Passau Hbf

Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in morning, sailor take warning.

I am on my journey to Berlin and everything was going well until I found out that I can only take the snail-slow trains to Berlin, which pushes my arrival time back three hours. GAH. I will also need to change trains five times. Cross your fingers for me!

Fortunately, there is a really nice computer center right here at the train station. Enough time purchased to shoot my host an 'I will be terribly late' email along with a short blog update. (7 minutes of time remaining)

Riding trains in Austria can get a bit hairy. For one, the small trains are more like buses: one car and a button to push when you want to get off. There is also a 50% chance that your stop won't be called out. I sit a bit white-knuckled through those rides, especially when I don't know what my stop looks like. Everything else is alright. But I am a bit relieved to be in Germany. As long as there won't be any cancelations or delays... *knock on wood*

Time is running out... well, I wish you all safe travels and good times during the holidays!

Tis the Season

Why is there a pile of soggy tissues on the floor? The answer is simple. A movie. Gerard Butler: the Phantom and the Stranger not plays the Dead Husband in this new movie that I won't accept as the coffee-table romance that it might possibly be. Anyway, the movie brought James Blunt back out of the closet:



But what about Austria? For one thing, there's a beautiful layer of snow on the ground. For another, it's nearly Christmas!

Christmas season in Austria:
1.) the Glühwein Stand: a little wooden hutch that sells a motley of hot alcoholic beverages: Glühwein, Punsch, and Glühmost. This time of year, the police are on "special" alert! I think nearly 200 people a week are arrested for drunk driving in my province. Merry Christmas! Stands for mulled wine are usually found in Christkindlmarkts or Weihnachtmarkts. At these places, all manner of food and nick-nackery can be purchased. Usually, there is music and a lively atmosphere. Quite the place to be and they're all over Germany and Austria (I'm not sure about other European countries).

2.)the Weihnachts Feier: the Christmas party! I've had four: archery club, two with teachers, one with the other TAs. Each one was extremely fun. We went to pub restaurants and ate giant meals together. I had spaetzle, bratl in the round, duck, and schnitzle. The thing is, my stomach sorta revolted against all the rich food last night resulting in quite a sick Katie.

3.) the Christkind: Santa Clause doesn't exist over here. There is a St. Nicholaus, who I mentioned earlier. He comes on the 5th of December with the Krampus. But presents are delivered by the Christkind who is, in theory, the Christ child. The only fuzzy logic to this is that the Chrirstkind is a he/she/it. Some of my students argue that it's a girl and others that it's a boy. Either way, it's a slightly angelic creature that delivers the presents, WHICH the children open on the eve of the 24th. Lucky little sods don't have to suffer through that last night of anticipation. ;)

Other than those little bits, I haven't noticed many obvious differences. The Austrians love their real Christmas trees but not the gaudy, tacky bits of Christmas like inflatable Santas and Snowmen. Christmas here seems just a bit more natural, less bought. The snow certainly helps although it's likely to melt within the next few days. Austrians also love their Christmas cookies: cooking 10 varieties in one day and not cooking anymore for the rest of the season - sorta like a burnout.

I'll try and send off one last post before I leave for Berlin. Happy Holidays!

In the classroom

The sky is as gray as my sink faucet. It's 10am and it doesn't seem like Austria is willing to wake up this Saturday morning. Plans were to go to Salzburg but I think my Italian neighbor is sick; she hasn't emerged from her room yet. No worries, I can easily amuse myself in Ried as ride the train the two hours to Salzburg. There's always next Thursday or Saturday for that trip.

The weekends where I stay are a test of my mettle and personal resolve. Mainly because the hot water isn't hot until noon (somehow I always forget to shower on Friday when it's still warm).

This week has been up and down in the classroom. I witnessed twice as two of my favorite teachers chewed out students. Both students were girls. In the one case, the student had spent 20minutes out of class when she had only been allowed 10. The girl then sobbed through 15 minutes of class. I can't stand that kind of outright suffering. Something in me wants to rush over and give comfort, assurance, or encouragement. Her racking sobs were ignored by the teacher and other students and I gradually realized that this sort of thing happens frequently - with this student and possibly others. It was hard for me to ignore the girl's sadness.

The other situation was when a teacher singled out a student who did particularly bad on a recent exam. He addressed her very directly in front of class and told her that she's repetitively making silly mistakes with word usage. The girl silently hung her head and wiped away tears; the suffering was just as loud in my mind.

Harsh, maybe. But this is necessary. This kind of teaching makes you stronger. Sadness and the battle to overcome that sadness makes you so strong. I have trouble recalling anything similar in my own class experience. Oh. Yeah. Damn, except I did. *winces* It was terrible. And I did break down and cry. But if you can't survive a teacher's criticism, how can you survive life? Delicate little flower that I was - I couldn't handle the weight of a water droplet. Except I'm a little stronger now and I know how to handle criticism. I think criticism should be taught. It's not a weapon, it's a tool. Like when you whittle. You cut away everything that doesn't look like a sea lion. Criticism: cut away everything that doesn't look like perfect English.

Anyway, I wish I had the courage and self confidence to criticize so assiduously.

This morning I did some thinking. And wrote a little cold, analytical nonsense that has nothing to do with Austria. If you want something to read, feel free and do comment. But the Austrian segment ends here.




To love is a verb and so is to hate. I think that most people forget this. “I love you,” people say. Or, “I hate your guts.” But for me, these verbs only have substance when they are backed by action. For example, someone makes you breakfast, brings it to you in bed on a tray with a little red flower, kisses you on the forehead, and says, “I love you.” There’s meaning in that.

Conversely, your brother throws your wallet in the toilet after you wouldn’t change the TV channel. So you rip up his baseball card collection and say (or shout), “I hate you.” But he’s your brother so maybe you don’t really hate him at all. You hate your wallet being in the toilet.

That makes me wonder. If someone brings you breakfast in the morning, do you love the act or the person or both? If Fidel Castro brought you breakfast in the morning and said, “I love you,” you’d probably jump out the bedroom window, right? If it’s your boyfriend or husband, he gets more credit at the love bank.

If Adolph Hitler threw your wallet in the toilet, you might shout, “I hate you” or you might just add the act to an already endless list of evil deeds. It’s quite possible that Hitler would throw your wallet in the toilet. And yet the idea of Castro carrying a tray of French toast and orange juice seems far fetched. In conclusion: love can’t exist without a personal foundation, either created as fantasy in our minds or in reality. I can say: “I love this band. They connect with my soul.” But I have trouble saying: “I loath and despise Hitler.” I hate the actions but I have trouble hating the man. We’ve never met (although I certainly don’t like him).

The depth and complexity of the issue is boundless. Take, for example, unconditional love. Does it really exist? Can love really exist without the verb, the action: to love? Can hate exist without the verb, the action: to hate? Can you unconditionally hate someone?

I wonder if unconditional love is something unobservant people tell themselves. I love the way you kiss me goodbye in the morning, the way you do the dishes without being asked, or the way you laugh after a bad joke. Little things equate to unconditional love. But unconditional love is different from parental love, motherly love. It’s true that some mothers don’t love their babies but, on the whole, they do. Even when you don’t see that person or child everyday, you still love them because of the love-credit you’ve built up with them over the years.

Does love-credit exist? Humans have very intricate memories. Because of memory, we unconsciously build up a credit list in our minds of ‘love’ and ‘hate’ – sort of like Santa Clause and his “naughty or nice” list. Therefore, that list can one day expire or be used up. The love-credit can be drained completely and thus the love for another person. When you overdraw on your love-credit account – by having an affair, for example – a deficit is formed with the visage of hate. Breaking trust burns love-credit, tickets to your favorite band in concert create love-credit.

Memory. That’s why goldfish make very good, calming pets. Seven seconds of memory? That leaves no time to hate – no time to love – only time to swim. No love-credit. Only very quick flings with the plastic plants.

Protestants Slouch

Last night I had an experience.

It all started at archery practice. Mondays I usually have ski gymnastics but this Monday was a Catholic holiday - the birth of Mary - although I never had the thought to attend church. Ski gymnastik was canceled so I went to archery instead. Practice went really well. I'd been suffering from a wave of arrow insanity for the past two weeks (my arrows developed a color phobia and would avoid the yellow and red center) but on Monday, I finally "got my groove back".

As we were packing up to go home, one of the instructors (the one that has my last name as a first), asked me if I liked classical music. Hells yeah! He then said something in German, which I translated as: "big church in town _______ concert _______ Mozart_______7:30pm." At the center of Ried, there is a big Catholic church that's the giant red ruby in the crown of the town, I would say. So I ran home, dropped off the bow, ran to the main square, and grabbed a döner kebab for dinner. Then I went to the church.

I had never been inside the church, although I walk by it nearly everyday. Inside, it was breathtaking: tall ceilings, huge murals, and a giant alter of gold where the priests stash the Eucharist(I think). The ambiance was tainted only by two chandeliers of dangling bits of cut glass. Trust me, it looked like something you'd find in a child's barbie house.

OH. I NEARLY FORGOT. They got me again - the Austrians. Remember the mousetrap bread in restaurants? I had the same experience in this church. As soon as I stepped inside, a delightful old and bent German woman pounced on me - offering a candle. Oh, isn't this nice, I thought, just like home. No sooner am I walking away, feeling touched and warm, then a wizened hand grips the corner of my arm. "Ein Euro, bitte." Crap, well, I can't really hand back the candle, could I? So I dug around in my pocket, feeling a bit like a clumsy thief caught, and handed over one Euro.

What I thought would just be a concert turned into a service with music interspersed. Suddenly, I realized the words I hadn't translated earlier when my archery instructor had spoken to me: musical mass, regular service. Ah, well. It was actually quite fun. Catholic services incorporate a lot of ritual so I had to follow along with the Austrians (who I suspect were following the two pews worth of nuns up front). At first I felt like the lamb, dressed up as a wolf, who had been invited to a costume party only to discover that everyone else wasn't pretending to be a wolf. I had about seven inches of pew for the perching - a flat board jutted from the back, forcing me forward and erect. After an hour of sitting, I theorized that kneeling is necessary relief for the spine - pious yet pleasant. Catholics must have very good posture. Oh, and the church wasn't heated. 150 year old stone church, mid December, Austria. I wasn't the only one who kept the hat and gloves.

The evening was capped by a march with our candles around the square outside. The throng of people was quite large and so a man with speakers broadcasted what the priest was saying to us in the back. Only the sound quality wasn't very good and I began to have a peculiar feeling. Imagine: dark, cold night, candles, throng of people marching, some chanting, crackly sound of German broadcasted loudly. UNSETTLING. I was nearly cracking up inside - ok, I was cracking up inside. How do I find myself in these situations? If I have one thing to say about myself, it's that I have had some interesting experiences.

The grand climax to the evening, that had my jaw ajar in blissful ecstasy, was the performance of a tuba/baritone quartet who serenaded the congregation from the open windows of a third story building. Amazing. If sound had a flavor, I would describe it as melted chocolate. Warm, strong, a real rush to the senses. This is better than anything Hollywood, I thought.

I really enjoyed it. I enjoy the discomfort (the harmless discomfort) of feeling out of place. How else can you learn if you don't DO things? And all I had to do was show up. And pay one euro. And freeze for a little bit. But that's time/money/comfort well spent. That's life.

Perchten and Passau

My search for the Krampus has born no fruit. Sadness. I searched in the city – but too early. That night, Friday, the archery club in Ried had its’ Christmas party and, as one of the members arrived, he said that he saw two Perchten marching down the street. A chill went down my spine – a feeling like the devil had been out looking for me but had brushed passed my hiding place. Suddenly, I felt like a rabbit safe in its’ hole.

One night a year not being enough, there will be another “Perchten Lauf” (march of Perchten) in early January. I plan to be ready.

The Christmas party with the members of the club was a lot of fun. I get on well with them and I wonder if I would get along with archery people at home. It’s something to look into. If I can build up some skill, I can fit in with any archery club all over the world. Did you know that archery in South Korea is like football in America? They are supposedly wicked good – having won at the Olympics. And archery in Japan is a whole different ball of wax. Anyway…

On Saturday, I woke with a slightly sick feeling, like the top of my brain was smoldering in the ashes of a fire. I lay dozing, debating for a while: I’d planned on visiting Passau, a nearby town in Germany, and as I contemplated my options, I realized that Saturday was still the only day I could visit. I rolled out of bed and caught a train at noon. My connecting train was canceled and a bus was called (times like those, I REALLY like my German skills). I’m glad of the bus, because the route was breathtaking. Hills, small villages with tiled roofs, rivers, houses and castles that loom out over the water – for the first time in weeks, I felt like I was in Austria (when, in reality, I was in Germany).

Cut scene. Side note: My students ask me all the time: What do Americans think of Austria? Bell number one rings: Sound of Music. My gut tells me that Austria should have hills. My town, on the other hand, is in the 10% of Austria that is as flat as a penny. Go figure. Go ten minutes in any direction and you will find hills. But where I am, you are out of luck. *big heartfelt sigh* The result: I don’t know where I am. The dialect tells me “Austria” but the landscape of town tells me “Ohio” (and not the cool bits of Ohio that snuggle with West Virginia – I mean the boring bits that high-five Indiana).

I miss the Appalachians and the dribbly hills that ooze down into my part of Pennsylvania. With hills and trees, you feel secure. It’s a hard feeling to describe –the land wraps around you, drawing you into safety. In western Ohio, the land arches its’ back (like that silly yoga pose) and pushes you out, away, and towards the sky.

I was really glad to be back in the hills. On top of that, Passau is a gorgeous city. I had about one and a half hours of good light so I ran around taking photos. Passau has so many secret places – small alleyways, tiny shops and cafes, and a waterfront. The huge building featured at the center of town is Stefan’s Dom (Stefan’s Cathedral). Inside, you will find Europe’s largest Church organ. Outside, there is a really cute Christmas market. I ran into a teacher and his family there and we chatted for a bit.

It got dark fairly quickly. I walked slowly back to the train station, browsing shops and windows. Three hours was enough in the cold and wet. It’s funny how things work out because, after the bus ride, I met the TA of that town while waiting for my train. We chatted and swapped phone numbers – sometimes I feel so far from everything but really, we’re not that far apart at all.

Now I am at home and will maintain a relaxing day. Btw, new photos are up!

Hay Day

A week to the day, I stumbled upon a group of students in the school lobby practicing traditional Austrian dance. Much to their chagrin, I caught some on video. Nowadays, whenever you see a video camera, camera, or cellphone taking video, you know that it's going to end up on Youtube:



It's the Christmas season: the students have lots of tests; the parents (mothers and grandmothers) are baking scores of cookies; and the young eagerly await St. Nicholas. St. Nicholas comes on or around the 6th of December, St. Nicholas' Day. In Germany, I had to clean my shoes and put them outside my door. The next day, I found them mysteriously stuffed with chocolate, nuts, and a mandarin orange. Austrians like to take things a little more personal.

St. Nicholas, instead of creeping around at night like he does in Germany, likes to make an appearance. He goes to schools, homes, the town square, and he's usually accompanied by 'bodyguards', called the Krampus. I had wondered why the majority of Austrian children were so well behaved. Apparently, the are scared out of their wits to do anything BUT be good. It could be worse. You could come from a the Salzburg area and have to face Perchten. Horns, homemade masks, and animal fleeces. Judging by the intricacy of some of the costumes, some blokes must spend a heck of a lot of time planning and constructing those things!

It's a nightmare! To think, I was afraid of clowns and Santa Clause at a young age. This leaves me to wonder: are Americans fraidy-cats? Would we gain from this tradition? Is being fearless (or lacking fear of the bizarre) a good thing?

The Krampus are usually young men and boys who chase after small children and pretty girls with sticks, beating them as they flee. The Perchten - I'm not sure what they do. Possibly the same but I would imagine that their looks are damaging enough.

Anyway, that's Friday and Saturday. What are you doing this weekend?