prolonged period of time may be scarce. I may try to post when we return though, as I’ll be writing in a good old-fashioned journal during our trip. Then it’s back home to California, and to so many of you. Lots of love to you all, and please comment or email and let me know how you are doing!
I’ve gotten in the habit of packing my heels in my book bag and changing my shoes in the office, but even my dressy flats are a bit of a chore on the cobblestone streets because they have a narrower frame than your practical walking shoe. This often results in the “Whooooaaa wobble” where your ankle buckles and you have to catch yourself quickly before you face plant into the lovely stones on the road. Todd has a moderate amount of patience with this, but since he’s not the heel-wearing type, he just can’t entirely sympathize with the great pains we women make in the name of fashion. I also worry about taking a nosedive because it could mean I have to go to the “krankenhaus,” or hospital, and if there is one thing that scares me, it is having to utilize my already exorbitant individual Kaiser health plan while “out of network.” I might as well just sign away my first-born child. Here’s hoping that I make my way through the cobblestone streets of Prague, Budapest, and Italy without any trips to the hospital along the way.
My lack of grace culminated in an incident two weeks ago, when I lost my sandal in the subway. Yes, I lost my sandal in the six-inch gap between the train and the platform. I’ll pause for a moment for you to laugh and make whatever jokes you need to about my “not minding the gap.” Now that you’ve had your moment, let me explain what happened.
First, I should mention that there is absolutely no subway etiquette in this country. Unlike New York, San Francisco, or DC, where people line up for a train in a semi-orderly fashion, and most importantly, wait for the passengers departing the train to get OFF before cramming into the train, Vienna is a veritable public transit free-for-all. You’ll be shoved, pushed, and stepped upon each and every day as you try to get on and off the train. It is in this atmosphere that my poor Reef sandal fell victim to a ruthless public transit user who couldn’t wait to get on the train.
I was with Todd and our friend Marlena, and as we stepped onto the train, someone stepped on the back of my sandal, and I walked right out of it. I turned around, expecting to find my sandal, and instead found nothing. Oh no no no, I thought to myself. The gap is six-inches wide. There’s no way it could have fallen down there. I stepped off the train, glanced down the gap, and saw my poor sandal below. We stepped off the train and Todd looked at me, still in a state of disbelief that I could be this clumsy (and in my defense, it wasn’t MY fault), and I got him to go up to the station agent window and ask them to help retrieve my sandal. If this had been any other city, I simply would have said auf wiedersehn to my sandal, but as I mentioned before, Vienna is a very clean city, and frankly, it was my beloved Reef sandal. I’ve never owned a more comfortable pair of flip-flops, and with our travels only weeks away, I need a good pair of walking sandals. And with the dollar continuing to tank, I don’t want to have to buy one more thing than I absolutely have to.
Like a knight in shining armor, an orange-vested station agent came to the platform with a long hook and retrieved my sandal. Apparently this happens more often than one would realize. I never thought I would be so grateful to see something come out of a subway. After a good cleaning, my foot and sandal were reunited – and I am even more paranoid about my shoes on the subway.
Well dear readers, Todd and I leave tomorrow for our travels – a “Pickpockets Tour of Europe,” as one friend called it. We’re off to Prague, Budapest, Rome, Florence, Siena, the Cinque Terre, Venice, and a day at Marlena’s parent’s retirement home outside of Florence. We’ll do our best to mind our belongings – and the gap. I hope to post about my continuing travels, but I can’t make any promises since we won’t have a computer and my access to a computer for a prolonged period of time may be scarce. I may try to post when we return though, as I’ll be writing in a good old-fashioned journal during our trip. Then it’s back home to California, and to so many of you. Lots of love to you all, and please comment or email and let me know how you are doing!
Friday, July 6, 2007
Killing Me Softly (Or: Where there’s smoke, there’s Vienna)
Above everything else, there is one thing that is without question my least favorite thing about Vienna: the smoking. Earlier this year I read an article that called Austria “the last smoking haven of Europe,” and it’s certainly true. While places like Ireland, Scotland, Madrid, and even Paris are going smoke-free in public places, Austria stands resolute as a country that has no intention on changing its smoking regulations, despite the fact that with socialized medicine the government foots the bill for the country’s habit. So on the heels of this week’s announcement by the World Health Organization that an estimated one billion (yes, I said billion) people will lose their lives to tobacco-related deaths in this century, I thought I would dedicate a post to my observations as an ardent non-smoker in a country where I am the clear minority.
Smoking is deeply embedded in the cultural of Vienna. You often see images of the Viennese intelligentsia smoking their cares away at the multitude of cafés that cover this city. But in fairness, smoking was a part of life in nearly every culture on the globe during the past century, so I always feel like this is a bit of a weak argument. Smoking is also completely pervasive. Even at the UN – which ironically the World Health Organization is a part of – you can smoke in your office, and purchase cigarettes at any hour from the handy cigarette vending machines that are on every other floor, as well as on every corner of the city.
To give you a sense of perspective on smoking, let me share some statistics with you. In California, where there are some of the most stringent regulations on smoking in the United States, the average smoking rate is 14%. Nationwide, the average smoking rate is 23% of the population. In Austria, the average smoking rate of ‘dedicated’ smokers is 43%. When you include the individuals who consider themselves ‘casual smokers’ (i.e. people who only smoke when they have a drink, go to a party, etc), the smoking rate jumps to a whopping 60%. And while I wasn’t able to find a precise statistic, I am told that Vienna has far more smokers than any other place in Austria, with somewhere around 60% of the Viennese being regular smokers.
So you can imagine how a California girl who spent the past five years working at the American Cancer Society feels when two-thirds of the people around her are constantly lighting up. Even some of my closest friends in Vienna, who are smart enough to know better, are regular or casual smokers. And while they are always very courteous -- making sure to blow their smoke away, go outside, etc – it still makes me a little sad, because I imagine they just have no idea what lung cancer looks like, or they feel young and invincible, or they just plain don’t care. And at the end of the day it’s their life, and they have all the information in the world, and they’ve simply made their choice. I may not agree with it, but I am resigned and have to accept their decision. But if there is one thing I’ve learned from my time at ACS and simple life experience, it’s that lung cancer is an ugly, awful, painful way to die. Of all the cancers to get, it just might be the most brutal – and that’s saying something.
I’ve recently come to wonder if the Viennese love of smoking has anything to do with the city’s obsession with death. If you open up any guidebook on Vienna you’re likely to find a section on the macabre nature of this city, which seems to revere death as much as life. For instance, last week Todd and I met with a lovely man named Niko, a Viennese historian who happens to be writing a book about Todd’s ancestor Sigmund Bosel (that’s a whole looong story I can tell you about another time). Niko told us that Vienna has its own “Death Club,” to which every Viennese person is invited to join when they turn twenty years of age. The purpose of the club is to help you to start preparing for your eventual demise, which apparently should begin when you’ve just come out of your teens. Nice. And yet another example comes from the grand ol’ Hapsburgs, who decided that every member of the royal family should be buried in above ground, often elaborate tombs in the Kaisergruft. It is a strange enough sensation to be in a crypt surrounded by the embalmed remains of a family that used to rule over half of Europe. It’s even weirder when you discover that you are in fact surrounded by the headless, heartless bodies of the Hapsburg family, as the Hapsburgs decided to have their hearts stored in the crypt of yet another church, and I can’t even remember where their heads are stored. Let’s all take a moment for a collective “Eeeeeewwww.”
So perhaps it is this race to your eventual end that drives the Viennese to smoke with such a passion. I recall that when I first arrived, I saw an ad for cigarettes in English whose slogan proudly said, “Life’s a journey…” I remember laughing to myself, wondering if it was a bad translation or if what they really meant to say was, “Life’s a journey. End it faster with our cigarettes.” But now I think the cigarette company knew their target audience all too well, and indeed what they wanted to say is that they will be there all along the way to ensure that they can help shorten that journey for you with each and every drag.
I’ll never entirely understand the love of smoking here, but the good thing is that we leave Vienna in just one week. And while I’m pretty confident Prague and Budapest will be worse, I look forward to Italy, and ultimately the fresh air off the glorious Pacific. Oh wait, I mean the Atlantic. Is the air fresh off the Atlantic? Damn if I know. Well I’ll leave you now, what few blog readers I have left, as I ponder the quality of air in our new home of New Haven, and dream of the salty smell of the sea. Lots of love to you all!
Smoking is deeply embedded in the cultural of Vienna. You often see images of the Viennese intelligentsia smoking their cares away at the multitude of cafés that cover this city. But in fairness, smoking was a part of life in nearly every culture on the globe during the past century, so I always feel like this is a bit of a weak argument. Smoking is also completely pervasive. Even at the UN – which ironically the World Health Organization is a part of – you can smoke in your office, and purchase cigarettes at any hour from the handy cigarette vending machines that are on every other floor, as well as on every corner of the city.
To give you a sense of perspective on smoking, let me share some statistics with you. In California, where there are some of the most stringent regulations on smoking in the United States, the average smoking rate is 14%. Nationwide, the average smoking rate is 23% of the population. In Austria, the average smoking rate of ‘dedicated’ smokers is 43%. When you include the individuals who consider themselves ‘casual smokers’ (i.e. people who only smoke when they have a drink, go to a party, etc), the smoking rate jumps to a whopping 60%. And while I wasn’t able to find a precise statistic, I am told that Vienna has far more smokers than any other place in Austria, with somewhere around 60% of the Viennese being regular smokers.
So you can imagine how a California girl who spent the past five years working at the American Cancer Society feels when two-thirds of the people around her are constantly lighting up. Even some of my closest friends in Vienna, who are smart enough to know better, are regular or casual smokers. And while they are always very courteous -- making sure to blow their smoke away, go outside, etc – it still makes me a little sad, because I imagine they just have no idea what lung cancer looks like, or they feel young and invincible, or they just plain don’t care. And at the end of the day it’s their life, and they have all the information in the world, and they’ve simply made their choice. I may not agree with it, but I am resigned and have to accept their decision. But if there is one thing I’ve learned from my time at ACS and simple life experience, it’s that lung cancer is an ugly, awful, painful way to die. Of all the cancers to get, it just might be the most brutal – and that’s saying something.
I’ve recently come to wonder if the Viennese love of smoking has anything to do with the city’s obsession with death. If you open up any guidebook on Vienna you’re likely to find a section on the macabre nature of this city, which seems to revere death as much as life. For instance, last week Todd and I met with a lovely man named Niko, a Viennese historian who happens to be writing a book about Todd’s ancestor Sigmund Bosel (that’s a whole looong story I can tell you about another time). Niko told us that Vienna has its own “Death Club,” to which every Viennese person is invited to join when they turn twenty years of age. The purpose of the club is to help you to start preparing for your eventual demise, which apparently should begin when you’ve just come out of your teens. Nice. And yet another example comes from the grand ol’ Hapsburgs, who decided that every member of the royal family should be buried in above ground, often elaborate tombs in the Kaisergruft. It is a strange enough sensation to be in a crypt surrounded by the embalmed remains of a family that used to rule over half of Europe. It’s even weirder when you discover that you are in fact surrounded by the headless, heartless bodies of the Hapsburg family, as the Hapsburgs decided to have their hearts stored in the crypt of yet another church, and I can’t even remember where their heads are stored. Let’s all take a moment for a collective “Eeeeeewwww.”
So perhaps it is this race to your eventual end that drives the Viennese to smoke with such a passion. I recall that when I first arrived, I saw an ad for cigarettes in English whose slogan proudly said, “Life’s a journey…” I remember laughing to myself, wondering if it was a bad translation or if what they really meant to say was, “Life’s a journey. End it faster with our cigarettes.” But now I think the cigarette company knew their target audience all too well, and indeed what they wanted to say is that they will be there all along the way to ensure that they can help shorten that journey for you with each and every drag.
I’ll never entirely understand the love of smoking here, but the good thing is that we leave Vienna in just one week. And while I’m pretty confident Prague and Budapest will be worse, I look forward to Italy, and ultimately the fresh air off the glorious Pacific. Oh wait, I mean the Atlantic. Is the air fresh off the Atlantic? Damn if I know. Well I’ll leave you now, what few blog readers I have left, as I ponder the quality of air in our new home of New Haven, and dream of the salty smell of the sea. Lots of love to you all!
Monday, July 2, 2007
Me Be Funny One Day
In our nearly three months here, there is something very grave that Todd and I have discovered. It disturbs us to our core. It’s not the Austrian love of garish red hair dye, or Engrisch shirts, or even the dreaded manpri pant. It’s that Vienna sucks the funny out of you.
Perhaps it’s because of Vienna’s proximity to the stoic former Soviet bloc. Or maybe it’s the cold winters and the generally cool demeanor of its people. But for whatever reason, Todd and I frequently remark that we’ve lost our funny here, and as time goes by, it only gets worse. I’m hoping it’s only a temporary thing, but as we leave Vienna in 12 days, I’ll just have to wait it out, and hope that by the time we reach Rome I’ll have reclaimed some of my former (albeit not great) wit.
In truth, a lot of it comes down to the language barrier. It’s not something I fault anyone on. If anything, I’m embarrassed and appalled at the fact that I only speak one and half languages, when everyone I interact with speaks a minimum of three. So I can’t blame people for not understanding humor when it’s in their non-native language. If you told me a joke in Spanish, there’s only a 50% shot that I would understand it. But nonetheless, it can be a bit deflating. It’s one of the reasons I have been remiss in posting to the blog for the past two weeks. I feel like Linus without his blanket.
A recent example comes from a hike we took with a group of friends through the Vienna woods. The day had been posed to all of us as more of a casual walk through the woods, where we would stop at several heurigen, or wine taverns, along the way. And while we did stop a one heurigen, our walk in the woods turned into an arduous, eleven-mile hike complete with extremely steep hills. As we made our way up one sharp incline, Todd turns to me and says, “I certainly feel like we’re climbing every mountain.” I respond to him, saying, “Yeah, all you need are some lederhosen made from old curtains and you’ll be all set.” Crickets. The Sound of Music references are completely lost on everyone else. While to everyone outside of this continent Austria is the home of The Sound of Music, for most people here it will only illicit blank stares. They’ve perhaps heard of the movie, but few have ever seen it. In short, we lack the same pop cultural building blocks, so most references to film or television don’t translate – in fact, we may not even have the same name for a show. This happened when I tried to describe who Adam Brody is to some German friends (my Mom and Adam’s Dad are friends, and she told me he would be in Vienna for the Life Ball). When I tried to describe The OC, they had no idea what it was. After a while my friend said, “Oh! Here the show is called Teenage Life by the Beach. Case in point.
But back to our hike. As we reach the top of the highest hill around mile nine (all of us breathing heavily, muscles aching) we finally reach the crest and the incredible view. I bend down momentarily to place my hands on my knees and catch a breath, look up at the skyline and quip, “Whew! I think I see Switzerland.” One of the members of our group turns to me and says, “Oh no, that’s just the mountain by Modling. Switzerland is several hundred kilometres from here.” Great, I think to myself. Not only am I not even a tiny bit funny, but they think I am your typical geographically challenged American who can’t place Canada on a map. As with any joke, the very explanation of it kills any potential for humor, so as I try to explain that I was being sarcastic about the sheer amount of walking we had done in one day, I realize it’s lost. From this point forward I accept that even mild sarcasm isn’t going to work well in this country.
As a result, we’ve had to be very literal here, which isn’t all bad, but I find I have to be very careful with my words. Doing this has made me realize how many colloquialisms I use, and how many of them have a Midwest origin (thank you Wisconsin roots). Even the simple phrase “Good grief,” when broken down on a literal level, doesn’t make sense to people. But I know the same thing would happen to me if I were speaking my non-native language and someone used local phrases with me. It just comes with the territory.
I will say that I have a deep and newfound respect for people who can be funny in their non-native language. Of course on a basic level, physical humor, making faces, and slapstick seems to work well amongst all of our friends because of its easy translation. But more specifically, I respect and appreciate people like our friend Alex, who is genuinely funny in just about every language he tries. I swear, this kid could do stand up comedy in Arabic and he’d still be funny. To develop a sense of humor in multiple languages -- playing on words, making pop cultural references, etc – now that is damn impressive.
So for the next week or so we’ll try to reclaim a bit of our funny, and I’ll make a more concerted effort to post to the blog more regularly until we leave. And I apologize in advance if it stinks, but know that I’m trying, gentle readers. I am.
Perhaps it’s because of Vienna’s proximity to the stoic former Soviet bloc. Or maybe it’s the cold winters and the generally cool demeanor of its people. But for whatever reason, Todd and I frequently remark that we’ve lost our funny here, and as time goes by, it only gets worse. I’m hoping it’s only a temporary thing, but as we leave Vienna in 12 days, I’ll just have to wait it out, and hope that by the time we reach Rome I’ll have reclaimed some of my former (albeit not great) wit.
In truth, a lot of it comes down to the language barrier. It’s not something I fault anyone on. If anything, I’m embarrassed and appalled at the fact that I only speak one and half languages, when everyone I interact with speaks a minimum of three. So I can’t blame people for not understanding humor when it’s in their non-native language. If you told me a joke in Spanish, there’s only a 50% shot that I would understand it. But nonetheless, it can be a bit deflating. It’s one of the reasons I have been remiss in posting to the blog for the past two weeks. I feel like Linus without his blanket.
A recent example comes from a hike we took with a group of friends through the Vienna woods. The day had been posed to all of us as more of a casual walk through the woods, where we would stop at several heurigen, or wine taverns, along the way. And while we did stop a one heurigen, our walk in the woods turned into an arduous, eleven-mile hike complete with extremely steep hills. As we made our way up one sharp incline, Todd turns to me and says, “I certainly feel like we’re climbing every mountain.” I respond to him, saying, “Yeah, all you need are some lederhosen made from old curtains and you’ll be all set.” Crickets. The Sound of Music references are completely lost on everyone else. While to everyone outside of this continent Austria is the home of The Sound of Music, for most people here it will only illicit blank stares. They’ve perhaps heard of the movie, but few have ever seen it. In short, we lack the same pop cultural building blocks, so most references to film or television don’t translate – in fact, we may not even have the same name for a show. This happened when I tried to describe who Adam Brody is to some German friends (my Mom and Adam’s Dad are friends, and she told me he would be in Vienna for the Life Ball). When I tried to describe The OC, they had no idea what it was. After a while my friend said, “Oh! Here the show is called Teenage Life by the Beach. Case in point.
But back to our hike. As we reach the top of the highest hill around mile nine (all of us breathing heavily, muscles aching) we finally reach the crest and the incredible view. I bend down momentarily to place my hands on my knees and catch a breath, look up at the skyline and quip, “Whew! I think I see Switzerland.” One of the members of our group turns to me and says, “Oh no, that’s just the mountain by Modling. Switzerland is several hundred kilometres from here.” Great, I think to myself. Not only am I not even a tiny bit funny, but they think I am your typical geographically challenged American who can’t place Canada on a map. As with any joke, the very explanation of it kills any potential for humor, so as I try to explain that I was being sarcastic about the sheer amount of walking we had done in one day, I realize it’s lost. From this point forward I accept that even mild sarcasm isn’t going to work well in this country.
As a result, we’ve had to be very literal here, which isn’t all bad, but I find I have to be very careful with my words. Doing this has made me realize how many colloquialisms I use, and how many of them have a Midwest origin (thank you Wisconsin roots). Even the simple phrase “Good grief,” when broken down on a literal level, doesn’t make sense to people. But I know the same thing would happen to me if I were speaking my non-native language and someone used local phrases with me. It just comes with the territory.
I will say that I have a deep and newfound respect for people who can be funny in their non-native language. Of course on a basic level, physical humor, making faces, and slapstick seems to work well amongst all of our friends because of its easy translation. But more specifically, I respect and appreciate people like our friend Alex, who is genuinely funny in just about every language he tries. I swear, this kid could do stand up comedy in Arabic and he’d still be funny. To develop a sense of humor in multiple languages -- playing on words, making pop cultural references, etc – now that is damn impressive.
So for the next week or so we’ll try to reclaim a bit of our funny, and I’ll make a more concerted effort to post to the blog more regularly until we leave. And I apologize in advance if it stinks, but know that I’m trying, gentle readers. I am.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Britain's Got Talent
Ok guys, this is my PSA to the folks back home and around the world. There is a fantastic show on this side of the pond called "Britain's Got Talent," and you simply must watch it. If my memory serves me right, they tried to make a version of the show in the US, but I never watched it because frankly, the acts they showed in commercials didn't look very talented. I'm not a big reality show person, and I don't even watch American Idol, but this show is simply brilliant. It's made me laugh, it's made me cry -- it's fan-freaking-tastic. It's cheesy, heartwarming, and hilarious -- this is what television should be!
The person who wins this show gets to perform in front of the Queen of England at the annual Royal Variety Show. And for the "Love Actually" fans, you might recognize the two hosts of "Britain's Got Talent" from the movie.
For your viewing pleasure, and thanks to the fabulous invention that is You Tube, I've included links to six clips below (the first four are my favorite).
1) Paul Pott, an overweight cell phone salesman with bad teeth and little self-confidence. He also happens to have a beautiful voice, and you know he's never been given a chance in life. He sings 'Nessun Dorma.' I start tearing up just watching it:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1k08yxu57NA
2) Damon Scott and Bubbles. A man, a monkey puppet, and the music of Michael Jackson. So, so hilarious:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqRd_4wY8hs
3) Craig the Baton Twirler. A performance that reminds you of Billy Elliot, and makes your heart grow just a little bit bigger:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8q5QJOwoG4
4) Conny, an adorable six-year old girl missing her two front teeth, who sings "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" beautifully:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=En0A8KGMgq8
5) Ladies and Gentleman: The Kit Kat Dolls. Makes me miss AsiaSF:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_RCq6x48Y0w
And finally, I have never in my life seen anything quite like this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=he-eSFt7rck
Seriously, take a few minutes from your day and watch these -- you won't regret it! And let me know what you think! :)
The person who wins this show gets to perform in front of the Queen of England at the annual Royal Variety Show. And for the "Love Actually" fans, you might recognize the two hosts of "Britain's Got Talent" from the movie.
For your viewing pleasure, and thanks to the fabulous invention that is You Tube, I've included links to six clips below (the first four are my favorite).
1) Paul Pott, an overweight cell phone salesman with bad teeth and little self-confidence. He also happens to have a beautiful voice, and you know he's never been given a chance in life. He sings 'Nessun Dorma.' I start tearing up just watching it:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1k08yxu57NA
2) Damon Scott and Bubbles. A man, a monkey puppet, and the music of Michael Jackson. So, so hilarious:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqRd_4wY8hs
3) Craig the Baton Twirler. A performance that reminds you of Billy Elliot, and makes your heart grow just a little bit bigger:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8q5QJOwoG4
4) Conny, an adorable six-year old girl missing her two front teeth, who sings "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" beautifully:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=En0A8KGMgq8
5) Ladies and Gentleman: The Kit Kat Dolls. Makes me miss AsiaSF:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_RCq6x48Y0w
And finally, I have never in my life seen anything quite like this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=he-eSFt7rck
Seriously, take a few minutes from your day and watch these -- you won't regret it! And let me know what you think! :)
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Summer in the City
For better or worse, summer has arrived in Vienna, and it is uncharacteristically hot and sticky. Here are some random observations from the past weekend:
1) I am sitting in our room on a Sunday afternoon because it is 88 degrees outside and it has started hailing. Yes, hailing. Golf ball-sized chunks of ice are coming from the sky, there is lots of thunder and lightning, but it’s still hot outside. Two hours ago I was thinking of going for a swim in the Danube. Now I might lose an eye to an errant piece of frozen water falling from the heavens if I walk out the door. Seriously, if this isn’t global warming, I don’t know what is.
2) There is a love affair between European men and Capri pants that defies explanation. It’s one of the stranger fashion things I’ve seen here – even stranger than men in Speedos.
3) Wait, I take that back. What’s more strange are seeing men in truly short shorts. Whenever I see them, I start singing the 1980s jingle for Nair: “Who wears short shorts?” And no, they don’t use a hair removal product.
4) The tourists have arrived—literally by the busload. They’re everywhere, and it’s insane. When we walked home from the U-Bahn station by our house yesterday, I counted 13 tour buses that were parked nearby. I realize I’m still a bit of a tourist myself, but tourists travel in packs here. For protection maybe – certainly not for warmth. They come Eastern Europe, Japan, China, as well as senior citizen tours from England and the US, and even Contiki tour buses, filled with the rejects of a “Girls Gone Wild” Europe special.
5) One out of every ten U-Bahn trains has air-conditioning, and none of the buses have A/C. As a result, a world of aromas comes alive on the public transit system. It’s such a cliché, but it’s absolutely true. I try to be culturally relative, but the reality is that with all the tourists here, the trains are packed to the brim at all hours of the day, and particularly on weekends, so you’re standing cheek to cheek with a half-dozen hot, sweaty people, and it’s a feast for the senses.
6) Ok, screw cultural relativism. If men in Austria have a love affair with Capri pants, then women have a love affair with panty hose. It’s one thing to wear them to work (I myself do from time to time). It’s quite another to wear them on a hot, humid weekend, with shorts or a casual skirt – and you clearly aren’t going to a nice dinner, church, etc. They have to be absolutely miserable, and it just doesn’t make sense to me. If you haven’t shaved your legs, who cares?!? Give your gams a break and let them breathe! I just want to liberate all these women, get them to rip their panty hose off ala burning their bras in the ‘60s. I just don’t understand it. I’m sure it’s a cultural thing, but I feel very sorry for them – and I feel like I don’t fit in because I won’t do it myself.
7) No A/C at all, and very few places that serve ice with drinks in Vienna. I am so spoiled by the US. It’s not the end of the world to not have A/C or ice, but good Lord do I crave an icy drink sometimes. Next time you pour yourself an ice-cold glass of water, look at the glass and say thank you. It is a wonderful, beautiful luxury.
It has stopped hailing but is still raining, so I might try and get out for a few minutes. Ta ta for now, and we love and miss you all!
1) I am sitting in our room on a Sunday afternoon because it is 88 degrees outside and it has started hailing. Yes, hailing. Golf ball-sized chunks of ice are coming from the sky, there is lots of thunder and lightning, but it’s still hot outside. Two hours ago I was thinking of going for a swim in the Danube. Now I might lose an eye to an errant piece of frozen water falling from the heavens if I walk out the door. Seriously, if this isn’t global warming, I don’t know what is.
2) There is a love affair between European men and Capri pants that defies explanation. It’s one of the stranger fashion things I’ve seen here – even stranger than men in Speedos.
3) Wait, I take that back. What’s more strange are seeing men in truly short shorts. Whenever I see them, I start singing the 1980s jingle for Nair: “Who wears short shorts?” And no, they don’t use a hair removal product.
4) The tourists have arrived—literally by the busload. They’re everywhere, and it’s insane. When we walked home from the U-Bahn station by our house yesterday, I counted 13 tour buses that were parked nearby. I realize I’m still a bit of a tourist myself, but tourists travel in packs here. For protection maybe – certainly not for warmth. They come Eastern Europe, Japan, China, as well as senior citizen tours from England and the US, and even Contiki tour buses, filled with the rejects of a “Girls Gone Wild” Europe special.
5) One out of every ten U-Bahn trains has air-conditioning, and none of the buses have A/C. As a result, a world of aromas comes alive on the public transit system. It’s such a cliché, but it’s absolutely true. I try to be culturally relative, but the reality is that with all the tourists here, the trains are packed to the brim at all hours of the day, and particularly on weekends, so you’re standing cheek to cheek with a half-dozen hot, sweaty people, and it’s a feast for the senses.
6) Ok, screw cultural relativism. If men in Austria have a love affair with Capri pants, then women have a love affair with panty hose. It’s one thing to wear them to work (I myself do from time to time). It’s quite another to wear them on a hot, humid weekend, with shorts or a casual skirt – and you clearly aren’t going to a nice dinner, church, etc. They have to be absolutely miserable, and it just doesn’t make sense to me. If you haven’t shaved your legs, who cares?!? Give your gams a break and let them breathe! I just want to liberate all these women, get them to rip their panty hose off ala burning their bras in the ‘60s. I just don’t understand it. I’m sure it’s a cultural thing, but I feel very sorry for them – and I feel like I don’t fit in because I won’t do it myself.
7) No A/C at all, and very few places that serve ice with drinks in Vienna. I am so spoiled by the US. It’s not the end of the world to not have A/C or ice, but good Lord do I crave an icy drink sometimes. Next time you pour yourself an ice-cold glass of water, look at the glass and say thank you. It is a wonderful, beautiful luxury.
It has stopped hailing but is still raining, so I might try and get out for a few minutes. Ta ta for now, and we love and miss you all!
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Adventures in German Appliances Part Two: The Dinner Party
Being at the UN is for many of us a short-term thing, so as a result it seems there are an endless stream of goodbye parties and farewell get-togethers, as well as new faces and people to meet. It’s a rapidly revolving diplomatic door sadly.
So as a result, the time came for Rebecca, an Aussie who’s become one of my closest friends in Vienna, to say farewell, and so we decided to have a group of friends over for a casual dinner party last Saturday. Wanting to prepare something uniquely American, I decided upon Janie’s recipe for baked potato soup. It’s a relatively simple recipe, but complicated by the fact that I’m trying to prepare an American dish outside of America. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I awoke that morning excited, because I haven’t had an opportunity to do much cooking here. Then I remembered why: I am metrically and Celsius-ly challenged. All my life I’ve only known cups, tablespoons, and teaspoons, and I’ve only measured temperature in Fahrenheit, so it’s when you’re abroad that you realize that we’re the only people in the world who use this system. Literally, we’re the only ones. And it’s ridiculous. For example, experience the instant humility when you look at a recipe (that you were so thrilled to find in English) and realize you have no clue how 75 grams of butter is, or ¾ liter of water. Math never was my strong suit. Or you pick up a package in a grocery store, and the entire thing is written in German, so you have no idea what it says – and the required amount of ingredients is in the metric system too. Thanks founding fathers for making us so “special.”
Similarly, when trying to make a recipe from back home, you have to go into a grocery store and guessitimate on what the quantities you know (such as 1/3 cup flour or ¾ cup milk) will look like in grams and liters. Most of the time you can do reasonably ok with this, but it’s a minor irritation at the most irritating of all places in Vienna – a grocery store – so it’s even more exasperating. When I’m feeling in a crabby mood I’ll regale everyone with just what an experience at a Viennese grocery store can be like. But I’ll leave that diatribe for another day.
Now that I’m in the grocery store, I’m looking for potatoes, sour cream, cheddar cheese, bacon, green onions, milk, sour cream, and flour. I find the potatoes and green onions easily, though the potatoes are some of the smallest I’ve ever seen (almost fingerling), so I have to buy many more of them in order to equal the four large potatoes the recipe calls for. Continuing into the dairy section, I look for milk and sour cream, and again I find the milk easily – but as there are no gallon or half-gallon milk options, I have to buy several containers in order to get the seven cups I need. Sour cream is another story. I stare at the cream section, and none of the German names give me the sense that one of the items is sour cream. I hold the containers up to the light and shake them a bit in the hope of figuring it out by consistency. I end up going with crème fraiche, because at least I know what it is, and in a pinch it will do.
As I move down the aisle I get to the packaged meat section, and I am lucky to get the last package of American-style bacon – not Canadian bacon, not prosciutto, or anything similar but not quite right. And when I get to the cheese section, I remember that cheddar is an American cheese, born from the fine cows of Wisconsin, Oregon, and California -- not from the heifers of Österreich. Shit. But then I scan the section and find something vaguely orange, and its Irish cheddar cheese – hooray! Again, not ideal, but it will do. Finally, I go to the baking aisle, and nearly have a nervous breakdown when I see the plethora of flour options – or rather, what I hope is flour. I decide on the brand that has the kind German grandmother on the front (because, hey, Grandma can’t let me down, right? Right?!?), but as its written entirely in German, I have no idea which variety is which, and what will be best for the soup. I do the same shake I did with the creams, and try to fool myself into thinking I can understand the subtle nuances of flour. One round of Eenie-meanie-minie-mo, and I’ve made my decision and am on my way home.
I specifically decided against baking something for the dinner party because of the many opportunities baking would offer for me to royally screw things up. Our apartment, though lovely, lacks most measuring utensils. As a result, I do most of my ‘measuring’ with a black coffee mug that, when filled with hot liquid, changes color to display a large set of breasts. It adds that ‘little something extra’ to the overall cooking experience. And while it’s not a big deal in cooking to lack measuring utensils, in baking it could end very, very badly. Plus our oven is in Celsius, so I would have to convert all the needed temperatures from Fahrenheit – not a big deal, but a minor irritation nonetheless. And like the microwave, the oven also comes with a knob full of pictures, for which I only know the use of one. Or more accurately, my roommate Marlene told me once to use one of the settings when I cooked a pizza, and I’ve used it for everything else ever since. Here’s hoping I don’t burn the apartment down one day.
Once I’m home and get settled, we make the soup with only minor setbacks (like peeling the tiny cooked potatoes with our hands because we realize there isn’t a potato peeler in the apartment, and using ice bucket tons to turn the bacon), and it was a surprise success. It felt good to show people that American food is more than what’s on the menu at McDonald’s (a comment said to us by one of our friends). So all in all the night was a success, but I won’t lie and say that I’m not looking forward to being able to cook in our own home and be able to purchase and measure out whatever ingredients I need, and put them in an oven pre-heated to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Maybe with a cup of sour cream in one hand and an American flag in the other.
So as a result, the time came for Rebecca, an Aussie who’s become one of my closest friends in Vienna, to say farewell, and so we decided to have a group of friends over for a casual dinner party last Saturday. Wanting to prepare something uniquely American, I decided upon Janie’s recipe for baked potato soup. It’s a relatively simple recipe, but complicated by the fact that I’m trying to prepare an American dish outside of America. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I awoke that morning excited, because I haven’t had an opportunity to do much cooking here. Then I remembered why: I am metrically and Celsius-ly challenged. All my life I’ve only known cups, tablespoons, and teaspoons, and I’ve only measured temperature in Fahrenheit, so it’s when you’re abroad that you realize that we’re the only people in the world who use this system. Literally, we’re the only ones. And it’s ridiculous. For example, experience the instant humility when you look at a recipe (that you were so thrilled to find in English) and realize you have no clue how 75 grams of butter is, or ¾ liter of water. Math never was my strong suit. Or you pick up a package in a grocery store, and the entire thing is written in German, so you have no idea what it says – and the required amount of ingredients is in the metric system too. Thanks founding fathers for making us so “special.”
Similarly, when trying to make a recipe from back home, you have to go into a grocery store and guessitimate on what the quantities you know (such as 1/3 cup flour or ¾ cup milk) will look like in grams and liters. Most of the time you can do reasonably ok with this, but it’s a minor irritation at the most irritating of all places in Vienna – a grocery store – so it’s even more exasperating. When I’m feeling in a crabby mood I’ll regale everyone with just what an experience at a Viennese grocery store can be like. But I’ll leave that diatribe for another day.
Now that I’m in the grocery store, I’m looking for potatoes, sour cream, cheddar cheese, bacon, green onions, milk, sour cream, and flour. I find the potatoes and green onions easily, though the potatoes are some of the smallest I’ve ever seen (almost fingerling), so I have to buy many more of them in order to equal the four large potatoes the recipe calls for. Continuing into the dairy section, I look for milk and sour cream, and again I find the milk easily – but as there are no gallon or half-gallon milk options, I have to buy several containers in order to get the seven cups I need. Sour cream is another story. I stare at the cream section, and none of the German names give me the sense that one of the items is sour cream. I hold the containers up to the light and shake them a bit in the hope of figuring it out by consistency. I end up going with crème fraiche, because at least I know what it is, and in a pinch it will do.
As I move down the aisle I get to the packaged meat section, and I am lucky to get the last package of American-style bacon – not Canadian bacon, not prosciutto, or anything similar but not quite right. And when I get to the cheese section, I remember that cheddar is an American cheese, born from the fine cows of Wisconsin, Oregon, and California -- not from the heifers of Österreich. Shit. But then I scan the section and find something vaguely orange, and its Irish cheddar cheese – hooray! Again, not ideal, but it will do. Finally, I go to the baking aisle, and nearly have a nervous breakdown when I see the plethora of flour options – or rather, what I hope is flour. I decide on the brand that has the kind German grandmother on the front (because, hey, Grandma can’t let me down, right? Right?!?), but as its written entirely in German, I have no idea which variety is which, and what will be best for the soup. I do the same shake I did with the creams, and try to fool myself into thinking I can understand the subtle nuances of flour. One round of Eenie-meanie-minie-mo, and I’ve made my decision and am on my way home.
I specifically decided against baking something for the dinner party because of the many opportunities baking would offer for me to royally screw things up. Our apartment, though lovely, lacks most measuring utensils. As a result, I do most of my ‘measuring’ with a black coffee mug that, when filled with hot liquid, changes color to display a large set of breasts. It adds that ‘little something extra’ to the overall cooking experience. And while it’s not a big deal in cooking to lack measuring utensils, in baking it could end very, very badly. Plus our oven is in Celsius, so I would have to convert all the needed temperatures from Fahrenheit – not a big deal, but a minor irritation nonetheless. And like the microwave, the oven also comes with a knob full of pictures, for which I only know the use of one. Or more accurately, my roommate Marlene told me once to use one of the settings when I cooked a pizza, and I’ve used it for everything else ever since. Here’s hoping I don’t burn the apartment down one day.
Once I’m home and get settled, we make the soup with only minor setbacks (like peeling the tiny cooked potatoes with our hands because we realize there isn’t a potato peeler in the apartment, and using ice bucket tons to turn the bacon), and it was a surprise success. It felt good to show people that American food is more than what’s on the menu at McDonald’s (a comment said to us by one of our friends). So all in all the night was a success, but I won’t lie and say that I’m not looking forward to being able to cook in our own home and be able to purchase and measure out whatever ingredients I need, and put them in an oven pre-heated to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Maybe with a cup of sour cream in one hand and an American flag in the other.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Nifty Day-to-Day Practicalities
I feel like I’ve been a bit hard on Vienna in my recent posts, and while its true that there some things here that are simply ‘harder’ or not done as well as back home, there are some very cool things that I have come to enjoy here, so I thought I would create a little list below.
1) Double-sided printers: I imagine these exist in the US, but I’ve never seen them at home. It’s simply a computer printer that prints documents out double-sided. They use half the amount of paper (good for the environment) and create half as much clutter on my desk (good for my sanity). Brilliant.
2) Truly fantastic public transit. Boy, could the states learn a thing or two about public transit from Vienna. It’s fast, efficient, clean, relatively cheap, and takes you anywhere you need to go. One pass allows you to use the buses, trams, S-Bahn, and U-bahn, and during peak times your maximum wait for a train or bus is four minutes. They even offer magazines for you to read on the underground, but since the trains move so quickly you don’t even have much time to read. There are even signs throughout the station telling you how long until the next train arrives, and night buses that run after the U-bahn shuts down at 12:30am.
3) Free festivals. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Vienna knows how to show its residents a good time, regardless of your budget. Whether it’s a free concert by the Vienna Philharmonic at Schonbrunn Palace with Bill Clinton in attendance, or a street festival with live music and free art supplies, they encourage you to be a part of the wealth of cultural offerings in the city.
4) Beer and wine are cheaper than soda at every restaurant – usually two or three Euros max. And at the UN Bar, a large glass of wine is 1.50 Euros. Enough said.
5) The Vienna Opera house offers standing room tickets for 2 or 3 Euros for every single opera or ballet performance. True, you have to stand (sometimes packed in like sardines) but if your dream is to see Placido Domingo perform live and you don’t have a lot of expendable income, you can get in line and have a reasonable chance of seeing him perform for less than the cost of a piece of Sacher torte.
6) Large pedestrian walkways. It’s common throughout Europe and not exclusive to Vienna, but throughout the city there are large promenades, walkways, and pedestrian-only streets that are fantastic to stroll through. It’s a city that encourages you to walk.
7) The Hofburgs loved parks and the natural environment, so Vienna has more dedicated parks and natural spaces than any other major city in Europe. Given its relatively small size this is even more impressive, and its something I’ve truly loved.
8) Gelateria Hoher Markt. All the tourists go to Zanoni and Zanoni gelateria. Go around the corner, walk up the street a block and you’ll find the best gelato outside of Italy, and for less money than Zanoni. Their ‘Obers Kirsches’ gelato, which is essentially vanilla and sour cherry, is crack in a cup. Or what I imagine crack must be like. I swear to you, I don’t know what I’m going to do without it. I might have to buy an ice cream maker and try to do it on my own. Cherry Garcia and Winter White Chocolate can’t hold a candle to it.
9) Expanding upon the above, they really know how to do desserts and sweets here. Cakes, tortes, strudel, you name it – they do it all, and it’s a fan-freaking-tastic. It’s a dessert lover’s dream. Too bad my hips and thighs disagree.
10) Toilets with a two flushing options. You guessed it – for number one and number two. It saves water and energy to use the former, and gives you the option for a longer, ‘standard’ flush with the second button.
11) Also in the bathroom, they use large spools of ‘real towels’ that rotate in a machine to provide you with a clean and dry section of towel to dry your hands, then retract the used portion of towel back into the machine. Then they take out the towel and wash it once the entire spool has been used. It is less wasteful and better at drying your hands than paper towels (Can you tell I’m impressed with their green, energy efficient practices?)
12) Windows that open outward from the top. This is a little hard to describe, but windows in Austria have the option of opening up completely (almost like a small door), or you can choose to have them open at an angle from the top, letting in some fresh air but not a pigeon as well.
You may have picked up on the fact that this list is my pathetic attempt at satisfying requests for a blog post without having to write anything substantive. I promise to put up another post very soon, but my free time at the moment is pretty much consumed with looking for jobs in Connecticut and updating and improving my cover letter and resume. Ah, the joy of being brought back to reality.
And since Todd’s computer is our ‘television,’ phone, and Internet connection, I don’t want to monopolize it too much -- though he has been a sweetheart and not complained. Long story short, you will see another post from me – hopefully in the next day or two. Thank you as always for the posted comments and emails, and we love and miss you all!
1) Double-sided printers: I imagine these exist in the US, but I’ve never seen them at home. It’s simply a computer printer that prints documents out double-sided. They use half the amount of paper (good for the environment) and create half as much clutter on my desk (good for my sanity). Brilliant.
2) Truly fantastic public transit. Boy, could the states learn a thing or two about public transit from Vienna. It’s fast, efficient, clean, relatively cheap, and takes you anywhere you need to go. One pass allows you to use the buses, trams, S-Bahn, and U-bahn, and during peak times your maximum wait for a train or bus is four minutes. They even offer magazines for you to read on the underground, but since the trains move so quickly you don’t even have much time to read. There are even signs throughout the station telling you how long until the next train arrives, and night buses that run after the U-bahn shuts down at 12:30am.
3) Free festivals. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Vienna knows how to show its residents a good time, regardless of your budget. Whether it’s a free concert by the Vienna Philharmonic at Schonbrunn Palace with Bill Clinton in attendance, or a street festival with live music and free art supplies, they encourage you to be a part of the wealth of cultural offerings in the city.
4) Beer and wine are cheaper than soda at every restaurant – usually two or three Euros max. And at the UN Bar, a large glass of wine is 1.50 Euros. Enough said.
5) The Vienna Opera house offers standing room tickets for 2 or 3 Euros for every single opera or ballet performance. True, you have to stand (sometimes packed in like sardines) but if your dream is to see Placido Domingo perform live and you don’t have a lot of expendable income, you can get in line and have a reasonable chance of seeing him perform for less than the cost of a piece of Sacher torte.
6) Large pedestrian walkways. It’s common throughout Europe and not exclusive to Vienna, but throughout the city there are large promenades, walkways, and pedestrian-only streets that are fantastic to stroll through. It’s a city that encourages you to walk.
7) The Hofburgs loved parks and the natural environment, so Vienna has more dedicated parks and natural spaces than any other major city in Europe. Given its relatively small size this is even more impressive, and its something I’ve truly loved.
8) Gelateria Hoher Markt. All the tourists go to Zanoni and Zanoni gelateria. Go around the corner, walk up the street a block and you’ll find the best gelato outside of Italy, and for less money than Zanoni. Their ‘Obers Kirsches’ gelato, which is essentially vanilla and sour cherry, is crack in a cup. Or what I imagine crack must be like. I swear to you, I don’t know what I’m going to do without it. I might have to buy an ice cream maker and try to do it on my own. Cherry Garcia and Winter White Chocolate can’t hold a candle to it.
9) Expanding upon the above, they really know how to do desserts and sweets here. Cakes, tortes, strudel, you name it – they do it all, and it’s a fan-freaking-tastic. It’s a dessert lover’s dream. Too bad my hips and thighs disagree.
10) Toilets with a two flushing options. You guessed it – for number one and number two. It saves water and energy to use the former, and gives you the option for a longer, ‘standard’ flush with the second button.
11) Also in the bathroom, they use large spools of ‘real towels’ that rotate in a machine to provide you with a clean and dry section of towel to dry your hands, then retract the used portion of towel back into the machine. Then they take out the towel and wash it once the entire spool has been used. It is less wasteful and better at drying your hands than paper towels (Can you tell I’m impressed with their green, energy efficient practices?)
12) Windows that open outward from the top. This is a little hard to describe, but windows in Austria have the option of opening up completely (almost like a small door), or you can choose to have them open at an angle from the top, letting in some fresh air but not a pigeon as well.
You may have picked up on the fact that this list is my pathetic attempt at satisfying requests for a blog post without having to write anything substantive. I promise to put up another post very soon, but my free time at the moment is pretty much consumed with looking for jobs in Connecticut and updating and improving my cover letter and resume. Ah, the joy of being brought back to reality.
And since Todd’s computer is our ‘television,’ phone, and Internet connection, I don’t want to monopolize it too much -- though he has been a sweetheart and not complained. Long story short, you will see another post from me – hopefully in the next day or two. Thank you as always for the posted comments and emails, and we love and miss you all!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Gastronomic Roulette
As I mentioned in an earlier post, dining at the United Nations cafeteria is a bit like gastronomic roulette. It is here, in this most diplomatic of settings, where you are asked on a daily basis to take a true calculated risk. Even if it is merely your meal decision, for some of us, it’s the most dangerous and life-altering decision you’ll make all day.
Like all of the UN buildings in Vienna, the cafeteria itself is a proud homage to the era of the Partridge Family and Jimmy Carter. The bright orange walls, olive green accent splashes, and dark brown carpet were likely the height of sophistication in 1974, but the décor today looks dated, and frankly, a bit garish. When you enter the cafeteria each day, you are met with a display case full of fake flowers and the daily delectable items available for purchase. Often described in Engrisch, these foods bear no resemblance to anything you would willingly put in your system, but in truth they always look better once you see them actually prepared. Crowds swarm around the display case every day as people contemplate if they should have the blood sausage with sauerkraut, Tunisian stew with mixed meat, or the low-calorie option of a spinach black bean patty drowning in cream sauce (don’t even try to tell them that the cream sauce negates the low calories).
After having consulted the display case, you make your way through the turnstiles and hope against hope that the spaghetti Bolognese, a ‘can’t be done wrong’ lunch option, will be ok. It isn’t. In fact, if there is anything I’ve learned at the cafeteria, it is to never go for the sure-fire lunch choices, because they are inevitably the foods that taste the worst. Todd can attest to this, as I swear that boy has picked some of the strangest tasting foods on the earth (who knew a burger could taste like something other than a burger?). It’s the somewhat vague Engrisch options, like ‘Indonesian mixture with rice’ that seem to be the big winners in my experience. And please-- whatever you do-- don’t ever get the spinach-feta strudel.
One of the more unique offerings that the cafeteria provides is something called ‘Sweet Friday.’ As Austria is an 80 percent Catholic country, the idea of Sweet Friday stems from the Lenten season, when Catholics are required to give up meat (and other things they love), in particular on Friday. This notion is year-round in Austria, and so in place of meat dishes, on Fridays they offer large, sweet treats for people to eat instead. Maybe it’s just me, but the idea of giving up meat and having a huge piece of cake in its place doesn’t seem like you’re giving up all that much. It reminds me of a girl I knew in high school, a ‘devout’ Christian who maintained that she was going to stay a virgin until she was married. However, she and her boyfriend would engage in more… exotic sexual practices, shall we say, because it wasn’t ‘traditional’ intercourse. She never did see the hypocrisy. Bottom line: You can’t hoodwink God. Having a two-pound brownie smothered in raspberry sauce for lunch instead of a turkey sandwich does not seem like a demonstration of piety and restraint. But I digress.
Once you’ve selected your meal option in the cafeteria, you head over to the beverage section, where the UN has a large icemaker. Most of you reading this are probably thinking, “What’s the big deal about an ice maker?” If only you knew. It’s a big deal because this is probably the only place outside of the Imperial Hotel where you’ll find real, honest-to-goodness ice. We’re so spoiled in the US, having ice available wherever and whenever you like it. It’s another thing that’s been added to my ‘I promise I’ll never take you for granted’ list of items back home. For example, to quote Robin Williams, it’s been weather by Sybil over here for the past few weeks, with some days being around 89 degrees with 80 percent humidity, and then the past two days hovering around a nippy 46 degrees. Thank YOU global warming! On hot days all you want is a cold (not cool) drink, and maybe some air conditioning. The UN is the only place you’re going to get it. So you, being a spoiled American, happily take a heaping cup full of ice. Europeans often forsake the ice and simply put their glass face down over a rocket-propelled water sprayer, push on the lever, and the sprayer cools your glass down for you. The problem with the sprayer is that it doesn’t stop the moment the glass is lifted, so whoever is standing by someone who is cooling his or her glass gets sprayed in the face with water. In fact, I genuinely think the Japanese Ambassador has sprayed me in the face at least once during this process.
Now that you have your decadent ice water and your exotic – perhaps even dangerous – food option, you’re ready to pay for all this deliciousness. You say to yourself, “Well, even if it isn’t good, it’s cheap.” Then you remember the exchange rate and come to realize it’s not as cheap as it seems, but hey, the dollar rallied this week, so I’ll splurge and have a half-pound of bread pudding too since it’s Friday. As the saying goes, when in Rome (or Vienna)…
Until next time, my lovelies! Love and miss you all!
Like all of the UN buildings in Vienna, the cafeteria itself is a proud homage to the era of the Partridge Family and Jimmy Carter. The bright orange walls, olive green accent splashes, and dark brown carpet were likely the height of sophistication in 1974, but the décor today looks dated, and frankly, a bit garish. When you enter the cafeteria each day, you are met with a display case full of fake flowers and the daily delectable items available for purchase. Often described in Engrisch, these foods bear no resemblance to anything you would willingly put in your system, but in truth they always look better once you see them actually prepared. Crowds swarm around the display case every day as people contemplate if they should have the blood sausage with sauerkraut, Tunisian stew with mixed meat, or the low-calorie option of a spinach black bean patty drowning in cream sauce (don’t even try to tell them that the cream sauce negates the low calories).
After having consulted the display case, you make your way through the turnstiles and hope against hope that the spaghetti Bolognese, a ‘can’t be done wrong’ lunch option, will be ok. It isn’t. In fact, if there is anything I’ve learned at the cafeteria, it is to never go for the sure-fire lunch choices, because they are inevitably the foods that taste the worst. Todd can attest to this, as I swear that boy has picked some of the strangest tasting foods on the earth (who knew a burger could taste like something other than a burger?). It’s the somewhat vague Engrisch options, like ‘Indonesian mixture with rice’ that seem to be the big winners in my experience. And please-- whatever you do-- don’t ever get the spinach-feta strudel.
One of the more unique offerings that the cafeteria provides is something called ‘Sweet Friday.’ As Austria is an 80 percent Catholic country, the idea of Sweet Friday stems from the Lenten season, when Catholics are required to give up meat (and other things they love), in particular on Friday. This notion is year-round in Austria, and so in place of meat dishes, on Fridays they offer large, sweet treats for people to eat instead. Maybe it’s just me, but the idea of giving up meat and having a huge piece of cake in its place doesn’t seem like you’re giving up all that much. It reminds me of a girl I knew in high school, a ‘devout’ Christian who maintained that she was going to stay a virgin until she was married. However, she and her boyfriend would engage in more… exotic sexual practices, shall we say, because it wasn’t ‘traditional’ intercourse. She never did see the hypocrisy. Bottom line: You can’t hoodwink God. Having a two-pound brownie smothered in raspberry sauce for lunch instead of a turkey sandwich does not seem like a demonstration of piety and restraint. But I digress.
Once you’ve selected your meal option in the cafeteria, you head over to the beverage section, where the UN has a large icemaker. Most of you reading this are probably thinking, “What’s the big deal about an ice maker?” If only you knew. It’s a big deal because this is probably the only place outside of the Imperial Hotel where you’ll find real, honest-to-goodness ice. We’re so spoiled in the US, having ice available wherever and whenever you like it. It’s another thing that’s been added to my ‘I promise I’ll never take you for granted’ list of items back home. For example, to quote Robin Williams, it’s been weather by Sybil over here for the past few weeks, with some days being around 89 degrees with 80 percent humidity, and then the past two days hovering around a nippy 46 degrees. Thank YOU global warming! On hot days all you want is a cold (not cool) drink, and maybe some air conditioning. The UN is the only place you’re going to get it. So you, being a spoiled American, happily take a heaping cup full of ice. Europeans often forsake the ice and simply put their glass face down over a rocket-propelled water sprayer, push on the lever, and the sprayer cools your glass down for you. The problem with the sprayer is that it doesn’t stop the moment the glass is lifted, so whoever is standing by someone who is cooling his or her glass gets sprayed in the face with water. In fact, I genuinely think the Japanese Ambassador has sprayed me in the face at least once during this process.
Now that you have your decadent ice water and your exotic – perhaps even dangerous – food option, you’re ready to pay for all this deliciousness. You say to yourself, “Well, even if it isn’t good, it’s cheap.” Then you remember the exchange rate and come to realize it’s not as cheap as it seems, but hey, the dollar rallied this week, so I’ll splurge and have a half-pound of bread pudding too since it’s Friday. As the saying goes, when in Rome (or Vienna)…
Until next time, my lovelies! Love and miss you all!
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
An afternoon with Martha
I apologize for taking so long to post again. Last week seemed to have a series of crappy events, and honestly I just didn’t have my writing mojo. Hopefully it’s making its way back.
This experience has really made both Todd and I think about our heritage/ancestry, and has allowed us the opportunity to connect with individuals who are (albeit distantly) related to our families and still in Europe, helping us to paint a better picture of our ancestral identities.
On Saturday Todd and I spent a wonderful afternoon with a friend of his Aunt Julie, who is often called “Cousin Martha,” as well as Martha’s son Pierre [Note: For those of you who don’t know Aunt Julie, she is a member of Todd’s family who is like a grandmother to him. She and Todd’s grandfather were cousins, and Julie and Todd’s grandfather remained very close throughout his life. Julie has been an integral part of Todd’s life.]
Martha is in her eighties, and she is part of an ever-shrinking group of individuals who survived World War II and was old enough at the time to really remember it. Her memory of the war is still quite good, and as a result Todd and I ended up learning a great deal about his family and their experience during the war. Linda gave me her blessing to put their family story on the blog, and so I’ll recount it some of it here because I feel that it’s the sort of story that should be told. I can’t begin to do it justice, but I’ll do my best.
First, an observation: Vienna is a city haunted by ghosts. By that I don’t mean that I literally fend off Mozart’s spirit each night, but rather, that it is a city haunted by its past. Everywhere you turn you see vestiges of its former glory, which now seems almost absurd for a city that’s relatively small and no longer a global power. Without the Habsburgs around to occupy all the grand palaces and pavilions, the whole city feels a bit like a museum. And you can’t help but feel the palpable absence I mentioned in my earlier blog post. Like when you go to the former Jewish quarter – former, of course, because there aren’t any Jews left there – and feel the absence, wondering what it must have been like 100 years ago, bustling with shops and families.
With Todd, I feel like Vienna is full of the ghosts of his family’s past. I am grateful that we know the addresses and neighbourhoods where his grandparents lived, where Julie grew up, and where his great grandparent’s store was located. It adds a personal dimension to this historic city, and has made for some strange “life goes on” moments – like when we went to a party at our friend Corentin’s house last week and realized he lives just around the corner from where Todd’s grandmother grew up. I think this is part of why I try so hard to love Vienna. I want to love Vienna the way his family must have once – and I think that’s part of why I get frustrated when it isn’t always a city that is easy to love. So after having a somewhat crappy week, spending an afternoon with Martha was a truly special experience, and made me give Vienna yet another chance.
Martha is a petite woman with a slightly gravelly voice and a warm smile that makes you feel instantly at ease. Her apartment is clean, well organized, and decorated with pictures of her children, grandchildren, and her great granddaughter. Even though is practically a stranger to us, she made us feel like a part of her family. And indeed, Todd somewhat is. Martha’s aunt married one of Julie’s uncles, and so by marriage Martha and Julie’s families became intertwined.
Julie’s family had a summer home outside of Vienna, and one summer Martha was invited to join Julie, and this is how she and Julie became friends. Martha is quick to tell of how kind Julie has always been, even as a child. In 1935, Martha’s family moved to Paris, and in February 1938, Julie’s father, Sigmund Bosel, visited Martha’s family in Paris. Martha’s father implored Sigmund to not return to Vienna, telling him that it wasn’t safe, and that Sigmund should bring his family to Paris.
Sigmund was a prominent man in Vienna, and the owner of Bosel’s department store. He told Martha’s father that he had business to take care of, and that he had a good relationship with the police in Vienna, so he wasn’t too concerned. He returned to Vienna, and Hitler invaded later that year. Both of Julie’s parents, Sigmund and Elke, were arrested and thrown in prison. It was unclear to Martha how it happened, but after a time Elke was released from prison. Sigmund was “made an example of” and murdered in a public square. Martha says that Sigmund’s death was featured in several books on the Holocaust, which is a testament to his role in the Vienna community as a businessman and philanthropist.
Once Elke was released from prison, she was able to smuggle herself, Julie, and Julie’s brother Alfonse to Paris through the underground. When they arrived as more or less refugees, Martha’s family took them in. Their families stayed together for a time, often with people rotating sleeping on the floor. Soon thereafter, even Paris became a dangerous place for Jews, so Martha’s family fled to Marseilles, and they arranged for Elke to be hidden in Paris. Through the kinder transport, Elke’s mother (Julie’s grandmother, who lived in London) was able to come and retrieve Julie and Alfonse and take them to London with her. Elke was not allowed to go with her children.
Martha married in Marseilles, and she and her husband fled to Switzerland, where they stayed for the remainder of the war. Her son Pierre was born there. After the war, Martha went back to Paris, where they found Elke very sick – she had developed breast cancer. Julie too returned to Paris after the war, and after several years of living in both London and Paris, she was finally approved for a visa to come to America. Elke was not approved. Shortly after Julie arrived in New York, Elke’s health deteriorated, and the US government let Elke come to the US so Julie could care for her mother for the remainder of her life. Martha came back to Vienna in 1948 and has lived here ever since.
To this day Martha and Julie remain friends, and make sure to call one another every year on each other’s birthday, and Martha and her family have visited New York on several occasions to see Julie. Their story is one that’s almost difficult to imagine – how they lived through so much pain and suffering, and in Julie’s case, to lose both of your parents in such an awful and tragic way. I can’t even begin to fathom pain like that, and it makes me so grateful for what I do have – most especially for my family and friends.
I promise to post again soon, and hopefully on a more benign topic. Love to you all -- we miss you an awful lot!
This experience has really made both Todd and I think about our heritage/ancestry, and has allowed us the opportunity to connect with individuals who are (albeit distantly) related to our families and still in Europe, helping us to paint a better picture of our ancestral identities.
On Saturday Todd and I spent a wonderful afternoon with a friend of his Aunt Julie, who is often called “Cousin Martha,” as well as Martha’s son Pierre [Note: For those of you who don’t know Aunt Julie, she is a member of Todd’s family who is like a grandmother to him. She and Todd’s grandfather were cousins, and Julie and Todd’s grandfather remained very close throughout his life. Julie has been an integral part of Todd’s life.]
Martha is in her eighties, and she is part of an ever-shrinking group of individuals who survived World War II and was old enough at the time to really remember it. Her memory of the war is still quite good, and as a result Todd and I ended up learning a great deal about his family and their experience during the war. Linda gave me her blessing to put their family story on the blog, and so I’ll recount it some of it here because I feel that it’s the sort of story that should be told. I can’t begin to do it justice, but I’ll do my best.
First, an observation: Vienna is a city haunted by ghosts. By that I don’t mean that I literally fend off Mozart’s spirit each night, but rather, that it is a city haunted by its past. Everywhere you turn you see vestiges of its former glory, which now seems almost absurd for a city that’s relatively small and no longer a global power. Without the Habsburgs around to occupy all the grand palaces and pavilions, the whole city feels a bit like a museum. And you can’t help but feel the palpable absence I mentioned in my earlier blog post. Like when you go to the former Jewish quarter – former, of course, because there aren’t any Jews left there – and feel the absence, wondering what it must have been like 100 years ago, bustling with shops and families.
With Todd, I feel like Vienna is full of the ghosts of his family’s past. I am grateful that we know the addresses and neighbourhoods where his grandparents lived, where Julie grew up, and where his great grandparent’s store was located. It adds a personal dimension to this historic city, and has made for some strange “life goes on” moments – like when we went to a party at our friend Corentin’s house last week and realized he lives just around the corner from where Todd’s grandmother grew up. I think this is part of why I try so hard to love Vienna. I want to love Vienna the way his family must have once – and I think that’s part of why I get frustrated when it isn’t always a city that is easy to love. So after having a somewhat crappy week, spending an afternoon with Martha was a truly special experience, and made me give Vienna yet another chance.
Martha is a petite woman with a slightly gravelly voice and a warm smile that makes you feel instantly at ease. Her apartment is clean, well organized, and decorated with pictures of her children, grandchildren, and her great granddaughter. Even though is practically a stranger to us, she made us feel like a part of her family. And indeed, Todd somewhat is. Martha’s aunt married one of Julie’s uncles, and so by marriage Martha and Julie’s families became intertwined.
Julie’s family had a summer home outside of Vienna, and one summer Martha was invited to join Julie, and this is how she and Julie became friends. Martha is quick to tell of how kind Julie has always been, even as a child. In 1935, Martha’s family moved to Paris, and in February 1938, Julie’s father, Sigmund Bosel, visited Martha’s family in Paris. Martha’s father implored Sigmund to not return to Vienna, telling him that it wasn’t safe, and that Sigmund should bring his family to Paris.
Sigmund was a prominent man in Vienna, and the owner of Bosel’s department store. He told Martha’s father that he had business to take care of, and that he had a good relationship with the police in Vienna, so he wasn’t too concerned. He returned to Vienna, and Hitler invaded later that year. Both of Julie’s parents, Sigmund and Elke, were arrested and thrown in prison. It was unclear to Martha how it happened, but after a time Elke was released from prison. Sigmund was “made an example of” and murdered in a public square. Martha says that Sigmund’s death was featured in several books on the Holocaust, which is a testament to his role in the Vienna community as a businessman and philanthropist.
Once Elke was released from prison, she was able to smuggle herself, Julie, and Julie’s brother Alfonse to Paris through the underground. When they arrived as more or less refugees, Martha’s family took them in. Their families stayed together for a time, often with people rotating sleeping on the floor. Soon thereafter, even Paris became a dangerous place for Jews, so Martha’s family fled to Marseilles, and they arranged for Elke to be hidden in Paris. Through the kinder transport, Elke’s mother (Julie’s grandmother, who lived in London) was able to come and retrieve Julie and Alfonse and take them to London with her. Elke was not allowed to go with her children.
Martha married in Marseilles, and she and her husband fled to Switzerland, where they stayed for the remainder of the war. Her son Pierre was born there. After the war, Martha went back to Paris, where they found Elke very sick – she had developed breast cancer. Julie too returned to Paris after the war, and after several years of living in both London and Paris, she was finally approved for a visa to come to America. Elke was not approved. Shortly after Julie arrived in New York, Elke’s health deteriorated, and the US government let Elke come to the US so Julie could care for her mother for the remainder of her life. Martha came back to Vienna in 1948 and has lived here ever since.
To this day Martha and Julie remain friends, and make sure to call one another every year on each other’s birthday, and Martha and her family have visited New York on several occasions to see Julie. Their story is one that’s almost difficult to imagine – how they lived through so much pain and suffering, and in Julie’s case, to lose both of your parents in such an awful and tragic way. I can’t even begin to fathom pain like that, and it makes me so grateful for what I do have – most especially for my family and friends.
I promise to post again soon, and hopefully on a more benign topic. Love to you all -- we miss you an awful lot!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
A rough morning
Today was a rough morning. I’ve been debating writing about it because I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate, but I feel like -- for better for worse -- I’ve been really honest with this blog about our experiences in Vienna, and I’ll be sugar coating things if I don’t write about it. Plus I hope that by writing about it I can come full circle and get some closure on a shitty, shitty experience.
Most days I leave for work about 10 minutes after Todd does, and I sort of like it. It gives me a little bit of “Kristen time,” when I can listen to my Ipod and read my book on the train. As I was walking down the escalator at my U-bahn station, two people were ahead of me on the right hand side. As I continued to walk down the escalator on the left, the girl (who was making noise on a harmonica) stepped in front of me on the left. I stepped to the right to go around her, and she stepped in front of me again, and her male friend stepped to the left, effectively blocking me, and she continued to make noise on her harmonica. We reached the bottom of the platform and I stepped around her, but she continued to walk right close beside me, pushing her harmonica and her face in my face. After about 5-10 seconds of her being within eight inches of my face, I turned to her and said, “What is your problem?”
She then started yelling, “What is my problem? You fucking Americans. You’re my fucking problem.” I’ll spare you the verbatim description of her long vitriolic speech that followed, where she blamed me for the death of thousands of people in the Middle East, and the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, and how I’m a heartless American with blood on my hands. Her friend has chimed in with her at this point, and they are both – literally – within six inches of my face, yelling at the top of their lungs. For whatever reason the subway station is very quiet this morning and hardly anyone is around. I keep walking and continue to push them aside, just letting them scream away (because clearly anything I say is going to add fuel to their fire), when the girl starts grabbing at me and my forcefully pulling at my two bags, saying, “What have you got in here? Oh? You don’t like people trying to take your things. You fucking Americans have no respect for privacy, you just exploit everyone.” At this point I’m now getting angry, saying, “What the fuck are you doing? Get your hands off of me!” and still having a tug-of-war with the girl over my bags, forcefully pushing her away.
At this point thankfully a big Austrian man comes over and pulls her off of me, asks me if I’m ok and asks her what the fuck she is doing (sorry Grandma, there was a lot of swearing). She starts yelling at him, and her friend yells, “I am an Austrian citizen, I can do whatever the fuck I want. She needs to get the fuck out of our country!” The Austrian guy who interceded for me is now standing in front of me, basically protecting me, and the train arrives and he grabs my wrist and pulls me onto the train with him. The two ‘attackers’ (for lack of a better word) jump on board and continue to scream, now more at him than at me, but the male friend keeps yelling, “Get that fucking American out of this country!” The riders of the train start staring at me, and I feel like an absolute pariah.
As soon as we reach Stephansplatz, the station where I change train lines, I jump off the train and walk as fast as I can to the U1 line. Either they didn’t see me or have stopped caring, since they were still yelling at the Austrian man and apparently were happy with their new “Pro-American” Austrian target. I was shaking, but apart from a sore arm and my book bag coming a little loose at the seam, I’m physically fine.
I started getting a little emotional on the U1 train to work, eyes welling up with tears even though the rational part of my brain is telling me to get my shit together because I have to go to work. And believe me, the irony that all this happened as I was on my way to work at the United Nations is not lost on me. These two people, also in their 20s, were of Middle Eastern or Armenian descent, and they do have a justified bone to pick with the US and the world. I know that if I had opened my mouth and spoken German, and they thought I was European, they probably would have had some choice words to give me about the EU and its treatment of Turkey, Romania, etc. They are angry people who have an agenda, and I was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. But the whole experience – being targeted and physically abused because of the foreign policy of my country of birth, being someone’s personal US punching bag – was really unsettling.
I would like to make clear now that in the five trips I’ve made to Europe (all post 9/11), I have never once personally experienced any true anti-American sentiment, and I don’t know anyone else who has – apart from perhaps a cold reception here and there. No one I work with has experienced something like this. It’s not the norm. These people don’t reflect the population of Austria at large. Even if the Viennese can be a little unfriendly at times, it’s how they treat everyone, and it is never because we aren’t Austrian. And I don’t think this whole situation would have bothered me nearly as much if these people hadn’t been physically grabbing me. I can take people screaming six inches in front of my face. If I ever want to work in diplomacy or public policy, I’ll have to get to used to it. But it’s the feeling of physical violation that lingers, that someone is willing to cross the bridge from verbal to physical abuse (albeit mild) of a complete stranger -- because you woke up with that much anger in your heart.
But then I get to the UN and start working on my human trafficking projects, and boy, if ever there was a topic to set you straight, stop you from feeling sorry for yourself, and make you realize how damn lucky you are for being where you are– it’s human trafficking. Perspective: party of one, please.
I’ll probably walk to and from work with Todd for the next couple of days, just until things feel semi-normal again. And I’ll keep working here and going about my business as usual. You live, you learn, and life goes on. I hope for their sake though that those two people don’t stay that hate-filled for the rest of their lives. It doesn’t bode well for humanity.
Most days I leave for work about 10 minutes after Todd does, and I sort of like it. It gives me a little bit of “Kristen time,” when I can listen to my Ipod and read my book on the train. As I was walking down the escalator at my U-bahn station, two people were ahead of me on the right hand side. As I continued to walk down the escalator on the left, the girl (who was making noise on a harmonica) stepped in front of me on the left. I stepped to the right to go around her, and she stepped in front of me again, and her male friend stepped to the left, effectively blocking me, and she continued to make noise on her harmonica. We reached the bottom of the platform and I stepped around her, but she continued to walk right close beside me, pushing her harmonica and her face in my face. After about 5-10 seconds of her being within eight inches of my face, I turned to her and said, “What is your problem?”
She then started yelling, “What is my problem? You fucking Americans. You’re my fucking problem.” I’ll spare you the verbatim description of her long vitriolic speech that followed, where she blamed me for the death of thousands of people in the Middle East, and the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, and how I’m a heartless American with blood on my hands. Her friend has chimed in with her at this point, and they are both – literally – within six inches of my face, yelling at the top of their lungs. For whatever reason the subway station is very quiet this morning and hardly anyone is around. I keep walking and continue to push them aside, just letting them scream away (because clearly anything I say is going to add fuel to their fire), when the girl starts grabbing at me and my forcefully pulling at my two bags, saying, “What have you got in here? Oh? You don’t like people trying to take your things. You fucking Americans have no respect for privacy, you just exploit everyone.” At this point I’m now getting angry, saying, “What the fuck are you doing? Get your hands off of me!” and still having a tug-of-war with the girl over my bags, forcefully pushing her away.
At this point thankfully a big Austrian man comes over and pulls her off of me, asks me if I’m ok and asks her what the fuck she is doing (sorry Grandma, there was a lot of swearing). She starts yelling at him, and her friend yells, “I am an Austrian citizen, I can do whatever the fuck I want. She needs to get the fuck out of our country!” The Austrian guy who interceded for me is now standing in front of me, basically protecting me, and the train arrives and he grabs my wrist and pulls me onto the train with him. The two ‘attackers’ (for lack of a better word) jump on board and continue to scream, now more at him than at me, but the male friend keeps yelling, “Get that fucking American out of this country!” The riders of the train start staring at me, and I feel like an absolute pariah.
As soon as we reach Stephansplatz, the station where I change train lines, I jump off the train and walk as fast as I can to the U1 line. Either they didn’t see me or have stopped caring, since they were still yelling at the Austrian man and apparently were happy with their new “Pro-American” Austrian target. I was shaking, but apart from a sore arm and my book bag coming a little loose at the seam, I’m physically fine.
I started getting a little emotional on the U1 train to work, eyes welling up with tears even though the rational part of my brain is telling me to get my shit together because I have to go to work. And believe me, the irony that all this happened as I was on my way to work at the United Nations is not lost on me. These two people, also in their 20s, were of Middle Eastern or Armenian descent, and they do have a justified bone to pick with the US and the world. I know that if I had opened my mouth and spoken German, and they thought I was European, they probably would have had some choice words to give me about the EU and its treatment of Turkey, Romania, etc. They are angry people who have an agenda, and I was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. But the whole experience – being targeted and physically abused because of the foreign policy of my country of birth, being someone’s personal US punching bag – was really unsettling.
I would like to make clear now that in the five trips I’ve made to Europe (all post 9/11), I have never once personally experienced any true anti-American sentiment, and I don’t know anyone else who has – apart from perhaps a cold reception here and there. No one I work with has experienced something like this. It’s not the norm. These people don’t reflect the population of Austria at large. Even if the Viennese can be a little unfriendly at times, it’s how they treat everyone, and it is never because we aren’t Austrian. And I don’t think this whole situation would have bothered me nearly as much if these people hadn’t been physically grabbing me. I can take people screaming six inches in front of my face. If I ever want to work in diplomacy or public policy, I’ll have to get to used to it. But it’s the feeling of physical violation that lingers, that someone is willing to cross the bridge from verbal to physical abuse (albeit mild) of a complete stranger -- because you woke up with that much anger in your heart.
But then I get to the UN and start working on my human trafficking projects, and boy, if ever there was a topic to set you straight, stop you from feeling sorry for yourself, and make you realize how damn lucky you are for being where you are– it’s human trafficking. Perspective: party of one, please.
I’ll probably walk to and from work with Todd for the next couple of days, just until things feel semi-normal again. And I’ll keep working here and going about my business as usual. You live, you learn, and life goes on. I hope for their sake though that those two people don’t stay that hate-filled for the rest of their lives. It doesn’t bode well for humanity.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Gus Gus: The Schnitzel on the Highway Tour
Raise your hand if you can name a musical group or musician that hails from Iceland. Not so fast – one that doesn’t include Björk. Anyone… anyone? Well, consider yourselves part of the elite group of individuals who can now name TWO groups from Iceland – Björk and Gus Gus (pronounced ‘Goose Goose’).
The whole genre of ‘techno-soul’ is quite new to me. Actually, I’d never even heard of it until my roommate Marlene told me about it and some of the leading bands in it (like Gus Gus) when I first arrived. Techno-soul isn’t soul in the Aretha Franklin sense of the word – more like contemporary R&B/Soul, more akin to Angie Stone (if you’re familiar with her) put to a techno beat. It’s upbeat, good for dancing, and quintessential Europop.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place to start), with the venue where the concert was held. Flex is frequently called the best music venue/club in Vienna, and it offers an utterly unique location – right on the banks of the Danube River, with the club itself actually underground. For those of you from the Bay Area, it’s like a less-classy version of 12 Galaxies, made more atmospheric by the thick haze of cigarette smoke. Oh, and the restrooms are wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, including the inside and outside of the stall doors…meaning you get to watch yourself pee. Very strange. Apart from the smoke and mirrors (damn, I didn’t even try for that one), I like the venue.
From the start it proved to be a very Nordic sort of evening, starting with the opening act Khan of Finland, a three-member dance group who were a little Scissor Sisters, a little Run DMC, and a little Cher. On the whole they were really talented, which you definitely don’t expect of most opening acts. Their percussionist was also a beat boxer, and honestly I don’t know if I have ever heard someone better. It took three songs for me to realize that there was no drum and bass line – just him. The lead singer’s flair for the dramatic (involving several wigs and costume changes) should have given me a better sense of what to expect from Gus Gus, but I just thought to myself, “Hey, this must be what they do in Finland.”
As the title mentioned, Gus Gus is currently on their “Schnitzel on the Highway” European Tour. Don’t ask me why they chose Vienna’s signature meat dish as roadkill for the tour name – a happy coincidence is all I can guess. And as the cliché phrase goes, Gus Gus is very big in Europe, particularly in the dance scene. When I told several people who I was seeing, they were quite familiar with them – and astonished that they weren’t big in the US. “Maybe they are,” I said, “but admittedly I don’t roll in the techno-soul circles back home.”
Seeing Gus Gus perform makes me very curious about Iceland on the whole. I personally know only one person who has very been to Iceland (that’s you Brent), but the stories I have heard (and truthfully the outfits I’ve seen) make me wonder if there is a little something extra in Icelandic water. That, or Björk has set the standard so high for utterly ridiculous outfits (her appearance at Coachella was another fashion classic) that every performer in Iceland feels the need to step it up a notch and compete. But honestly, after the swan dress at the Oscars (egg included), why even try?
Gus Gus is comprised of five members, three of whom alternate lead vocals, and two women performing backup vocals. The two men in the group wore the more mundane outfits, the one being outfitted in head-to-toe black, while the other smeared black war paint around his eyes and must have decided that on Tuesdays he’ll only wear a towel. Not to be outdone, the backup singers brandished their faces with glittery blue war paint, done in the fashion of masks, and wore only ruffled petticoats (hiked up to their chest), making them look like a cross between a Wild West prostitute and a warn-torn smurf. But the real icing on the cake came from their female lead singer, who I am convinced assembled her wardrobe from leftovers off the set of Xanadu – with a little ‘70s Cher thrown in for extra measure. The resulting product was a pink, yellow, and orange neon tie-dye, skin-tight jumpsuit with large, wire-enforced black ruffles wrapping from the shoulder all the way down to the ankle. She opted for the classier, more subdued silver war paint on her face, which complemented her perfectly coiffed Farrah Fawcett hairdo nicely. Björk would be very, very proud.
But at the end of the day, Gus Gus really is talented, and their music is great to dance to. For an example, check out their song “David” (www.myspace.com/gusgus). However, it did strike me a little odd that more people weren’t dancing at the concert – you got more of the head bobbing, shoulder shake-thing than actual dancing – but I guess that’s how people in techno-soul roll in Vienna.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. There was one girl in front of me who was embracing the beat and bobbing up and down to the music. She had a unique dance style that involved moving her elbows back and forth, and unfortunately for me her right elbow constantly found refuge in my left breast. I know I’m not big busted, but honestly, how could she not feel that her elbow was hitting someone’s boob? Not knowing how to say, “Please stop impaling my breast” in German, I resorted to bringing my left arm up to cross and cover my chest, so that at least I’d have a chance at breast feeding my children in the future. After that she managed to keep her elbows more or less to herself, and I was able to enjoy the music and the one-of-a-kind experience that is Gus Gus, Flex, and the world of European techno-soul. Cheers for now everyone, and thank you again for the comments and e-mails. Love and miss you all!
The whole genre of ‘techno-soul’ is quite new to me. Actually, I’d never even heard of it until my roommate Marlene told me about it and some of the leading bands in it (like Gus Gus) when I first arrived. Techno-soul isn’t soul in the Aretha Franklin sense of the word – more like contemporary R&B/Soul, more akin to Angie Stone (if you’re familiar with her) put to a techno beat. It’s upbeat, good for dancing, and quintessential Europop.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place to start), with the venue where the concert was held. Flex is frequently called the best music venue/club in Vienna, and it offers an utterly unique location – right on the banks of the Danube River, with the club itself actually underground. For those of you from the Bay Area, it’s like a less-classy version of 12 Galaxies, made more atmospheric by the thick haze of cigarette smoke. Oh, and the restrooms are wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, including the inside and outside of the stall doors…meaning you get to watch yourself pee. Very strange. Apart from the smoke and mirrors (damn, I didn’t even try for that one), I like the venue.
From the start it proved to be a very Nordic sort of evening, starting with the opening act Khan of Finland, a three-member dance group who were a little Scissor Sisters, a little Run DMC, and a little Cher. On the whole they were really talented, which you definitely don’t expect of most opening acts. Their percussionist was also a beat boxer, and honestly I don’t know if I have ever heard someone better. It took three songs for me to realize that there was no drum and bass line – just him. The lead singer’s flair for the dramatic (involving several wigs and costume changes) should have given me a better sense of what to expect from Gus Gus, but I just thought to myself, “Hey, this must be what they do in Finland.”
As the title mentioned, Gus Gus is currently on their “Schnitzel on the Highway” European Tour. Don’t ask me why they chose Vienna’s signature meat dish as roadkill for the tour name – a happy coincidence is all I can guess. And as the cliché phrase goes, Gus Gus is very big in Europe, particularly in the dance scene. When I told several people who I was seeing, they were quite familiar with them – and astonished that they weren’t big in the US. “Maybe they are,” I said, “but admittedly I don’t roll in the techno-soul circles back home.”
Seeing Gus Gus perform makes me very curious about Iceland on the whole. I personally know only one person who has very been to Iceland (that’s you Brent), but the stories I have heard (and truthfully the outfits I’ve seen) make me wonder if there is a little something extra in Icelandic water. That, or Björk has set the standard so high for utterly ridiculous outfits (her appearance at Coachella was another fashion classic) that every performer in Iceland feels the need to step it up a notch and compete. But honestly, after the swan dress at the Oscars (egg included), why even try?
Gus Gus is comprised of five members, three of whom alternate lead vocals, and two women performing backup vocals. The two men in the group wore the more mundane outfits, the one being outfitted in head-to-toe black, while the other smeared black war paint around his eyes and must have decided that on Tuesdays he’ll only wear a towel. Not to be outdone, the backup singers brandished their faces with glittery blue war paint, done in the fashion of masks, and wore only ruffled petticoats (hiked up to their chest), making them look like a cross between a Wild West prostitute and a warn-torn smurf. But the real icing on the cake came from their female lead singer, who I am convinced assembled her wardrobe from leftovers off the set of Xanadu – with a little ‘70s Cher thrown in for extra measure. The resulting product was a pink, yellow, and orange neon tie-dye, skin-tight jumpsuit with large, wire-enforced black ruffles wrapping from the shoulder all the way down to the ankle. She opted for the classier, more subdued silver war paint on her face, which complemented her perfectly coiffed Farrah Fawcett hairdo nicely. Björk would be very, very proud.
But at the end of the day, Gus Gus really is talented, and their music is great to dance to. For an example, check out their song “David” (www.myspace.com/gusgus). However, it did strike me a little odd that more people weren’t dancing at the concert – you got more of the head bobbing, shoulder shake-thing than actual dancing – but I guess that’s how people in techno-soul roll in Vienna.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. There was one girl in front of me who was embracing the beat and bobbing up and down to the music. She had a unique dance style that involved moving her elbows back and forth, and unfortunately for me her right elbow constantly found refuge in my left breast. I know I’m not big busted, but honestly, how could she not feel that her elbow was hitting someone’s boob? Not knowing how to say, “Please stop impaling my breast” in German, I resorted to bringing my left arm up to cross and cover my chest, so that at least I’d have a chance at breast feeding my children in the future. After that she managed to keep her elbows more or less to herself, and I was able to enjoy the music and the one-of-a-kind experience that is Gus Gus, Flex, and the world of European techno-soul. Cheers for now everyone, and thank you again for the comments and e-mails. Love and miss you all!
Saturday, May 12, 2007
The manic love affair continues...
Vienna is a fickle, fickle lover. In my last post, I wrote about my occasional homesickness and frustration with the city – how I felt spurned by it when all I wanted was to be loved. And then we have a day like today, that is truly magical, and I find she is calling me back, making me doubt my previous frustrations as just a passing fancy. Women.
For those of you who regularly read my blog, I apologize now because I’ll be going out of order chronologically for the next couple of posts. It’s quite simple. I started a post on the Gus Gus techno-soul concert after hours at work today, and then proceeded to forget to send it to myself at home. I’m lazy and I don’t want to have to rewrite that post, but I promise that post will be up on Monday or Tuesday. But I digress…
It really is amazing to see how different Vienna is in spring/summertime compared to winter. People are more friendly (well, as friendly as the Viennese can be), and the city comes alive – and goes outside. Cafes extend out onto the large, pedestrian-friendly sidewalks, and the exceedingly mild evening temperatures encourage you to stay outdoors as long as you can. And springtime also marks the beginning of a multitude of outdoor festivals, all of them free and open to all.
Last weekend we experienced Stadt Fest, or City Fest, an outdoor music and performing arts festival hosted by the city that took over the entire 1st district. In addition to the accomplished musical groups who performed (including a fantastic Argentinian quartet), we were treated to unique German covers of American songs, such as John Denver’s “Country Road.” For some reason they chose to sing the chorus in English (or Engrisch) and the rest of the song in German, so interspersed with German you’d hear “West Virginia, Mountain Mama, Take me Home, Country Road.” Guess that just doesn’t translate well into German. Stadt Fest also featured an inordinate amount of mimes (who knew Vienna had so many invisible boxes?), and an array of performance artists who could have been the inspiration for Mike Myers’ SNL skit “Sprockets.” In spite of the… avante garde performance elements, it’s a city that truly values music and the arts, and it’s refreshing. For instance, at Michaelerplatz, in front of the Hofburg Palace, easels and tables full of a variety of paints were set up, and they were handing out canvases for free, encouraging anyone who wished to pick up a paint brush and let out their inner Klimt. It was incredible to see people young and old express themselves through painting. It’s hard to imagine a city in the US that would do such a thing (for free!) for its residents.
And tonight kicked off the summer festival season in Vienna, with an immense concert (ala Central Park) in front of the Rat Haus or City Hall -- all for free. The featured performers included Bobby McFerrin, the Viennese Philharmonic Orchestra, a famous Austrian musician known for fusing traditional Austrian folk music with Arabic and French influences, and 200 ‘kinder wieners’ (no, not mini sausages, just Viennese kids) doing an interpretive dance on the planets. In typical German/Austrian fashion, the concert was well organized, clean, and thoughtfully laid out so it could be enjoyed by all, with large HD screens showing the concert to the masses and also showing what the concert looked like to the folks watching it live on TV back home. The Rat Haus and the surrounding buildings were lit up in alternating colors, making the already regal buildings look even more spectacular. Of course this is the night I left my camera at home, or else I would have pictures to show you what all of this looked like – words can’t begin to do it justice. Nor will I be able to adequately explain the concert itself. Highlights for me included seeing Bobby McFerrin perform live with the Philharmonic and this Austrian musician, doing his incredible vocal work to imitate instruments during Bach’s Symphony No. 5. It was a bit odd to see him, just because when I think of him I think of his albums from 1986, and I forget that 20 years have passed and he’s aged just like the rest of us. The 200-youth dance troupe performance (in four acts) was quite interesting, and for Todd and the 12-year old in all of us, the highlight was their interpretive dance for the planet Uranus, “The Magician.” Yes, Uranus really is magical.
Following the concert, the eight of us made the easy walk over to the Museums Quartier to grab a drink, and as we started walking it began raining very lightly. With the high humidity and warm summer evening it felt very refreshing, and even a little romantic. And as we walked past the enormous monument to Queen Maria Theresa in the deserted museum square, we saw a temporary pool and fountain set up. Right as we walked beside the fountain, it came alive (momentarily scaring the shit out of all us), and erupted into huge, dramatic waterspouts, alternating in colors and swaying to a silent beat. For those of you who have seen the water show at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, this is the closest thing I can compare it to. We spoke to the technicians and found out that one of the museums was having a private corporate event the following night, and the fountain was part of the entertainment. We got treated to a beautiful dress rehearsal show, and it was even more special because for about half of the people in our group, they had never seen anything like this in their lives.
When we reached our final destination, a little beisl (or beer garden) a few minutes walk from our apartment, we relaxed and the enjoyed the company of the great group of friends we’ve made here. We’re our own mini UN -- hailing from Tanzania, Finland, Spain, Germany, Australia, Ukraine, Italy, and Austria – and I am grateful that I’ve been able to meet these people and develop such fast friendships in a city that is, for most of us, far from home. They’ll never replace the incredible friends we have at home, but they reinforce the universality of the human experience, and that no matter where you are, you can find some kindred souls.
For those of you who regularly read my blog, I apologize now because I’ll be going out of order chronologically for the next couple of posts. It’s quite simple. I started a post on the Gus Gus techno-soul concert after hours at work today, and then proceeded to forget to send it to myself at home. I’m lazy and I don’t want to have to rewrite that post, but I promise that post will be up on Monday or Tuesday. But I digress…
It really is amazing to see how different Vienna is in spring/summertime compared to winter. People are more friendly (well, as friendly as the Viennese can be), and the city comes alive – and goes outside. Cafes extend out onto the large, pedestrian-friendly sidewalks, and the exceedingly mild evening temperatures encourage you to stay outdoors as long as you can. And springtime also marks the beginning of a multitude of outdoor festivals, all of them free and open to all.
Last weekend we experienced Stadt Fest, or City Fest, an outdoor music and performing arts festival hosted by the city that took over the entire 1st district. In addition to the accomplished musical groups who performed (including a fantastic Argentinian quartet), we were treated to unique German covers of American songs, such as John Denver’s “Country Road.” For some reason they chose to sing the chorus in English (or Engrisch) and the rest of the song in German, so interspersed with German you’d hear “West Virginia, Mountain Mama, Take me Home, Country Road.” Guess that just doesn’t translate well into German. Stadt Fest also featured an inordinate amount of mimes (who knew Vienna had so many invisible boxes?), and an array of performance artists who could have been the inspiration for Mike Myers’ SNL skit “Sprockets.” In spite of the… avante garde performance elements, it’s a city that truly values music and the arts, and it’s refreshing. For instance, at Michaelerplatz, in front of the Hofburg Palace, easels and tables full of a variety of paints were set up, and they were handing out canvases for free, encouraging anyone who wished to pick up a paint brush and let out their inner Klimt. It was incredible to see people young and old express themselves through painting. It’s hard to imagine a city in the US that would do such a thing (for free!) for its residents.
And tonight kicked off the summer festival season in Vienna, with an immense concert (ala Central Park) in front of the Rat Haus or City Hall -- all for free. The featured performers included Bobby McFerrin, the Viennese Philharmonic Orchestra, a famous Austrian musician known for fusing traditional Austrian folk music with Arabic and French influences, and 200 ‘kinder wieners’ (no, not mini sausages, just Viennese kids) doing an interpretive dance on the planets. In typical German/Austrian fashion, the concert was well organized, clean, and thoughtfully laid out so it could be enjoyed by all, with large HD screens showing the concert to the masses and also showing what the concert looked like to the folks watching it live on TV back home. The Rat Haus and the surrounding buildings were lit up in alternating colors, making the already regal buildings look even more spectacular. Of course this is the night I left my camera at home, or else I would have pictures to show you what all of this looked like – words can’t begin to do it justice. Nor will I be able to adequately explain the concert itself. Highlights for me included seeing Bobby McFerrin perform live with the Philharmonic and this Austrian musician, doing his incredible vocal work to imitate instruments during Bach’s Symphony No. 5. It was a bit odd to see him, just because when I think of him I think of his albums from 1986, and I forget that 20 years have passed and he’s aged just like the rest of us. The 200-youth dance troupe performance (in four acts) was quite interesting, and for Todd and the 12-year old in all of us, the highlight was their interpretive dance for the planet Uranus, “The Magician.” Yes, Uranus really is magical.
Following the concert, the eight of us made the easy walk over to the Museums Quartier to grab a drink, and as we started walking it began raining very lightly. With the high humidity and warm summer evening it felt very refreshing, and even a little romantic. And as we walked past the enormous monument to Queen Maria Theresa in the deserted museum square, we saw a temporary pool and fountain set up. Right as we walked beside the fountain, it came alive (momentarily scaring the shit out of all us), and erupted into huge, dramatic waterspouts, alternating in colors and swaying to a silent beat. For those of you who have seen the water show at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, this is the closest thing I can compare it to. We spoke to the technicians and found out that one of the museums was having a private corporate event the following night, and the fountain was part of the entertainment. We got treated to a beautiful dress rehearsal show, and it was even more special because for about half of the people in our group, they had never seen anything like this in their lives.
When we reached our final destination, a little beisl (or beer garden) a few minutes walk from our apartment, we relaxed and the enjoyed the company of the great group of friends we’ve made here. We’re our own mini UN -- hailing from Tanzania, Finland, Spain, Germany, Australia, Ukraine, Italy, and Austria – and I am grateful that I’ve been able to meet these people and develop such fast friendships in a city that is, for most of us, far from home. They’ll never replace the incredible friends we have at home, but they reinforce the universality of the human experience, and that no matter where you are, you can find some kindred souls.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
