Disappointment, disillusionment, disgust...

To the point. The fact is, I have now spent at least 2 weeks shivering in expectant fear, waiting for the famous Austrian snow. As dark clouds continue to dissolve in unpleasant wetness, I have now reached my conclusions.

It does not exist.

It's all a calculated gimmick to get the tourists in. Once they arrive they are overwhelmed with strudel and Sturm and forced to spend so much time in pubs staring at Ski posters that they end up convinced that the Goesser beer advert is their holiday photo.
Or perhaps British rain is just too attached to me and has followed me across Europe to shower me with love. Either way, cloud after cloud has dissolved in disappointing wetness and my bike is hindered not by sparkling snowdrifts but by their poor relative, the rather more prosaic muddy puddle. Bleh.

Still, am nonetheless enjoying the whole coming home, peeling off wet things, making a nice cup of tea and munching Lebkuchen thing. A perfect cultural mix, I feel! Kapfenberg persists in the winter-is-coming charade. Christmas lights have gone up in the town centre, so sneakily that I’m still in two minds as to whether they weren’t there all along. They haven’t been turned on as yet, which seems nicely restrained, and another milestone to look forward to.

A quiet week (ended with a lovely visit from Nicola and Otto, Austrian Car extraordinaire!), so will find some small things of note…

- they really do eat sweet pancakes for lunch in Austria. Indeed, it’s normal enough for them to serve it for school dinner. Can’t say I’m as big a fan as you might expect.

- have become fed up of getting odd looks every time I walk everywhere. Maybe I’m paranoid, [EDIT I am paranoid - noone else has this problem!] but it seems to me that drivers give you most bewildered and rather cross looks if you‘re anywhere near a main road, even when you’re just strolling along a pavement. However, joggers are accepted as perfectly normal, anywhere and everywhere, even when jogging ON the road with no pavement in sight! Have therefore taken to running to and from places instead, particularly in the dark.

- attempts to plan a lesson on ‘British culture’, which would involve defining ‘British culture’ and indeed ‘Britishness’ resulted in brain implosion. Having visited various websites on the subject, most of which were far too busy being politically correct to actually address the question, came to my personal conclusion that the only thing that defines ‘Britishness’ is worrying about what Britishness is.

- first attempt at Green shopping. My list was comical, including such lovelies as ’green broccoli substitute’. Trip was fairly successful: a bit more time-consuming than usual since I had to scrutinise the label of all the veg, but quite fun, and I discovered lots of completely unknown vegetables that come from Austria, and will be experimented with. Cabbage has become a passable broccoli-replacement, and it turns out that Austrians have their own bumpier brand of cucumber, so I needn’t give that up.

Tschuss - here's to a white week! And after I went all the way to Bruck for a Fair trade woolly jumper...

Lesson #6 Exploring Austria, take 1.

Am now officially caught up, so posting will henceforth be kept to once a week.

6th-12th

I was hoping to give an account of my first proper Austrian excursion, attempted on Saturday, but by objective standards it was something of a failure. I went looking for the Hundertwasser Kirche, a church redesigned in the 80s by amazing architect Hundertwasser (does not believe in straight lines, believes in nature in the most logical and realistic way, ditto people, ditto the environment - check him out http://www.hundertwasserhaus.at/1st.html http://www.phototravels.net/vienna/vienna-hundertwasser-photos.html). However, on arrival at the town I found myself somewhat constrained as to time, and then managed to spend most of it wandering round in a big frosty circle of random industriality and supermarkets. Ended up strolling along a main road being glared at by bemused Austrian drivers. And then, just ahead of me, glinting through the trees - there it was! A golden Zwiebelturm… (onion tower, the mark of Hundertwasser). I reached for my camera, focussed, clicked - and was interrupted by the sound of my alarm informing me it was time to go back to my train. Nonotin5minutesNOW.
So I didn’t get to see the building or meet the tree tenants. However, I did glimpse hints of prettiiness behind the concrete blocks, and I was towered over by some more Real mounatins, and I did get to spend lots of time on trains with a book, brioche kipferl and FairTrade coffee. A most comfortable disaster. And I shall return!

Anyway, frost was the only weather of the week worth reporting, but last week’s snow flurry has clearly kick-started preparations for winter. All the buses are now carrying large heaps of chains, I think as tow-rope. Several teachers have asked, with varying levels of motherly concern, whether I have ‘warm things’ with me. In fact on Monday I had every intention of buying myself a winter hat and coat, but once inside the shopping centre I was so warm I couldn’t face it! However, I have started making contingency plans on the bus timetable for when snow/ice/the yeti puts my bike out of action.
Am also left with a puzzle. Realised that the vast majority of houses here have pointed triangular rooves, presumably to let the snow slide off. Said rooves are also covered in spikes, presumably to keep the snow on. =?
Aside from anything else, I’m reluctant to buy anything so big as a coat at the moment because the Austrian government has not yet seen fit to pay me. This rather dampened my enthusiasm for the milestone moment of buying my second Month Bus Ticket.

Another item of interest - on my first week at the academic school I picked up a magazine which turns out to be by the Left Youth, youth part of the Socialist party, left in the school for the elections (would that be allowed in England?). Anyway, reading it I found a criticism of the ex-education minister. One of her crimes was support for (they haven’t introduced it yet) the introduction of nationwide standards on school-leaving exams. At the moment the Matura, the A-level equivalent, is set and marked within schools, so there is no way of comparing pupils from different schools. Instead, universities set their own entrance tests. The magazine put forward the view that to introduce nationwide standards would be to bring unwelcome market values and competition among students into education. Interesting.

Small excitement - lovely evening at the cinema on Wednesday, and was really pleased to be able to notice a definite improvement in comprehension. Last year watching Madagascar in German I’d say I understood about 20%. On Wednesday it was closer to 80! :D Incidentally, there were no adverts at all (or pizza or ’anything similar’ according to a strict but baffling sign on the door. As Alix said, similar in what way? Are they particularly against Italian food??). On the subject of comprehension, on Friday I babysat Katrin’s daughter Emilia. Was more than slightly nervous at the prospect of looking after a 2year-old who speaks Spanish and German indiscriminately, but we had a really lovely time and (usually) understood each other. I even got a very wet kiss goodbye!

Last thing to report - thanks to Mum’s wonderful no-scales recipe, my cake-baking skills are now famous among both flatmates and teachers.
And next week, I am upping my environmental efforts. Only Austrian fruit & veg, which means no broccoli or cucumber…
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lesson #5 ...and down South!

5 days holiday last week meant a trip down to Croatia! Nicola having had the courage to buy herself an Austrian car, we head off with apples, Prinz biscuits and regulation tow-rope. Aside from the usual speed-related problems faced by Brits abroad (being overtaken by a coach was a new experience), trip involves negotiating mountain passes, Slovenian petrol stations lacking the right kind of petrol, interesting radio experiences (Come and Ride the Love Caravan, Super Trouper in Croatian…), perfecting the U-turn, finding youth hostels in strange dark cities with half a map, compelling sunsets, good music and picnics n pizza in the car by the sea.
And a few highlights

- LJUBLJANA
It’s close to 10pm when we arrive but we decide to have a look anyway, one of the best decisions we ever made. The first thing we notice about Ljubljana is the graffitti. The next is that it’s a city of contrasts: we walk from down-and-out Belgrade to flawless Prague in 10 minutes. Sedate pillars quietly light still black water, bubbling people stroll pumpkin-lined streets (it was October 31st), beautifully lit buildings in green and gold arch and frame the night. Night-time is the time to first see this, my perfect city, but in the day it’s equally captivating. It’s the morning of November 1st when we explore, a public holiday, and so we have the city to ourselves. We wander deserted streets of dry autumn leaves and they are streets out of my daydreams. Cobbled. Narrow. Lovely but lived-in, and shabby in all the right places, with pavement cafes and red flowers, balconies and breathing space.
Incidentally, an audio-visual presentation on Ljubjlana’s history (yes it was cool, 3D glasses and everything) got me thinking. Happened to mention some Slovene writer of international renown - I realised I would never think to seek out a translation of a writer from Slovenia. Or Croatia or Japan or Sweden or wherever. It’s so frustrating - my main motivation for a language degree is the thought of tripling the amount of books I can read, but there are people ALL OVER THE WORLD writing things I need to read, thinking observing and writing, right now and for centuries. Everywhere. Arrrgh.

-RIJEKA
Mentioned in the guide as a transport hub not worth visiting, it’s certainly a change from Ljubljana! First impressions are of sun, sea and strong wind, and then what in my little head is filed as ‘Eastern European city life’: purposeful people, cars parked everywhere (including on the pavement), rough around the edges and a no-nonsense feel. The presence of postcards and an excitable old lady inside the one ‘pretty’ church indicates that tourists in the town are not unheard of, but truth be told, the only reason to stay was the view - out over the blue Adriatic, green foothills and snow-topped pink mountains rising behind. And the best part of Rijeka was seeing the beautiful city lights in the rear view mirror as we drove away that night.

-PULA
Another city that leaves me aching to wander down every little street. But the Roman Amphitheatre really needs a mention. Despite being hemmed in by fairly non-descript buildings and surrounded by men selling seashells, it still holds its own. There’s something about the arches that attracts and holds your eye, especially against a bright blue sky. Without ever realising it, I’d always wanted to go into an amphitheatre. Maybe it seems like a space for daydreaming, but once inside I really wasn’t sure what to think. Couldn’t help pondering what it was once for. It seemed faintly untouchable: nothing will ever connect me with that world. Nowadays they hold concerts there. I want to go back and climb all over it.

-ROVINJ
Only a tiny town, but worth our visit because it manages to be a combination of Venice and Sherringham so has my unconditional love. I enjoy just meandering up narrow cobbled streets (starting to understand what make a good holiday in Fi’s book?!) under peeling walls and wet washing, occasionally getting a glimpse of the sea. Strangest weather, the sun shining through the rain. I can also testify to the good working condition of Rovinj’s bell, since we were standing under it in the tower when it rang!

Last thing to mention is the journey back. My train journey home along the valley may become an afternoon activity all of itself, it’s so lovely. The train is deliciously slow, stopping in every hamlet and drifting past flat alpen-green valleys with little playdough-perfect mountains behind and then grey snowy peaks lurking in the distance. This time it’s even lovelier because everything has that strange yellow glow you get when the sun is sinking behind you. I really feel like I’m coming home, even though Austria is still somewhere foreign. The rolling pines, village churches, hilltop castles and distant peaks are all to me unmistakeably Austrian and somehow welcoming. It’s an easy place to love.

Lesson #4 Heading up North...

During the heady first few days of school, and in obedience to strict stipulation from the British Council in regard to accepting invitations, I had signed myself up for a day-trip to a car-factory, with a very friendly member of staff whose name still escapes me, but who is always referred to in my diary as Eccentric Kidnapper Teacher after having whisked me away to his computer laboratory down in the catacombs within an hour of my entering the school. (English is a dangerous commodity when possessed in large quantities, advertise at your own risk.) Last Monday was the day of said trip.

Turned out to be a visit to the BMW factory in Steyr, a good 2.5hours away by coach and not the brief low-key jaunt I’d expected! However, spare time is book time in Fi’s wonderful new world, so I spent a happy journey in the company of a paperback friend. I tried not to feel guilty for not looking out of the window the whole time. The landscape was as always confusingly wonderful, but my first glimpse of snow was a real moment. Heading up North, I expected successively bigger peaks, so was somewhat disorientated to look up from my book as we approached our goal and find the mountains had vanished! The world seemed much smaller now that the horizon simply stopped, without any obvious rocky reason.

On arrival at the factory I discovered that sadly my enthusiasm for all things in German is not unbounded. Much as I appreciated 4 hours of solid exposure, detailed technical explanations regarding the production of bearings (what now??) are never going to keep me interested, or even awake, whatever language they are delivered in. It finally put paid to a secretly-cherished image of myself as someone who could be interested in anything if she put her mind to it.
In mitigation, I’d like to point out that the odds were stacked against me as soon as we crossed the boundary between states. The guide had YET ANOTHER dialect with YET ANOTHER accent to match. Still, we got to spend the day in fluorescent visability jackets with radio sets, the year abroad once again coming up trumps when it comes to unexpected experiences.

Plus, I learnt that BMW recycles 97% of it’s own waste in the same factory. However, I’m not sure that justifies their ‘environmentally friendly car’ claim, repeated in the advertisement-cum-recruitment-drive videos they insisted on sandwiching around the tour.
More green thinking to follow.

Lesson #3 Why I love it here

Am already behind with this thing, but since that’s fairly characteristic of me as regards communications of any kind, I expect it’s expected. Suffice it to say that the week before last family arrived for a few days, and I was too busy showing them the sights to post. In a more honest version of events, I would say that they showed me the sights! Put Hanlons in a car and they seem to have an uncanny knack of finding stunning mountain views at every turn. Or perhaps it’s because Austria is built out of such views?
One deserves special mention though. On Saturday we went up one of the higher moutains by means of a chair-lift, which with true environmental sensibilities gives a remarkably convincing impression of being shut until you’ve stood looking at it for a bit, at which point a friendly young man pops out to set it going for you. Anyway, we set off up this in dubious-looking weather, and were chased off at the top by rain. But being Hanlons we weren’t about to allow the weather to get in the way of a walk, so after Kasetoast and Wurstl we turned our faces - or at least our boots - upwards (incidentally, someone needs to help me convince the Austrians that they have their condiments the wrong way round. Ketchup goes with sausage and mustard goes with cheese toasties - it just doesn’t work the other way).
Once we got higher the clouds cleared and when we turned round, there it was. Valleys and pine trees and hidden moutain-top greens, villages and sunspots and winding roads, clouds, mist and menace and towering rock, with sun rays and rain jostling each other on every peak… It made me cry, simply out of desperation for a strong enough response.

Sitting on the top, eating Milka chocolate and Lebkuchen, Dad and I consider the possibilities of getting from where we were to the jagged ridge beyond and so right into this large-as-life landscape for adventure. But it’s enough just knowing it’s there. Something so big should stay out of reach, for fear that by grasping it we squeeze it small and manageable.