Lesson #11 Misc.

Panic not - yes it’s been another unjustifiably long gap; no that will not mean another (perhaps equally unjustifiably) long post. Rather than babble on about various holidays, I’ll just rootle through (Mum, I blame my vocabulary on you) my diary and find some more Austrian observations.

Firstly and most subjectively, I am more and more convinced that Austrian people ‘look’ Austrian. And less and less able to define exactly what it is that makes them so. But I keep seeing adverts or posters or indeed students and thinking ‘if I saw them in England, I’d know they were Austrian’. Sadly I fear this theory is invalid because not falsifiable, i.e. I am not prepared to test it when I get home by asking possible candidates (“strangers”) whether they are in fact Oesterreicher. Call it British reserve.

Secondly and most lamentably, I have recently had it revealed to me that DJ Oetzi is Austrian. This undermines my opinion of Austrian music somewhat. !

Miscellaneous…

The water here is startlingly blue.

There is a decidedly odd variety of vending machines. Recently I’ve spotted machines dispensing bread, beer and eggs.

Wandering into town the other day I couldn’t help but smile - where else would there be not a shopping trolley or a bike wheel but a ski in the river??

‘Basteln’ - seems to be a loose term for making pictures/collages/anything you fancy out of paper. Last Monday Johannes introduced me to this art, and armed with scissors, sell tape and yellow and white corrugated card we make two pictures which then form part of a whole 3D set-up, including house, office and motorcycle garage for lucky lego people. :D

And to finish, a linguistic experience. Off on another ski-week with one of the schools, I was told one lunchtime that we were sharing the hut with a group from England. I tried to tune in to the conversation - and it was almost painful. After half a week of solid Styrian dialect, it was almost a physical effort! It felt like mentally changing gear - and like changing gear, there was that horrible grating crunch in the middle, where you’re out of one gear but you can’t find the next… (n.b. no I haven’t managed to pass my driving test yet)… suddenly I was able to understand neither the Styrian nor the English and feeling very disorientated! I think part of the reason might have been that the group were from northern England, and the tone was somehow similar to the Austrian dialect…

Finally, I hereby announce the end of the snow-reports: spring is most definitely in the air. And I’m not complaining - the beautiful colours of Austria are back J

Lesson #10 Sun snow and sonstiges :)

Let’s start with the Schnee! Which, although hardly copious, has impinged at least a little bit on my life these past two weeks. Plus I feel entirely justified in going on about it so much as it’s a public obsession here ;) Anyway. My reaction to the first flakes was, naturally, to go for a run in it (well the local joggers aren‘t dissuaded, indeed I’ve had the embarrassing experience of passing a group of my students - luckily they were the ones jogging…). Running in the snow turned out not to be the soft pleasant experience I’d imagined. It’s intense though - harshness in my lungs, fierce flecks in my eyes and an icy cold wet face while the rest of me overheats. And a sharp melting feeling when I finally stop and go inside. Melting, incidentally, is what the snow insists on doing on a regular basis, so we have not as yet had a proper white-out for more than a day or so. The closest we’ve been was last Saturday, when we really did have a fall - enough to necessitate walking boots for any kind of outdoor excursion! I went to Bruck and walked round, bewildered as to why the world hadn’t stopped for snowball fights and snowmen. In fact most people looked fairly irritated by the white wonder, heads down and umbrellas up (I’d not even thought of that!). Although there were one or two families with small children out enjoying it. I have to say that by the time I got home I started to understand - snow is beautiful, but it needs to stop in order to be appreciated!!

It did make my first Maturaball that little bit more exciting though. The Maturaball is like our leaver’s ball for year 13, except that over here it happens much earlier, and is, it seems, a much grander affair. (Me and Alix and Kurt - the Bruck assistants - did attempt to attend one before, but having arrived in all our finery and deposited our coats in the cloakroom we were told there were no tickets, and were left to slink out as unobtrusively as possible and head to the Italian). This time Nicola came down from Murau which was lovely, because a) she’s great and b) she’s been to one before so knows the protocol! Poor old Otto (the car) was thus taken on an exciting snowy journey, along a motorway that had suddenly lost its lane markings, and left under a lamppost to accumulate snow while Nicola and I squeak our way to the door. Open-toed shoes were perhaps not the ideal choice, making our entrance giggly rather than glamorous, but we soon recover our sense of propriety and attempt to divest ourselves of red ski jackets as soon as possible.
Apparently the first thing to do is to find a good spot from which to watch the Polonais, the choreographed dance traditionally performed by the leaving students. This we duly do, only to be foiled at the last minute when all the adoring parents (at their specially reserved tables) stand up to film their darlings promenading in, so we only get glimpses. I can’t really see the dance, but the girls are beautiful, stunning in white dresses with pink rose bouquets, and the boys look surprisingly dashing in black suits and pink ties - and shades, as, in the middle of the Viennese Walz, #Nod Your Head!# breaks out over the speakers and the dance moves undergo radical change! I have to say, it’s undeniably cool.
Once the official dance is over it’s the turn of the parents to dance proudly with their leavers, and then the floor is open. It’s the rule rather than the exception here that people know how to dance - walz, polka, cha-cha and even rock and roll - everyone knows the steps, even if they can’t always execute them that well! Am unashamedly envious of Nic who’s been taking lessons and clearly knows what she’s doing when Markus (lovely guy from church whose son I am helping with English) takes her onto the floor. He’s a gentleman though and takes me for a twirl too! I’m not whirling wonderfully the way I’d hoped, but he’s very patient and it’s great fun :D
At midnight it’s time for something completely different… the leavers have prepared a performance piece to entertain us all! And what a performance - everyone gives their absolute all, it’s amazing! Celebrating 100 years of the school, they start with Kaiserin Sisi and violins, and then give us a whistle-stop tour of the decades, each section divided by a walking clock and a guy wearing Lederhosen and playing the accordion. The acts range from the sublime to the silly and back again, highlights including Jailhouse Rock, hippy happiness, a rather random cactus song with unfathomable actions and a very convincing Michael Jackson. I’m particularly curious to discover what they’ll use to represent the 90s, my decade (as I see it!). I can‘t think what it might be… until on come 5 perfectly choreographed guys in jeans and clean white shirts. A Boyband made in heaven! They’re soon joined by Britney and gang, and once again I am left gob smacked at the dancing. Either every Austrian is incredibly gifted on the floor, or else there are a lot of very quick costume changes going on!!
We end up staying til 2. The live band plays the whole time, and though most of the students disappear into the disco there are still plenty of people walzing and cha-cha-ing away. Apparently the non-leavers will be kicked out at 3, and then at 5 the leavers are served champagne breakfast… quite a do, all told! It leaves me still in two minds about balls - in many ways they’re lovely things and I could wish we had more of them; beautiful people, beautiful dancing, fun and girly giggles and boys trying so hard… On the other hand the tension of looking at ease, the pain in your feet, the constant expectation and constant disillusionment all at once… It reminds that at heart I’m not a ball person, but I hope that for the leavers it was a truly wonderful night.

Sticking with the dancing theme, the Thursday before the ball fellow-assistant Alix, her visiting boyfriend Toni and I went to ‘Nacht der Musicals’. There too the dancing was amazing and the singing great aswell, although I couldn’t help but notice that where a singer can’t quite pronounce the English words it really affects the song’s impact. And most of the show was sung in English. They did include a few Austrian musicals though and I’m determined to see them. Mozart’s homeland still has a lot to say musically, it seems! The show opened with my beloved Romeo und Julia, and I forgave them the fact that I stood for the whole evening in order to be able to see anything. One song and I was drawn in, slipping easily into a world where everything is clearer, sharper, and softer.
After a fantastic Abba finale the cry goes up: “Zunahme! Zunahme! Actually, it’s much better suited for enthusiastic football-crowd-style chanting than our ‘Encore’:
“Zu - nah - me!” “Zu - nah - me!”
And it beats having to prove your enthusiasm by enduring the pain of extended clapping! Anyway, the cast were sweetly candid about having something prepared, but I wasn’t prepared for the something. ‘Ein bisschen interactive Musical’… I never envisioned myself standing in a concert hall doing The Time Warp with 800 Austrians.

To be fair, neither did I ever imagine standing in front of a class to hear the teacher say, perfectly seriously, ‘So come on, what can you tell Fiona about the social life of dolphins?’ But such was my most recent experience of Abendschule: evening school run for adults at the technical school. More cheerful than the usual second-language topics at least!

What else have I been doing? I have been abandoned by Alix, who is swanning off to Russia (although her flat was more of an ugly-duckling mess when I went round t o say goodbye ;) ). Have been back at the Gymnasium, being helloed in the corridors by various random year 3s (year 8 for us) so I must have left some sort of impression on the ski trip. Have provided the church youth group with something approximating to English Afternoon Tea (at least, it involved jam, cucumber, and PG tips). I have also, for the musically inclined, discovered the existence of the mysterious Austrian ‘H’ chord, which apparently on the guitar corresponds to one of our Bs. :S
I have lost my phone. I have cleaned everything in the flat. I have spent a happy hour bashing away at ice with large sticks in an attempt to free fish from the perils of an ice-covered pond with Johannes and discovered how lovely it is to achieve a pointless aim. And lessons with my private pupils have taught me that Austrians have different playing cards and left me pondering over the difference between a filter, a strainer and a sieve…

:D

Lesson #9 Fog on the brain...

Let’s kick-start with a weather whinge! Serves me right for complaining last time I suppose, but now the non-snow has moved from sunny warmth to grey foggy wetness. Predictions of snow range from tomorrow to the end of February, and indeed I may well give up any kind of weather reporting in the interim as it’s just going to get more and more whiny! In general, I have noticed an unwelcome streak of ingratitude in my outlook since being back in Austria. Before Christmas almost every day felt like a gift from God and I could see so many things to be thankful for. Now I struggle to be genuinely grateful. I think it’s a combination of missing people at home after such a lovely holiday, and of coming back with different expectations. I went out originally expecting the worst time my life and was wonderfully surprised - maybe this time there has been something of a reverse. Hopefully even this post will play its part in reminding me of everything I have to be thankful for!

So. First week back was a mish-mash of organisational faffing, the odd bit of teaching and a renewed relationship with Spar (I‘d forgotten it has its own smell…). Thanks to the pleasant disorganisation of the beginning of term I have so far only had 6 lessons all told! Despite this lack of work I have finally been paid and have a few Euros to my name. Plus I officially live here on a long-term basis and have the extra paperwork to prove it. Getting reacquainted with my bike has been an interesting experience - as predicted by several teachers, bike riding in January is a rather dangerous practice, but this is due to mud rather than ice. Have had a few hairy-scary moments but no slimy catastrophe as yet…

To be honest, I don’t really feel like I’ve managed to settle back in again. I was astonished at how far away it all seemed as soon as I was back home, and somehow the sense of that is still there. I haven’t immediately slotted back in the way I did at home, but nor do I have that exciting feeling of freshness about it all. Most annoying. I choose to blame the fog, and in fact last Sunday, as we set off for ski week, the beautiful pink-tinged sky framing the mountains in gently frosty air gave me a real lift of the heart. My pretty Austria is still out there…
Ski week! Yes, last week I joined 9 teachers and 94 kids from the Gymnasium for their ski course. It’s quite a different set-up from our school ski trips at home - it happens during term-time, the teachers themselves are qualified instructors, and kids have to have a reason NOT to go. This does mean you get quite a few ‘ill’ at various points during the week… Oh yes, and of course everyone has their own kit. I got some very odd looks on announcing I was just off to hire some boots.

We set off on Sunday morning, and there was some panic as I arrived ‘late’ (i.e. only 5 minutes early) to a severe lack of seat-space. Happily a place was found, and I was pleased to be reminded that some things cross all boundaries of nationality - breeds of bus-driver being one such thing. Ours was of the gruff friendly ‘do-what-ya-like-but-don’t-do-x’ type, and with a long blast of the horn we were off. (Interestingly, Happy Birthday seems to be another border-crosser. A couple of the students turned 13 mid-week and as well as a rowdy German song we had Happy Birthday, sung in English. Apparently this is completely normal.)
Twas very strange to arrive at ski pistes within four hours rather than 24! In spite of the lack of real snow the skiing was fantastic, all the more so since we started as soon as we’d unpacked. I’d like to feel I did England proud, despite that incident with the sheet ice and friendly tree, and it’s true I was in the fastest group - but as mentioned earlier, these guys are 7 years younger than me…
I confess I started the week feeling very unofficial, as it was clear noone knew what role or responsibilities I was supposed to have and so as a result I ended up having none. While this feeling didn’t fade with time, everyone was so friendly that I soon felt at least legitimate if not particularly useful! And I gradually learnt to deal with the banter - I think Austrians are even more sarcastic than Brits…Relationship to the kids remained fairly ambiguous: I don’t teach any of them so they don’t know me, and my ski-group estimated my age at 15, but the fact that I was sat at the Teachers Table made things confusing, I think! However, managed to chat to a few, and definitely won the respect of some of the girls after playing on the teachers’ team in the football tournament! Will never cease being grateful to my Dad for getting me into the game, I’ve lost count how many boundaries it’s helped me over in the past!
Anyway it was BRILLIANT to get a chance to ski and I mostly enjoyed the week in all it’s various oddness. Plus on an afternoon trip to Saalbach I proved I’m well and truly a Hanlon, with their innate ability for ridiculously inappropriate dress in posh hotels. I have photos to prove it. And while recovering after skiing I discovered 2 genuine Austrian soaps: all wealthy but complicated people, gold flattering light and melodramatic music… It’s not Eastenders out here!!

Since being back, have however resisted temptation to watch it compulsively and have instead started in all earnestness on my project. But now, the end of another week means it’s time to go fight with the Evil Washing Machines. Hope I can convince them not to eat my clothes this time…

Lesson #8 December

Well obviously keeping up with my blog is one of my New Year’s resolutions, so expect a flurry of enthusiastic anecdotes before I dry up again some time in February.

I’ll kick us off with a weather report, which unfortunately means a whinge. Not only is there no snow, but it’s so warm (well, un-cold anyway) that I’ve been wandering around without a coat on! My hopes of winter wonderland have thus taken a cruel blow. Looks like I’ll be waiting a bit longer. Still, it was nice to be able to do some reconnaissance with sunshine blinding me over the mountains.

In defence of my lack of blogging, December was a busy month in the best possible way with (in reverse order!) a mini Austro-Spanish Christmas party, a visit to Nicola in valley-bound Murau and then Salzburg, and a long weekend in beautifully snowy Katschberg with Katrin and family (I’ve built my snowman, I can’t really complain…). The first faint pangs of what could have become homesickness were fended off by the arrival of Katie on December 1st. She stayed 5 days and certainly got to experience the interesting side of Austria! The week before she arrived I’d been hearing various tales and rumours of something odd that was to happen on the Tuesday night, but nothing prepared us for the event!

In Austria, our Father Christmas is a rare and relatively new phenomenon - instead, here there is something called the Christkindl who brings the presents. I’ve heard different stories from different students, but most agree it’s an angel, some say she’s a girl, and a few give her long curly hair. She delivers the presents on Christmas Eve while the children are away, and in some houses she decorates the tree as well! However Father Christmas does come to Austria in his original guise of St Nicolas (Nikolaus). On December 5th Nikolaus visits, bringing with him small presents and sweets. Unfortunately he also brings a companion in the form of Krampus, a horned demon covered in goat hair and armed with a birch switch, who wears a cowbell to warn you of his coming. His activities vary depending on what part of Austria you’re in - as Katie and I discovered while desperately scouring the internet trying to work out exactly what was about to knock on our door...

Having found nothing, we meet up with Alix in Bruck that evening to see it all for ourselves. To start with everything is quite lovely - we wander round looking at the small Christmas market and the only Krampus’ we see are about 6 years old and very cute in their horns and fluff. And more concerned about staying close to Mum than hitting anyone. Sweet as these baby Krampus’ are (we even spot a girl one), as time passes disappointment threatens. Does this really require extra police and lead to serious debate about the difference between Krampus-related fun and charges of assault?? It all seems quite tame… and yet in the background are the far-off sounds of firecrackers, cow-bells, and even screams…

Never fear, Krampus is most definitely here. Sipping coffee in Bruck main square, we suddenly hear an almighty clanging of cow-bells. A whole gang of Krampus’ is rapidly approaching across the street - these ones are big and their menacing walk is fast and purposeful. Failing to take into account the implications of being three girls standing alone, and trusting in Katrin’s assurance that Krampus doesn’t hit girls he doesn’t know, we make the mistake of taking photos. Katie sees the danger first, and just as her warnings reach squeaking-point, we run! Flying across the square through the fountain - which happily doesn’t decide to turn itself back on - I’m pursued by clanking bells and pounding feet. Two hard thwacks across the back of the legs with what feels like a handful of sticks, and Krampus leaves off to pursue other prey, leaving me breathless and covered in coffee, but very much entertained!

After such an experience we most definitely need a Gluhwein. For the next half and hour or so we stand by the stall - which has kindly left out plates of Lebkuchen and free-standing heaters - and observe: baby Krampus’ being teased by bigger ones or fighting each other, teenage girls running squealing here and there being chased or shuffling about huddled in protective groups, Krampus stalking around everywhere. Some groups of girls seem to be each following a particular Krampus, whether as fans or for safety is not clear! As the evening goes on you can spot bigger Krampus’ taking their heads off for a chat or a smoke, which renders them somewhat less threatening. Boys who aren’t dressed as Krampus group down one end of the square and engage in a few risky games with firecrackers.

A bit later things get more official, with for or five very elaborate Krampus’ getting on stage to do a kind of dance with lots of smoke and red light. These ones pose for people’s photos and are generally more austere for all that they look more like the real deal. A procession follows, with poor old St Nikolaus heading the whole rabble of Krampus of all shapes and sizes. Watching, I’m a bit sad that I can’t feel more involved. If it was at home we’d be concocting elaborate plans to get revenge on the boys, but here we’re only observers, tourists who got momentarily caught up in it. But it was still really good fun, and looking back as me, Kt and Alix take advantage of the distraction and shuffle off to a restaurant for dinner, I get the impression that Gluhwein and conviviality - and random (but hopefully restrained) violence - will continue long into the night.

That’s it for first post of 2007. If you don’t hear from me again you could assume I’m lazy but that would be uncharitable - it’s more likely that I haven’t made it through my first weekend back. I hadn’t realised that today is holiday, so we’ll have to see whether I can stretch out my stockpile of soup and tinned pasta to last Monday. Am going to go rootle through the freezer to see if I’ve got any forgotten veggie sausages. Wish me luck…

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.