Like a Turtle

Up and out of my window, I can see only the tinniest wisp of cotton-white in the sky. The last day of November and I wonder if this will be the last day of clear skies for the next few months. I can't hazard to believe that - the outlook would be too grim.

The weather is fine and I haven't been exercising lately. Today I WILL take a walk(s). You know, I believe that I am my own worst enemy, because I can't do anything against myself. I am a grand champion at coercion, deception, and distraction. I'm as heavy as a mountain and as illusive as a pickle in the jar. If I say that I WILL take a walk, chances are that I MIGHT take a walk. Sometimes, that MIGHT even turns into WON'T - after I convince myself that it's too cold or tomorrow will suffice. Terrible. I am my own worst enemy.

I burnt myself out (in a good way) on Friday with human company. For the first time in over three months, I was with three Americans and talking natural English. We celebrated Thanksgiving together in a nearby town. Our first Thanksgiving on our own and the Turkey turned out great (aka not raw or burnt)and tasting faintly of the apple cider we had basted it in. Five hours of fun. I opted out of going for drinks - it occurred to me that I'd rather spend my money elsewhere. I went home instead, which turned out to be a good decision. I met one of my students on the train and we had a nice chat. She and her father drove me back to my place, thereby cutting my 20minute walk in the cold to a 4 minute drive. <3 Kindness and the random gesture of concern and selflessness. How often do you give and receive? Personally, I sometimes become too nervous to see clearly and miss the opportunity or become blind to the need for generosity. It's my new goal to calm down (alright, that's an OLD goal) and become more generous.

Day by day, we'll see. I've been dragging my feet on updating. The spice to write has left my brain. Sometimes, I'll be laying in bed, imagining a random character who's doing something brave/abnormal (like crawling through the mud or swimming in a red ocean). Did you realize, if the oceans were red, so would the sky? But the ideas are as quick and solitary as the click of a camera lens. They never make it to paper or computer pixels. Someday, I'd love to write a book with substance. Until then, my characters just have fun in the Land of Nowhere. And I'm left wondering if I should muster the courage to have my own adventures before I arrogantly write those for others. I'm too young to start writing. I haven't done enough yet. Traveling doesn't count. ;)

Austria is lit up like a giant Christmas tree! Today is the first day of Advent, the season of Christmas markets, mulled wine, and lights. My town is exceptionally beautiful. I can now answer my earlier post and point out what the beauty is: illumination. I took a video, because the photos don't show it very well. Posting later.

Well, I was starved for fresh air so I opened my window. Now my fingers are sluggish from the cold. I might go to the lobby to read in the sunlight. Enjoy your day and the sun or rain that it brings!

P.S. new artsy photos:

Once Upon an Austria

The Cynic vs. The Pessimist

Up and onward - let's keep talking about the recent past.

Last night I followed a teacher home, so meekly and quietly that a puppy would feel shame. Well, maybe not a puppy on a cold winter's night. More like a puppy on a warm summer evening. In any case, it was with lackluster energy. What I really need is a good argument. Somebody, come stir my brain!

Last night resulted in six hours of baking. We finished off five different sorts but one died (wasn't my fault, I swear!). I now have a full tin of cookies that will last me 3-4 weeks.

Things I learned:
°Cinnamon and nutmeg have 'happy' properties. Maybe Mom shouldn't have stopped dad from putting nutmeg on everything.
°Ah, almonds are very good for the digestive system.
°Austrians have a whole different baking vocabulary than the Germans.
°For cookies that didn't require eggs, we used a huge wooden board for the mixing and not a bowl. Messy fun!

Results:


My scarf is now finished. I had incorrectly ended it but my l33t teacher fixed it in about 5 minutes.

And then I had one of those sleepless nights where the brain runs mechanically and without rest. It was quite interesting - I had some very lucid dreams that were full of texture. I rarely get texture; my dreams are usually like bubbles. But the bad part of the night was getting up at 6am without having had any rest. Wherever my brain went in the dreaming world, I think it left itself there. Today, both my teachers canceled class but I opted to hang around for two hours and accompany the teacher who had me for baking. I just need to stay coherent until 9:20am. Must. Stay. Awa.... ...

Ah, but the main point of this post was: Two teachers have both argued with me over the difference between a pessimist and a cynic. But to me, they are one and the same: unhappy people.

Tired...

It was a long weekend spent in ways that I might or will divulge later. In the meantime, please enjoy this video of Austria on a snowy Sunday morning!

'Tis Not the Season

I realized that I've not yet given a very clear picture of my town. I've wandered far from the topic, around, and above. Let's face it, my town right now is not gorgeous. To call it "pretty" would be flattering. The skies are almost always gray and the weather is in that awkward pubescent state between cold and warm. The town is on the verge. On the verge of... The next few months will tell.

Of course, the town center is as it always was - beautiful. The architecture belies the course of the weather; constant and colorful, the center of the town remains the same. The main square is flanked by many old buildings of pastel colors. Quite a few have paintings, sculptures, or carvings worked into their facades. Whenever I sit on a bench beside the fountain at the center of the square, I feel like I'm sitting on a stage and watching as a play unfolds around me. Especially when I glance up at the statue standing proudly on a pedestal inside the fountain. He's a man with a flat face; proud, stoic, he glances off into the distance. His left hand rests on his belt and, in his right hand, he holds a staff. A staff topped by a shoe. A shoe!?

Back in the day, when everyone was taking a bite out of the Middle East as if it were the world's most delicious cake, the founder of my town found himself in a tough spot. On the battle field, the flagman was killed and the troops were loosing heart and the battle. In a fit of stubbornness and determination (and eccentricity), the founder of Ried took off his shoe and rammed it onto the end of his staff and waved it like a flag. This bizarre act inspired and invigorated the troops, who ran forth and vanquished the enemy. Huzzah! The King of the area known today as Austria granted the gentleman a huge chunk of land and titles in gratitude. Thus, Ried was born.

I like him. He was probably a cutthroat bastard who extorted his peasants and hanged women as witches but, in my mind, he will always be "that guy" who wildly rolled his eyes, used his shoe as a flag, and bellowed his determination incoherently at the enemy. It reminds me that sometimes, in the course of certain events, even a shoe can turn the course of battle.

Ski Gymnastik

I also didn't mention that I'm in a Ski Gymnastics club. Every Monday from 7-8pm, I get my dose of sweaty Austrian. From ages 14 to 74, a whole bunch of community members get together in a small gym and around a large square of blue wrestling mats lined up edge to edge, we do exercises that will prepare us for a rigorous winter of skiing.

Never judge a book by its cover, right? But my puritan background was aghast at the sight of manly flesh paraded before my eyes. You see, Austrians (and all Europeans) have a slightly different uptake on the human body. Rather than fear, cover up, and nonchalantly deny the fact that they have male and female parts, they flaunt. Imagine a rooster, proudly shaking his variegated tail feathers without a guilty conscience. Austrian men don't mind tight clothing. Preferably on the bottom. Spandex, I'm sure, made it's way into the Austrian language way before the English one. In fact, it must be from the Latin and Rome is pretty darn close to Austria. Relatively speaking.

All fear and loathing is but a distant thing; a part of myself that's long been dead, voicing thoughts only out of habit. I take this transparent monologue and listen like I listen to radio at work - with half a mind. It's funny and I'm sure a lot of you would chuckle with me just at the sheer brazen and proud manner of these Austrian men, who are always on the richer side of 50 (sorry, girls). This is the culture, this is the life here. Sometimes, I feel much more relaxed. Who really cares, if there is more shape than shadow to that man? Eh? Who cares if that woman divorced her razor a few months back? Eh? Humanity. Sweating, bouncing, moving, hairy humanity. It's beautiful.

At least I think so.

Don't take me wrong. I'm not heroic. Just because I see a Picasso and admire it on the wall does not mean I want to buy it. It's beautiful, regardless of whether or not I want to take it home and beauty will always have my appreciation, at the least. But on the other hand, a Franz Marc... Lines, shadow, grace... Wallet is in the hand. Yes'um, my wallet is in the hand.

Arrows and the Lusthaus

I've joined an archery club. They meet three times a week in the small gym of a school about a five minute walk from where I live. I think it's been the best life decision that I've made in Austria yet.

Archery is good. Archery is simple. Archery involves only one person, the shooter. Granted, all the pressure falls on you unlike team sports, where everyone shares the load. When you hold a bow, no one else is there to aim the arrow with you. It's a sport that forces you into independence. I love it and I am afraid of it. When the arrow flies astray, there's no one to blame but myself. But when the arrow hits the mark, there's no one to congratulate but myself. Give and take. Win and lose. There's a lot of pressure.

The other members of the club are really fun and encouraging. I enjoy being there because when I hit the mark, I get a thumbs up. The small things can sometimes lift the spirit the highest. There's also playful banter between rounds, lots of laughing as we collect the arrows. Then everyone is silent as we concentrate on the targets together.

The other day it was more pressure than normal because I somehow found myself snug in between the club leader/world champ and his wife and 10 year old daughter. They all were amazing. Even though I was the poor boob who never shot the yellow center, the only grading scale is the one you've created for yourself through previous shots. Still... BWAH!

Anyway, they've loaned me gear and I'm with them on Wednesday and Friday evenings. It's good to have something to do, to belong to a group - even if ever so superficially.

The weekend was interesting and slightly bland. I remember wishing that Saturday was really Sunday. Weekends with nothing to do are the worst.

I had planned to go to either Passau or Linz on Saturday but Friday night's shenanigans nullified that plan. With a couple of students, I went to a discotheque and danced the night away. It was a very hot spot for young people, named the Lusthaus. Don't get the wrong idea - it's not the sort of lust that you may be thinking of. The worn has different connotations in German. Although this place was full of drinking, dancing, and carousing, it wasn't... very dirty. I'm grasping for words when I can't really think of the best way to describe it.

Anyway, lots of techno and heavy music. I was quite tickled to hear a techno remix of the theme from Pirates of the Caribbean! Who would have thought it possible... The student who drove asked me what discotheques are like in America and I couldn't really answer. Springfield, Ohio, is not really the place and I've never been with friends in a city where it's possible to go dancing. We always just did it at somebody's house. So I had nothing to compare the smokey interior, flashing lights, wagon wheels and vines on the walls, of this discotheque with. The Lusthause I went to was divided into two rooms. One was the modern, techno, dance floor room and the other was... a mixture of the American West and the Austrian past. Saw a handful of my students and went home around 2am. Slept in late and didn't feel like I could utilize the day adequately with a trip. And very few trains run on Sunday. So plans were mooted.

Instead, I spent Saturday night walking around my town, window shopping and enjoying the fresh, crisp air. I had hoped that the Christmas lights would be illuminated but they weren't. I'm going to wander downtown again this evening to give them another check. It should be very impressive once they are lit up; the entire central square is bedecked with lights.

Other things I've done this weekend:
- Watched "The Hotel Venus"; an awesome Japanese movie (filmed in Russia with dialog in Korean - English subtitles!!)
- Crocheted an entire hat
- Read 80 pages of both Nick Hornby's A Long Way Down and Mildred Taylor's Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry
- Watched "Braveheart" for the first time and was not terribly impressed. Bagpipes are NOT musical! What was played throughout the entire movie were either hearthside pipes or Irish pipes. Blargh, my piping self was laughing quite a bit.
- Ran straight for 50 minutes and didn't feel pain at all. Today was a good day for the athletics.

Meanwhile, does anybody want a kitten? My parents are overrun at home with the cutest kittens you could imagine. I kid you not!

Why Fishes Float

Today is officially payday. The money was in the bag, aka my account, by Tuesday but not touchable until today. I was about to gigglingly withdraw a sum for food and fun before a friend warned me: early withdrawal equates to heavy fines. So I tightened my belt and mustered through till today. Which is fine, because money means joy rides through the grocery store. I have little self control when it comes to food. I am, essentially, an anti-Gandhi. I don't know how he did it because I worship at the Church of Food. Shiny labels, fancy packaging, delicious pictures - I am weak to all kinds of grocery store propaganda. Especially things that look sweet or chocolaty - I have no talent or creativity for cooking. That part of my femininity I left in the uterus.

I have money. I have food. Finally, I feel like I can relax and stretch my wings out and fly without strings. In celebration, I've decided to visit all the cafes in town (or as many as I can) over the course of my stay. My first stop was Cafe Kolm. I'd been there before but had never ordered a meal. When I arrived around 11am, there were only a few people and so I sat down, ordered a Cafe Latte, and opened up my neglected Japanese textbook. I ordered something... alright, I just pointed at the days special and asked for that. Something in Italian, something relatively inexpensive - I am very lazy.

The food was decidedly mellow and could be filed under: hot, oiled, and plain. It was not a problem because I have no qualms with such food. It was an experience. I stayed at the cafe until it filled to bursting with smoke and then I left. My long hair smells like an ash tray. It's a sticky souvenir that I just can't seem to shake.

And now I am full, drowsy, and oppressed by gray skies and rain. Tonight I have sports with some teachers, which requires 20min of walking in the rain. All in the name of blood, sweat, and tears! (those teachers play with attitude - talk about competitive!)

The Problem With Hidden Hubris

"Damn my eyes," was once elegantly spoken by some unfortunate bloke and it has no reference to what I'm about to write except that, at the moment, I really feel like cursing. Not for any passionate reason. Some people curse from anger, surprise, or amazed appreciation (see: damn, she's hot) and others curse when all other words have vanished. I fall into the latter group. As I sit here, at this benign computer, my fingers are trembling from fatigue and all I can think is damn as I try to gather the words to put together this fine story that I wish to tell.

Whenever something BIG happens, it is usually preceded by several paltry events that bear (or is it 'bare'?) no attention as they happen. YET, after the big event, 20-20 vision bursts forth and with awe-inspiring clarity, the long and winding path behind you is blatantly visible. My cancerous problem, that has been growing with every step of my life, is hidden Hubris. I'll stop rambling now and jump right into the bush...

It all started, or rather ended, on a cold and misty Sunday morning. I set out on my bicycle in the damp fog to meet a teacher from school, whose name I didn't know. It was 9am and few people were out when I spotted my teacher riding up ahead. She has shockingly white hair cut short and I recognized her instantly. We rode for approximately 15 minutes to a nearby farm in companionable silence.

Big and imposing, we rode into the barn courtyard. It was not silent; if you listened closely, you could hear all the horses and cows moving, eating, kicking, ruminating, etc. Here, as opposed to the city, many people were up and about, saddling horses, moving hay, and feeding animals.

I was assigned to a round and tall dappled bay horse, named Jimmy. At first sight, it was evident that he had that dense, yet agreeable mentality of a saddle horse. At FIRST sight. At the SECOND and THIRD glances, you notice the thick legs, waggling ears, and stomping foot of a horse anxious to get on with it.

We groomed and saddled the horses. Obsessed with safety, something that's been pounded into my thick skull since childhood, I DID ask for a helmet. Hah! I am a conscientious girl, Mom! I didn't get one; however, my kind teacher assured me that my horse was very agreeable and that she doesn't ride with a helmet anyway. Ignoring the tiny bells clanging in the back of my skull, I shrugged off upbringing and meekly mounted Jimmy. (Who would name a horse that? What a silly name...) And off we went into the misty woods of Upper Austria.

Just like riding a bike? I wouldn't exactly say that. It felt familiar, I will admit, to be sitting atop a grain-gobbling machine with a girth wider than an oil drum. It was when we first started trotting, the gait above a walk, that I began to feel uneasy. I immediately lost my stirrups and started flopping around like those cheap dashboard dolls in used cars. The second session of trotting went better, under the guidance of my teacher, who sympathetically adjusted my grip of the reins and foot posture. Posting, the act of standing and sitting during the trot, was still beyond me. But I gamely flopped around, carefully watching Jimmy's ears for signs of frustration at my ineptitude.

New perspective on my history of horseback riding slowly dawned in my bouncing head. I'd really been spoiled when it came to riding: slow outings with lots of people around, firm guidance and supervision, and complacent ponies. No ring training, very few riding lessons, an erratic riding history. Besides, I've always had a certain amount of fear for animals larger than myself. That fear has been transformed into timidity but I'm still not the most comfortable creature around horses. So I slowly began to question the why of my sudden lust to ride again. And it all boiled down to pride. It's the cool thing to do in my family. Necessary, expected - like brown eyes,brown hair, and glasses. But I DO enjoy it. It's a challenge.

Ah well, back to the story. My push-and-go horse was relieved to be out of the barn and my teacher suggested that we take the next stretch at a gallop. "Just grab hold of the reins, lean forward, and let them go," said my teacher with a smile. The next series of events I take as my own fault, my own lack of ability at horseback riding, than any fault of the horse. No matter how hard I would like to blame Jimmy, the fact that I ended sunny-side up wasn't directly his doing. Jimmy wanted to go and soon he was whizzing past the trees, snorting, and driving his way towards infinity.

It felt like warp-speed, like riding a washer machine downhill, like power and speed trapped beneath dapple brown flesh. For the first 15 or so seconds it was exhilarating. Then, as I zoomed past my teacher, the shit hit the fan. I heard her shouting something - German, English - at those speeds, everything is gibberish. I took it to mean: regain control and slow down. So I tried but in trying, I pissed off Jimmy and lost my seat. He bucked, I think, and I found myself riding on the wrong side of the horse. Invariably, you don't want to be on any part of the horse besides the top. Unless you are in the circus, can trace your family tree back to John Wayne, or were born on mars.

For a few jarring moments, maybe only a second, I thought I could pull myself up as Jimmy pounded away unawares. I could see myself, like a silent observer - small girl clinging desperately to large horse. How comic. How Hollywood. I remember seeing my teacher's face, eyes wide, mouth open, and hearing the typical shouting that sounds oh-so-far away. And then I felt myself falling. One belying thought went through my mind as Jimmy's legs came into view: "God, don't let me get trampled". Then flesh met ground and I rolled and rolled. My teacher's horse came very close and I flashed to a jockey's perspective and the aforementioned thought repeated itself.

In my defense, my first instinct was to get up and run after my horse. My teacher had slowed down and very worriedly asked if I was OK. I could feel this very shocked grin slap itself into position on my face. "Yeah, yeah, I'm alright," as a separate part of my brain went WTF. Jimmy was a good boy and had stopped a the turn up ahead. "So, you're down there, are you?" he seemed to ask. "Pfft, yeah!" I wanted to say. Ah well, remount, retry, and keep going. So is life.

I was slapping mud from my back and picking leaves out of my hair as we rode along. My teacher said that she hadn't seen anything like that in a long time, because she usually rides alone. I think I might have scared her quite a bit: "Oh God, I killed the language assistant!" I remarked that I was glad that no one else had seen that and she said that it was nothing to be ashamed of, then she commented that my seat during the gallop had been all wrong. Yeah, that happens when you really don't know what you're doing - when you have this false idea that you do or that you should know.

That's why hidden Hubris is terrible: you don't know it's there until circumstance reveals it. I made people believe that I could ride by saying that "I like to ride." Two very different things. But, soon I came to believe that I could ride too and that's worse.

In conclusion, I'm alright just shaken and disappointed in myself. Afraid that my teacher thinks me completely incompetent. But glad that no large stone made acquaintance with my skull. The only thing that I want to ride with four legs for a while to come is my chair.

Adieu.

Back to/from Sweden

On Friday I went back to Sweden. The journey started at an eye-melting 4:35am when I promptly caught a train to Vienna. Traveling is about catching things: trains, planes, buses, rare and exotic diseases. The possibilities are endless. All in all, from train to bus to plane, I arrived in Sweden around 2pm.

Flying into Stockholm, the Arlanda airport, is a stark reminder that you are arriving in a land tenderly embracing the arctic circle. The colors are the shades of gray and rust, with dashes of forest green thrown in liberally to taste. One thought promptly sprang to mind as I watched the Swedish scenery grow steadily closer: it looks like the train dioramas that my family used to make. The trees look like toothpicks with a bit of haphazardly glued green fluff. There are stones, moss, lichen. It looks so antique. Old? Archaic? Contrived? The light of fall doesn't help (the lack of light). Once August rolls around, you desperately realize that this is a country gripped by a weak sun for 8 solid months.

But for me that grim reality was like eating a familiar plate of grandma's cooking. It tastes familiar and known, delicious and comforting. But despite this picturesque quality of Sweden there are some downsides to this wonderful country.

Friendliness is a virtue
Swedish people are not a friendly bunch. What I mean is, they will not shower you with pleasantries upon first meeting. Store clerks are not beholden to smile. Do not expect eye contact. That's just how the Swedes are. They enjoy their solitude in the dark confines of their Ikea furnished rooms, drinking Absolut, and listening to metal music. This is partially facilitated, I theorize, by the lack of sun and warmth for most of the year.

However, not all Swedes are the same. The Swede that I know is quite the friendly fellow, outgoing, joking, and playful. Much was my surprise when I found out that not all Swedes are the same.

However, get a Swede around enough alcohol and he might swear fealty to you, try to imitate Sean Connery, and gallantly plunge into the political debate with that self-righteous verve that makes a Swede a Swede. This is formally known as the "Jekyll and Hyde" complex. I kid you not, this is an actual term recounted to me by Swedish students and would explain the high alcohol consumption levels of the country.

But do not fear. If you plan to travel to Sweden, come prepared with an excessively positive and friendly outlook. It is quite possible to break through that icy, arctic exterior and expose the fertile soil beneath(which might be partially frozen so watch out). Think on: Never give up, never surrender. Above all, don't take it personally and put on your thick skin.

But moving on...
Alright, enough of me making fun of the Swedes. My teachers asked me today how I enjoyed the trip and I answered: "It was fantastic! Dark, cold, wet!" But when you travel, I think it's about the people and as well as the place. I had an excessive amount of fun hanging out with my Swedish friend. I was able to visit old haunts and discover some new ones. We went to an exquisite Japanese restaurant for some of the best sushi I've had since Japan. I downloaded some entertainment, watched some movies, cooked real food!!!!!! Generally, I relaxed and regained some of the energy that I've been missing since coming to Austria.

Now I'm back to the grindstone. I just gathered my nerve to call the archery club, opted to join in on the practice on Friday. I'm still chasing tails on the horseback riding - maybe this weekend. Made some friends with a few students, possible fun to come. Have a few students interested in doing tutoring, which will help my bank account. All in all, life goes on in endless song. :)

How the Austrians Call it...

The Austrians are very confident, along with the majority of Europe. I barely have a clue myself as to how this election will run. In my opinion, Austria has a lot of chutzpah to run this cover story before the election (title: America votes for Obama).



I've been away for a bit, I know. Please be patient and soon the updates will resume their flow! I'm really tired right now but I feel like it's Christmas only the big man coming down the chimney is either going to be a Dem or a Republican!