So what next?

So again, it's been awhile since I posted anything, so I'll just catch you up on the big news, which most of you who read this should know by now. But just in case you hadn't heard...

I'll be staying for another year in Austria! I was accepted for a placement in Weiz--the town 30 minutes from Graz where I happen to be teaching now. The suprising thing about the placement is that I will remain at the technical school, and it will become my home school; this is something we'd requested but were told it was impossible to change home schools or to break the connection between Birkfeld and Weiz. Teaching in Birkfeld was great--the students, faculty, and the school itself were great--but waking up at 5 am for 4 days a week was not something I really wanted to repeat next year. Next year I can wake up at the reasonable hour of 6 am (my, my, how my concept of reasonable hours has changed!) and enjoy the beautiful commute through the countryside to Weiz. My home school will be the technical school with all the boys, and my second school will be in the same building and--for good balance--mostly girls! So really, it's quite a good arrangement. And now that I'm in the same school for another year, I'll really have to learn these guys' names!!

It's also quite noteworthy to mention that I've begun to receive visitors! (*hint, hint*) The week before Easter, 3 friends from New York came out for Spring Break in Austria, and we had a blast traipsing around Graz, further into Styria, and beyond to Vienna. They have the honor of being the first from back home to visit me in Austria, and aside from the fun and the laughter and the adventure they brought with them, they brought enough warm fuzzies and I-love-you-guys moments to last me for quite some time.

Last weekend I also had the chance to meet up with my aunt and cousin in Venice! I'd never been to Venice before, but since Venice is between me in Austria and my cousin in London (just go with it!), we met up there for a long weekend of countless photo opps and rich Italian food. It was fantastic to see family again, and seeing Venice--the city that hasn't changed in hundred of years--was intriguing. More warm fuzzies!

I've got more visits in the works for May and August, so if you want to jump onboard and follow suit, feel free... :)

Coming soon: Graz's ridiculous new cell phone law...

An authentic Austrian Easter

**The Austrian version of palm fronds for Palm Sunday: pussy willow!

Yes, yes, Easter has come and gone. But unfortunately I was not on top of things to give you a report on Austrian Christmas traditions, so although it's already late in the season, I am going to report on Austrian Easter traditions. This year I was fortunate enough to experience my first Austrian Easter--and an authentic one at that! What better way to celebrate the Resurrection than in a tiny village full of Catholic tradition in the Austrian countryside?

**The Fasching Tuesday parade in Graz.

It's probably fair to say that we first start observing Easter traditions with the day before Ash Wednesday--on Fasching, or carneval. (...Think Mardi Gras, Austrian style...) My school was off that day, so I went into town with some friends to watch the Fasching parade. If Halloween is an excuse for Americans to dress in costume, act silly, and party hard, then Fasching is the Austrian equivalent--on Fasching Tuesday the streets are bursting with children and adults alike in various stages of costume and disguise. Many of the adults' costumes get highly creative, and the children's are of your classic trick-or-treating variety. Businesses and schools (those in session, that is) close at noon and hoards of people spill into the streets to watch the parade--your typical variety show of bands, organizations, cartoon characters, traditionally-clad Austrians, etc. After the parade, if you can survive the crowd crush, you can find one of the several stands downtown giving away free Krapfen, or Austrian-style jelly-filled donuts of JFK fame. As Krapfen are pretty addictive, we had no problems helping the town rid itself of its donut-y surplus.

**The Americans with their Krapfen. Yum!

After the raucous partying of Fasching Tuesday begins the time of Lent, or as the German word so appropriately denotes, "fasting time." Austria is a historically Catholic country, and that tradition continues into today's society. The majority of people I meet would describe themselves as Catholic, meaning that they're from a Catholic family or went to mass (at least for holidays) as a child. According to the Austrian Roman Catholic church, 68.5% of Austrians at the end of 2005 identified themselves as Catholic; however, only 9% of the population goes to church every week. Based on observation and what many young people would tell you, that 9% is OLD. In fact, in 2005, 16% of the population was 65+ years old...so you do the math.

That being said, Easter is one of the holidays that everyone likes to get in on. Even those who don't observe Lent may start preparing for Holy Week on Palm Sunday by bringing home a palm frond. But this term is deceiving--whereas you would see plenty of palm fronds in America on Palm Sunday, in Austria you will see pussy willow! This was actually a tricky play on words for me, as the German word for pussy willow (Palmkätzchen, or the decorative Easter variety of Palmbuschen or Palmstecken) contains what sounds like "palm." Naturally I assumed it to be like the palm of my own Palm Sundays, and I found myself in one of those confusing conversations with an Austrian friend explaining what "palm" meant in my country! It wasn't until days later I figured out that my friend was actually describing pussy willow and not just some fuzzy mutant growth of palm leaves. Back in the day, the pussy willow was blessed and then placed in convenient locations around the home and farm--in the attic, behind the crucifix, in the cattle stall, in the bee hives, scattered in the fields, etc.--to protect against afflictions such as illness, lightning, housefire, war, natural disasters, and so on. Part of the pussy willow's appeal as a seasonally holy plant was its nurtritional and healing powers; in times of want it could be dried and pulverized to be used as an additive in nutritionally inadequate meals. In this way, the pussy willow tradition in this area is both practical and celebratory.

And let us not forget one of the most prominent symbols of Easter: the Easter egg! Easter eggs--both dyed and decorated--are found in abundance here. The Easter market that sets up in the town square during Holy Week offers a wide variety of hand-painted and impressively hand-carved Easter eggs that can be hung as decoration. Traditionally Maundy Thursday is the day that the eggs are dyed and these particular eggs (as well as the ones dyed on Good Friday) are thought to have particular powers, especially in the area of love.

**And actual lamb, found near the Easter eggs in the Easter market! I like to think he was cute, and not meant for Easter lunch!

On Good Friday, the bells go silent. You may recall the post with all the town bells ringing out together--for three days they are still. As a sign of somberness and reverence the bells will cease on Good Friday, and it is said that the bells fly to Rome to be blessed. Out in the countryside, the old tradition sometimes lives on: during these three days, children run through the town with noisemakers at particular intervals to signal the time of day. Thus, the townspeople in the days before watches and cell phones could continue to know the time until the Resurrection, when the bells will ring again.

On Holy/Black Saturday around 11 am or so, the townsfolk walk through town to the church with baskets full of meat, eggs, and bread. There the priest will bless the food, which will then be eaten later as an Osterjause, or Easter snack. A local tradition in the town where I teach is also the distribution of the holy fire. At the blessing of the meat, eggs, and bread, the priest will also burn incense in a fire and bless the fire; the children of the town will then each take a bit of the holy fire in a bucket and go door to door, offering to light the fires in the ovens of the people in town. For this they are given a small monetary gift. Later that evening everyone will go to mass and celebrate the Resurrection. After mass, the Easter fires are lit--basically big bonfires, getting bigger and bigger the further out into the countryside you go! We must have seen about 3 or 4 bonfires on our way out to the village where we spent Easter, and on our arrival we were treated to the blessed Osterjause. At around 9:30 that night, a candle-lit procession of praying and singing townsfolk marched through the town, out to the next little village, and back again. More and more people joined the procession as it snaked its way in and out of town. After the procession, the bonfires continued to burn, the crosses on the hills were illuminated, and the celebration of the Resurrection was official.

On Easter morning, mass is held. The church in our little village was tiny (and was of course several hundred years old) but had an amazing choir. Songs were sung, prayers were said, and the normal Easter passages were read. And of course after church the traditional Easter lunch is to follow. A newer, less traditional Easter custom is that of the Easter bunny--yes indeed, even Austrian children get a visit from the Easter bunny. He comes early in the morning and hides all the colorful Easter eggs (real ones of course!) and sweets for the children to find. Our Easter lunch had to be hands down the most amazing Austrian food I've ever had--prepared by an honest to goodness Austrian grandma with love and about 50 years of cooking experience!

**The church where we went to Easter mass.

It was quite a treat to be able to celebrate with friends and see the way things are done here for one of the biggest celebrations of the year. There are so many meaningful parts to the Easter celebration here; and it seems like a holiday that, despite the falling number of church-goers, is still appreciated (for any number of reasons) by many.

Herzlich Willkommen....

Back in the fall, I promised to give you a virtual tour of my new apartment--which turned out to be a rather empty promise. I had grand visions of an elaborate video tour of the apartment and its surroundings...but it never came to be. Alas.

Yesterday I embarked on some spring cleaning on a massive apartment-wide scale, and I didn't stop until I'd not only cleaned the apartment and my room, but I'd rearranged as well. And now that I have a nice cozy new layout to my room, I figured it was time to finally show you guys my new digs. And I couldn't have scripted it better, as the snow falling outside lends an even more gemütlich (cozy/comfy) feel to the place.

So finally, without further ado, I give you the virtual tour of my new room...

Making the Scandinavian Rounds: Sweden and Denmark

**Gotta love the smorgasbord. And am I the only one who immediately thinks of the song that Templeton the rat sings in the old animated version of "Charlotte's Web" when I hear this word?**

First of all, I'm so sorry that it's been a month since I've posted anything on the blog! I'm still alive, and I have new and exciting things to report. Things are still pretty busy and I'm preparing for my next break, but after that I'll try to be a bit more faithful about letting you know what's going on over here. Sorry!



And now for the good stuff--my semester break! The Austrian semester runs on a different schedule than the American semester, which means I had a random week free in the middle of February. A couple weeks earlier I'd called an old high school friend studying in Sweden to wish him a happy birthday, and when I got off the phone with him I found myself with plans to visit Sweden in a mere 10 days! Quite conveniently I'd found a 2-for-1 deal on airline tickets from Sky Europe, so I decided to drag my roommate along with me for five fun-filled days in Sweden.



Ironically, we spent more time in Denmark than Sweden--only 1 day out of 5 was spent entirely on Swedish soil! Because Copenhagen is the closest major airport to Lund, we flew into Denmark and took the train into Sweden. In about 50 minutes we found ourselves in Lund, a university town in southwest Sweden. The weather was overcast, cold and windy--as it tends to be from September to April (and in fact the month of January only saw 8 hours of sunshine!), but I was thrilled to be in a country with a language that sounds like skipping through a field of daisies. Having a "native" guide is always a treat, and the first day we toured historical Lund with a fascinating narrative involving haunted university buildings and cathedral-building giants. We stepped into one of the many cafes to warm our noses and rest our feet and experienced our first "going for fika"--coffee, conversation, and the warm fuzzy feeling that comes with it, which is oh so popular in fighting the drab southern Scandinavian winter. Over fika, we discussed our plans for the following day--a coast-to-coast road trip through southern Sweden!



The next morning four of us piled into a borrowed car and set off in the direction of the little red arrows on our map. The idea is that we would start in Lund and work our way eastward, stopping at churches, castles, and little villages along the way to the southern coast. From there we could visit an old set of pre-Viking megaliths and continue up the east coast to a few more towns, before working our way back across the country that evening. The fantastic thing about the road trip and the borrowed car was that it allowed us to see parts of Sweden we never would have seen from a train or a bus--winding country roads, rural farmhouses, and quaint seaside villages.



Our first stop was in Dalby, to visit the oldest stone church in Scandinavia. It was old, it was stone, and it was not very helpful that the signs outside the church were all in Swedish. Unfortunately a lot of the historical and architectural significance was lost on me. Oh well.



We drove further through the countryside, past farms and fields, and we arrived at a castle dating back to the 19th century. However, it wasn't a castle in the sense of Cindella's castle or even Dracula's castle, but rather the Swedish version of a "castle" is more like an English manor house--for some reason I could just envision Henry James walking the grounds. We walked the grounds and then headed down to the town of Ystad in the middle of the southern coast for lunch and some desperately needed lithium batteries for my camera.



With full stomach and some degree of curiosity we then set off for Ales Stenar, the Swedish version of Stonehenge. Never having been to Stonenenge myself, I had more curiosity than expectations. This was probably a good thing, as megalithic structures can only capture so much intrigue. Impressively, these large stones have been arranged in the shape of a ship and have been sitting on a cliff by the sea for the past 1500-2500 years. There is still some debate as to their function--lunar calendar? burial site?--but they still get the important reputation of Really Really Old Structures of Unclear Origin from Ancient Societies We Know Little About. It was fun to see the rocks and even more fun to play on the cliff and take cool photos. After a final stop for fika in another cafe on the east coast, we returned to Lund. Surprisingly, it only takes about one hour to drive from coast to coast without any stops.



The next day my roommate and I went to Copenhagen. The entire train journey there, I had the chorus of "Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen, salty queen of the sea..." from the 1952 Danny Kaye musical Hans Christian Andersen running on repeat through my head. And I have to say--Copenhagen was indeed wonderful wonderful! Our first stop into town was the tourist information office, where we picked up a map of the city with a walking tour mapped out. This was the perfect route for us--we got to see all the best parts of the city and didn't once have to board the public transportation! We wandered through town squares and pedestrian shopping areas, by government buildings and around central ice skating rinks. The city itself was beautiful--the architecture was lovely and the buildings are colorful (in typical Scandinavian style) and even the docked ships are full of flavor. But for me the best highlights of the city were my two great loves: The Little Mermaid and food.



I got the original video tape of Disney's The Little Mermaid in 2nd grade as a reward for a good report card. I then proceeded to watch the movie enough over the next several years that I can confidently say I had the whole thing memorized. I would grab a pillowcase out of the linen closet, pull it up over my legs, and hop around the house in my newfound "fins" singing "Part of Your World." Repeatedly. I wanted to be the Little Mermaid--and even in 1989 I could identify with Ariel as she longed to leave home and, oh I don't know, go live in a foreign country! As you can see, part of me never really grew out of wanting to be Ariel. (And please don't spoil my fun by leaving me a comment about the "real" ending to the story by Hans Christian Andersen. I willfully choose to ignore that version.) Despite the warning by pretty much every travel guide and former tourist to Copenhagen that the mermaid statue was not all that it was hyped up to be, my highest priority in Copenhagen was to see the statue of The Little Mermaid. I was determined to make her worth it--whatever that meant. I was not disappointed. In fact, you could say that my first reaction upon seeing her was one of suppressed glee--the mature adult trying to tame the inner 2nd grader squealing with delight on the inside. The Little Mermaid was, apparently, moved slightly farther out into the water to deter overenthusiastic tourists from physically accosting her or persistent vandals from once again beheading her. Did that deter me? Of course not! There were rocks leading out to the statue, and after some deliberation and mental calculations, I determined that I could in fact reach the statue by hopping the rocks. But the rocks, my friends, are much more slippery than they appear...so my advice to you is NOT to approach from the right. Especially in the wintertime. You will end up with cold wet feet and an algae-y bum. However, should you reconsider and decide to approach from the left...well, let's just say you may get to meet her in person. Needless to say, we took scores of photos to document the visit and very intentionally make it worth it!



Lunch was the other high point of the day. And what a high point it was. Friends in New York had already introduced me to the Danish lunch--and elaborate spread involving pickled herring, various salads, breads, and a particular schnapps-like drink called Aquavit. For those of you who would first react exactly as I did--"You want me to eat pickled fish?!?!"--let me just say that it will rock your world and change your life forever. Pickled herring is an incredibly tasty dish, and when properly coupled with some high-octane Aquavit (may the feint of alcoholic spirits beware!) it makes a most delightful lunch. Our real Danish lunch was worth every Kroner--pickled herring on buttered rye, fried cod with curry sauce, chicken salad, shrimps with mayo and lemon, and Danish "apple pie"...complimented of course by Danish beer and a bit of Aquavit. Best. Lunch. Ever.



That evening, back in Sweden, we had another particularly noteworthy experience--and this one quite possibly the best experience of the whole trip: we went to a Swedish sauna. And not only did we go to a Swedish sauna, we went to a Swedish sauna located 0.7 km out on a pier in the strait between Sweden and Denmark! It was dark, rainy, and windy as we walked out on the seemingly neverending pier. The incredible idea behind this sauna is that after spending awhile in the sauna itself, you run outside and jump into the sea! We could see whitecaps forming in the water, and I thought to myself, "It's stormy and it's winter and I'm jumping into that?!" I was actually quite excited though--where else can you combine the experiences of a sauna and polar bear jumping all rolled into one? The sauna was segregated by male and female sides, and I will leave it to the intuitive reader to figure out this very European way of things. I'd only been in a sauna once before (in the Roman baths in Budapest, where they also have an ice bath available), so I was looking forward to another genuine experience. And as the hot-cold combination is supposed to do wonders for your circulation, I was totally game to jump into the sea...in winter...in decidedly Nordic Sweden. The sauna was dimly lit and heated by hot coals; by throwing a ladle of water onto the hot coals, you could release more steam into the air. When you get to the brink of boiling, you run outside, fumble down some steps, and plunge into the 3.5°C water below. And involuntary cry escapes your lips. Depending on what kind of person you are, it could be a yelp or a bellow or a string of profanity--this sauna hears all types. If you're the competitive type, you may try to see how long you can stay in the water and scorn those who have the better sense to extract themselves before you do. If, of course, you were so inclined. And finally, pink and tingly, you'll run back into the sauna as swiftly as your numbed feet will carry you and your body will spend the next few minutes schizophrenically trying to decide whether it is hot or cold.



We decided to take a round trip from Sweden to Denmark and back again. We started in Lund and took the train up to Helsingborg, a tiny harbor town on the strait between Sweden and Denmark. From there you can take the ferry to Helsinor, a tiny harbor town on the strait between Denmark and Sweden. Wait...can that be right? What are those tiny harbor towns directly across from each other on the strait between Denmark and Sweden? Oh, yeah, right, they DO almost have the same name! Now was I talking about Helsingborg or Helsinor, I can't remember...



Approaching the Danish side on the ferry, Hamlet's castle (suspiciously dubbed Elsinore in what could have only been Shakespeare's personal jab at the two tiny harbor towns which bare ironically similar names to Elsinore) stands firmly on the coast. Defensively speaking, the Kronborg castle (its real name) is impressively well-fortified. A series of ramparts and moats and weapons successfully kept enemies at bay for centuries, but the strongest and most fearsome defense is found in the deep underbelly of the castle--it is there that the fabled Ogier the Dane (Holger Danske) lies sleeping, only to awaken and rise up when Denmark meets mortal peril, delivering the nation from its foes.



Our last stop was the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art near Copenhagen, boasting an exhibit comparing the works of Cezanne and Giacometti--the first museum to make such a leap, but quite a fascinating and successful one. It was really quite an impressive collection, and the art historian in me was really glad to make that stop.



We flew out of Copenhagen the next day. In the airport, I successfully purchased some orange juice and conducted the entire interaction in Danish. Nevermind that I said three words--the point was, it was Danish and it was a legitimate transaction and I was understood. Right before we flew back to Vienna, we accomplished our final goal: to eat a danish in Denmark. Clever, right? However, in Danish, danishes are actually called "Viennese bread"--oh the irony!

New School, Take 2

***Fasching Tuesday in Graz--Also called Carnival, this is how Fat Tuesday is celebrated in Austria: There are parades in the streets, people dress up in costume, and the night is spent partying. We had Fasching off from school, so I went into the city with some friends to watch the parade and eat the free jelly-filled donuts (Krapfen) they were giving out, a traditional Fasching food.

As of January, I've been teaching in a new school--one so completely different from my first school, that the comparisons stop before they actually begin...

It is, indeed, a high school. Again, I am teaching students roughly between the ages of 14 and 18. This time around, however, I'm in a little town--or "village" as the Austrians call it--called Birkfeld, with a population of about 1700. This is actually large in comparison to some of the surrounding villages, and students come from all around to attend this special school for music and performing arts. Some of them travel nearly as far as I do--a distance of about 60 km one way. Since the school focuses on music and the arts, it draws a very large number of girls--the complete opposite of my technical school in Weiz made up of all boys!

The major downside of the new school is that it is so far away from Graz. There is a wonderful carpool of teachers who commute from Graz every day, and they (like me) find that living in Graz is worth the distance...there's not much going on in the village of Birkfeld. I now wake up at 5 am so that I can travel to the meeting point in Graz and take the carpool into Birkfeld. The first week of school, this absolutely flattened me, and I went to bed at 9 pm every night! Since then, I've regressed a bit and am now much like a kindergartener...I must have my afternoon nap, or else I get tired and cranky! And if I miss my afternoon nap, I pay the consequences by feeling totally sluggish the next day. The funny thing is, I never ever used to be able to actually fall asleep in the afternoons; my idea of an "afternoon nap" was more like heavy resting. But now that I wake up at 5 am 4 days a week, I can fall asleep like a baby! For those of you who are familiar with my erratic sleeping patterns, you will recognize this as a major breakthrough!

The students in the new school are fantastic. They are well-behaved, they listen, and they participate in class! They like me, and they respect me, and this just makes for a very good dynamic. It's such a treat! Just as I shared the highlights of my first school back in October, here are some highlights from the new school:

• During the introductory lesson where the students were invited to ask me anything they wanted, I got many of the same questions as before. However, the newest and most creative question was: Do you have any tattoos or piercings?


• In the women's restroom, there are two toilets: one normal, and one handicapped. I had peeked into the handicapped toilet and seen a bunch of buttons and levers, so I always chose the normal toilet. One day I came in and the normal one was taken, so I decided to use the handicapped toilet; however, on my way out I couldn't tell which button or lever was the one to flush the toilet! So first I pulled a cord and nothing happened. Then I pushed some buttons and finally found the lever that flushed the toilet. As I was washing my hands, the school secretary came in to see what was the matter--apparently I'd pulled the "Help! I'm in trouble in the handicapped toilet and need assistance!'-cord. That could be an honest mistake...except the next time I pushed the wrong button and did it again. Oops.


• How wonderful is the modern age we live in? A week ago we had a major wind storm, and trees were uprooted all over the region, forcing roads to close and public transportation to stop. School was closed for a day because trees were strewn all over the roads leading up to the village, and many towns in the area were without power for several days. The first day back in school, many students were still missing because they couldn't get to school--whole hillsides of trees had been blown over like dominoes! But just because these students couldn't make it to school, didn't mean they were on holiday--oh no, not at all! For those students who missed class, the teacher sent them their homework assignment...via text message!!


• I am constantly reminded that Austrian schools are nothing like American schools. I mentioned, for example, the beer that's available in the teacher's lounge in my first school. There have already been several occassions to celebrate birthdays, etc., in my new school and usually this involves a spread of food and some champagne during the big break...at 10:40 am. So 15 minutes to eat and drink your champagne, and then back to class!


• I prepare more lessons for my new school based on the units that the teachers are currently teaching. This leads to some very strange lesson topics such as furniture, fairy tales, fashion, or--my most recent challenge--fitness/workouts. (The alliteration is purely coincidental....) How does one teach a 50-minute lesson on furniture? Or what in the world does one do to teach workout and exercise terms? The workout lesson was actually quite a hit; thanks to Jane Fonda, the kids got some practical exercise terms and a highly entertaining flashback to the world of '80s workout videos and leotards--which, I might add, was before any of them were even born! I mean, what other job do you get to use this YouTube video for?!

Things are going really well, and I've applied for a second year. Like college all over again, I have to wait until early April to find out if I'm in! The teaching thing is going really well and I'd love the chance to stay for another year and sharpen my teaching skills/experiences before I go back. Plus, with two years of practical teaching experience, I can get a position in a private school (or so I've heard...) without a teaching degree. ...So we'll see!

OZ 08

Thank you all for your patience and also for your gentle nudges for me to finally tell you about Australia! I've now been back from Oz (Australia) for three weeks, and I've finally unpacked my bags, cleaned my room, and uploaded my pictures to Flickr. (Hint: See the Flickr link to the right. The easiest way to view my photos is by clicking on the albums to the right of the Flickr page and viewing as a slideshow--they're broken up into albums for each leg of the journey.) So now, dear friends, it is time to tell my stories. So now, without further ado, I give you...OZ 08!

Phase 1: Melbourne (late Christmas Eve - Dec. 28)


The concept of OZ 08 was developed exactly a year before my arrival in Australia, on Christmas Day 2006. On that day, I received a phone call from my long-lost friend James in Australia--a friend I'd met while visiting Jess for 2½ weeks in June 2005 but hadn't really kept in touch with until a call on Christmas Day 2006. (N.b.: To prove how noteworthy this phone call was and also how amazingly meticulous my Flickr archiving skills are, you may view the photographic proof of said call at this link: http://www.flickr.com/photos/hontsr/334916211/in/set-72157594442288676/.) As I caught up with him, it came up in conversation that I would love to go back to Australia some day, as I didn't really see much of it when I was there in 2005. He concurred--as an Australian, he hadn't seen much of Australia either! It was then that the idea of OZ 08 was born...we'd take a trip around Australia together and see all of those wonderful places we'd never seen before! And, due to some sort of fluke in the space-time continuum or a glitch in the Matrix or something, this theoretical "we-should-maybe-do-this-someday"-idea-that-is-never-actually-realized-in-real-life became reality.

I left Vienna at dawn on Dec. 23 and arrived, after 30 sleepless hours of travel, in Melbourne shortly before midnight on Christmas Eve. Fortunately, the Aussies celebrate Christmas on the 25th like Americans (as opposed to the Austrians), so technically I hadn't missed anything. Except the Christmas Eve service. However, we showed up at the church in style, fashionably late and right after the service ended, but just in time to join in the tradition of a late night post-service Christmas Eve meal. Since the traditional 2 am souvlaki place was closed, we got Chinese noodles--a close second. By the time I went to bed at whatever obscene early morning hour, I was ready to sleep a good night's sleep and thus forfeit any jetlag, as is my custom.

When I awoke on Christmas morning, I was alive and fit and soooo ready for breakfast. I warily put on my capri pants and short sleeved shirt and thought to myself what a strange phenomenon this Christmas in the southern hemisphere was turning out to be. It was sunny, it was bright, and as Christmas orphans in a foreign summery land, Jess and I decided to have a Christmas brekkie (breakfast) in the park. Nevermind that by the time we bought breakfast food at the gas station and got to the park it was already 2 pm--it was breakfast nonetheless. We spent the afternoon lolling around on the grass and experiencing was was to be my first brush with the evil, evil Australian sun. (This variety of Turbo Sun was to become my rival the further north we travelled.)

Later that evening, Jess put her blossoming culinary skills to work and prepared her famous roast chicken. Several people had described this roast chicken to me in terms usually reserved for obsessions or for lovers. By the time our dinner crowd of 7 trickled in, the birds were looking mighty fine. It was an impressive feast of chicken and various creative forms of salad, made even more impressive to me by the fact that Jess had chosen and prepared it all herself. Selfishly, I couldn't help thinking, "Where was this love of cooking when we were roommates, huh?!" but I of course kept that to myself and promised never to tell her directly...I'd say the blog suffices for that. Also noteworthy of that Christmas evening was the Christmas present I received from James, a book entitled "Australia's Most Dangerous: Spiders, Snakes and Marine Creatures." This was to become my reading for the next couple weeks, until I'd read cover-to-cover that Australia's most dangerous everything was going to be in all the areas we would be travelling to. I like to think I kept myself to a healthy level of paranoia, but James might have his own opinion on the subject...

The next day, on Boxing Day (which, amusingly, was orginally a day for the rich British folks to re-gift the stuff they didn't want to the poor, a day that has now become a national holiday), several of us travelled about an hour south of Melbourne to a peninsula, like many places in Australia, with a totally unpronouncable name. On this Peninsula of The Impossible Name we took a trail ride through the coastal bush and down to the beach. Amazingly enough, we were in the middle of nowhere Australia, and our trail guide turned out to be Austrian! She was just as astounded as I was to meet someone living in Austria, which led to all of our conversation being in German and my accidental confession that, yes, I had taken riding lessons in the past. When, in fact, I have never taken riding lessons in the past. But it was one of those embarrassing conversational blunders where I responded without thinking and only afterwards did the real meaning of her words sink in. This convesational blunder was indeed an unfortunate one, as the warning following it had to do with my horse's propensity to race and thus break into a gallop when we canter. As the experienced rider that I apparently was, I was to rein him in and make sure that he didn't race the other horses. I was successful, but also contributing largely to this feeling of success was that: a) I remained on the horse, and my bum remained in the general vicinity of the saddle; b) I didn't lose the sunglasses I was borrowing from Jess; and c) my feet didn't slip out of the stirrups when I was frantically holding the sunglasses to my face with one hand, pulling back on the reins with the other hand and simultaneously trying to keep my balance on the horse in this awkward position. This dash of adventure complimented the scenery very well, and all in all it was quite an experience.

Phase 2: Sydney (Dec 28 - Jan. 1)


Our first stop in Sydney was Bondi Beach, a beautiful beach with another typically tricky Aussie pronunciation. To the American eye, the name of the beach looks something like "Bondee." Yet to the American ear, it sounds something like "Bondoh." When in reality it is pronounced "Bond-eye." I think this was the first of many, many times I asked James, "Sorry?....Come again?....Pardon?....Can you repeat that?....Can you repeat that slowly?....I still don't understand what you're saying...."

The stay in Sydney signalled the beginning of much wonderful food. Most of the food we ate was Asian food--Chinese, Japanese, Malaysian, you name it. Coming from a country where Asian food is hard to find, and good Asian food is even harder to find, I used the opportunity to take full advantage of my environs. All of this food was within walking distance, and in fact most of our travel within Sydney was done on foot. It's actually somewhat difficult for me to pinpoint exactly what we did in Sydney, even though we were there for 4 days, but I do know that we walked around quite a bit and got to see a lot of downtown, and in particular of places like Darling Harbour.

Sydney has several markets, and Paddy Market is certainly the largest. As we were walking through Paddy's Market, we passed a booth advertising fake tatoos. Airbrushed on in mere minutes and water-resistant for up to a week, they are becoming very popular accessories to a day out on the beach. Still in full-on OZ 08 enthusiasm, James was struck with an idea: What if we got OZ 08 tatoos?! This registered on stroke-of-genious level, and we spent quite some time deciding what to get an where. Finally, we decided on matching OZ 08 tatoos on opposite arms (so that, standing side by side, they would line up): James' tatoo was to have a scary shark with "OZ 08" below it, and mine was to have a funny shark with the words "OZ 08" below. The juxtaposition of agressive shark with silly shark was just another brilliant facet of this enticing plan. We had speculated about making tee shirts, but this was just so much better!!

One thing I'd never considered until I was in Sydney is why a hot air balloon is called a hot air balloon. It's because it's HOT. Of course, making a giant balloon capable of lifting 13 people in a basket float into the air has to be powered by the legal equivalent of a flame thrower. Somehow I'd never equated the two. So when we took a hot air balloon ride above Sydney one morning, we were advised to leave our jackets behind; even in the 6 am cool and the altitude gained, they would be unnecessary. Lift-off made me think of being in the Wonka-Vator as it soared out of the chocolate factory. However, to my knowledge, the Wonka-Vator didn't make every dog within a 2 mile radius howl and bark at the mysterious flying object in the sky--or at least the sound was dubbed out of that part! It was a truly unusual phenomenon that our balloon should make entire neighborhood of dogs bark, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for those poor suburban Aussies who never invited that hot air balloon into their skies anyway. After an aborted landing attempt at a local airstrip, we finally touched down on a driving range some ways outside of town. We passengers then helped pack up the hot air balloon for transport back to the hangar, which--for all practical purposes--was equivalent to the eternal torture of rolling up and packing in the world's largest sleeping bag in one of Dante's levels of Hell.

We should have been excited to spend New Year's Eve in Sydney--after all, the fireworks above the Harbour Bridge are always the first ones shown on the "New Year's Eve Across the World" section of Dick Clark's countdown. But by that point we were really ready to be out of the city and up to the tropics. Our plan was to stash our bags in a locker and then--since it was New Year's Eve and all--stay out the whole night, as that eliminated the need for accomodations. Our flight to Cairns left at 7 am on Jan. 1, so it didn't seem like it'd be a problem. Fortunately for Facebook, I was in touch with an old colleague of mine from artnet who was now getting her Master's in Sydney. Since we didn't have any particular plans, she was gracious enough to invite us up to the North Shore with her and her friends to watch the firework from a park. From our location we could see 4 different sets of simultaneous fireworks across the water--both beautiful and an opportunity to use the handy dandy fireworks setting on my camera. We headed back into the city at about 2 am and spent the next couple hours circumnavigating the Sydney Opera House (the long way, of course) in the hopes of finding a way in through the security and cleanup crews and up to the building. Feeling somewhat like spies, we were able to find an unpatrolled way over and finally saw the Opera House up close, albeit at 3:30 in the morning. It seems we weren't the only ones wandering the streets all night--the streets were quite full of people, even until 5 am when we retrieved our bags and headed to the airport. Driven by the saying, "You can sleep when you're dead!" we somehow made it to the airport and to Cairns before crashing at a very dodgy, but affordable, hostel.

Phase 3: Cairns (Jan. 1 - Jan. 6)



Cairns also has one of those dangerously simple yet deceiving names. During the planning stages of OZ 08, my references to "Kay-rns" were met with bemused laughter on the part of James. In true Aussie style, he was having much too much fun with it to actually tell me how to say the name of the city properly, and even all of my Aussie friends had been forwarned not to speak the name of the city "up north." We talked around the subject for weeks, even up until the day we borded the plane for "up north." And it wasn't until I heard the natives say our destination 2 or 3 times that I learned that the city we were visiting next was "Cans"--as in, "cans" of baked beans. But it soon became apparent that the proper pronunciation of this place was of very little importance in the big picture. In the grand scheme of things, I thought of this last leg of our journey less as "Cans" and something more like "Paradise."

After our night of sleepless wandering through the center of Sydney, we were bushed. Never before has a lumpy hostel mattress with questionable stains felt or looked so appealing. Despite the shock of suddenly arriving in the balmy tropics, we slept quite soundly in our stuffy little room. Finally venturing into the city in the late afternoon, we wandered around from tourist office to tourist office until we found a hidden gem in Didier, our star reservation booker. Didier, originally from France but since the last decade or so from Cairns, listened to our vague ideas of what we'd like to do in the area--mainly diving and rainforesting--and gave his suggestions on what we may want to try. He wasn't trying to sell us on anything, and he seemed more interested in talking with us than actually making a commission. We asked about certain trips or tours, and he would tell us which ones were more for the locals and which more for the tourists. After we left Didier, we got about 2 blocks before we realized that it was fruitless to try and top that in any other travel office, so we went back and booked up the next four days of boating, diving, tours, and islands. Certainly not expecting the sudden windfall we gave him, he even gave us the underwater camera I was about to buy as a gratis perk. Walking through the night market later that evening, in good spirits about the day ahead, we stopped along a row of Asian massage enterprises and got what was to become the first of four 40-minute full-body massages for $15; every night we were in Cairns we went back to the night market and tried a different massage establishment until we had found the best--the green one. And for $15 a pop, we felt less like indulgent travellers and more like verrry relaxed beach bums.

My biggest goal for Cairns was to go diving on the Great Barrier Reef. Shortly before leaving for Australia, I ran into an Austrian friend on the tram who told me how, when she was in Australia, she'd spent several nights on a boat diving out on the reef. Didier saw to it that we were able to book a similar endeavor, a 2 day 1 night package 65 km out on the Great Barrier Reef. Since I didn't have diving certification, I was required to always go down with an instructor. This of course was no biggie, as my only previous diving experience was my one diving with the sharks and the sting rays in the Melbourne Aquarium in 2005. This time I was out in the Ocean--no containing walls and no handlers to feed the dangerous marine animals on a regular basis--so I was more than happy for my escort. I made a total of 6 dives over the next two days, and after figuring out the best way to equalize the pressure in my ears (after a rather painful experience on my first trip down and my first time using the "I'm not ok and there's a problem"' hand signal) and figuring out how NOT to float to the surface again (anyone remember the part in "The Sword in the Stone" when Wart is turned into a fish and the frog keeps kicking him down as he bobs to the surface? Yeah...), I began to feel quite at home under da sea. The first thing that struck me was just how AMAZING it was in real life--I honestly thought to myself, "It looks just like it does in 'Finding Nemo!'" The colors are brilliant. The variety and diversity of marine life are staggering. And no matter how many anemones or corals or reef fish you've seen, the Reef is always going to be different, with different nooks and different crannies and different creatures patroling their turf. It made me wish (and not for the first time in my life, as my parents can tell you) that I was born the Little Mermaid and never had to come up for air again. By my 3rd dive, the instructors were saying how they'd heard what a natural I was and that they only had to go down with me as a formality because I didn't have my certification--and they all recommended I get my Open Water Certification. By the time we left the Reef, I'd taken that suggestion to heart, and I was seriously considering the merits of moving to Australia and becoming a dive instructor. Seriously. And having looked into the requirements of joining the crew of the boat we were on, don't be surprised when you hear of my next career change...


James' big wish was to see the rainforest. And with the Daintree Rainforest just next door, it was just a quick hour to the world's oldest continuous rainforest. We took a tour that would take us up the coast and through the Daintree up to Cape Tribulation, with a crocodile cruise on the Daintree river along the way. Our tour guide was there as his first day on the job, but he far surpassed anything I ever could have expected. Paul, our infinite fountain of Australian knowledge, was able to answer any question we posed to him. Having lived in the rainforest for 2 years in a symbiotic relationship with a rafter-dwelling python lovingly deemed Monty, he was the curator of an aboriginal cultural site before he took up his current gig as a tour guide. So impressive was his knowledge that, when I came back from the outhouse with pictures of a spider the size of my hand that I was convinced I'd seen in my "Australia's Most Dangerous" book, Paul was able to tell me not only what type of spider that was (not poisonous), but that it had the strongest web of any spider and was even the first spider to be sent up in space. And that's the abridged version. He took us through the rainforest, where he shared with us the most fascinating details of the rainforest and its complicated vegetation. We took a crocodile cruise on the Daintree river before lunch, and even spotted 2 crocs carefully submerged and lying in wait. Although it was called the "crocodile cruise," my favorite part was seeing the colony of flying foxes, or fruit bats, hanging upsidedown in the trees along the river. They were the size of small cats, or maybe bunny rabbits, and although it was daytime, they were fidgeting and screeching up in the branches. Although they were incredibly ugly, they were cute in a pugs-are-also-cute sort of way. After a barbecued barramundi lunch and a dip in an ice-cold watering hole, we travelled further up to Cape Tribulation, the location that receives the second most rainfall in all Australia. On the way back to Cairns we got the opportunity to experience this rainfall firsthand--made better by the homemade passion fruit ice cream we stopped to get along the way.

Our final day in Cairns was to be our relaxing beach day. And to go to a relaxing beach, we took a trip out to Fitzroy Island, where the rainforest meets the reef. The island itself is far less touristy than the other local islands, and 96% of it is covered in national park. The island is, literally, a giant rainforest. And the Great Barrier Reef does, literally, come all the way up to the beach--incredible. This is the kind of place that is shown on inspirational posters. This is the kind of place that you know will make all your friends jealous through a single photograph. This is the kind of place, in short, that embodies the idea of tropical paradise. When we arrived on the island, we first picked up our stinger suits (a head-to-toe suit somewhat like a wetsuit that only leaves the mouth exposed) and flippers, a must for snorkelling during jeallyfish season. And since Australia is home to several very grisly varieties of jellyfish, I was more than happy to leave a very tiny target of exposed skin for these marine stingers. We hiked through the rainforest--a naturally hot and humid endeavor--down to Nudey Beach, the only beach on the island with sand. All of the other beaches are coral beaches, lined by bits of dead coral that have washed up on shore. Although this may sound cool and pretty, it's actually rather painful to walk on! We spent the day snorkeling around the island, finding new and exciting bits of reef. Unfortunately the water wasn't as clear as it usually is, but it was a spectacular view nonetheless. Completing our day trip with a ride on the glass bottom boat, we then rode the 4 km back to the mainland where we celebrated our last day with a big seafood dinner.


Phase 4: Departure (Jan. 6 - Jan. 7)

We flew back to Melbourne on Jan. 6. As I was flying out the next day--on my birthday--we decided to celebrate in Melbourne my last night in Oz. Jess made me an amazingly mouthwatering cake, which we ate as an evening appetizer. Then, having rounded up a group of 10 Aussie friends and acquaintences, we went out for Japanese food to celebrate. Having the unfortunate luck of travelling on my birthday, it was a wonderful way for me to feel the love, especially in a land so far, far away. And having to say my goodbyes at the end of the night, I thought of how soon I'd see them all again if I did come back soon as a dive instructor...


The flight back to Vienna was a sleepless 40-hour nightmare, complete with delays and missed flights. I arrived back in Graz at 11 pm on Tuesday, Jan. 8, and I had to get up at 5 am the next morning for my first day at the new school in Birkfeld! ...Talk about hitting the ground running! Now I'm in the final stages of settling into my new school, and I'll have more to report on that later. But for now, I will summarize my trip with the following sentiment...

OZ 08, baby! Yeah!!

A brief cyber-pulse to show that I'm still alive!

It's been ages since you've heard from me, so I just wanted to check in and say that, yes, I'm alive. I didn't have time to post anything before I left Austria for Christmas/New Year's/my birthday (so much for a post on Austrian Christmas traditions...you can email me if you're curious!), and I just got back last night from my 2-week trip to Australia. I just did the math, and I was surprised to realize that my super-long trip back--complete with major delays and consequently missed flights--was a total of 40 hours, from Melbourne to Graz. Those of you who know me well also know that I can't sleep on things like planes and trains, so it was a loooong 40 hours. Unfortunately, I had to get up at 5:45 am this morning for my first day at the new school (caffeine and adrenaline are quite possibly God's greatest creations), but surprisingly I'm not a zombie. I have what I like to call "the gift of travel"--that is, I never (ever) suffer from jetlag, simply because my sleeping patterns get too wacked out during travel to get confused by time zones! I still need some time to unpack and organize my photos and stories into a coherent blog entry, so you can look forward to something later in the week. Many greetings from Austria, and you'll hear from me again soon!