Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

I've been home for two months now, and this distance from Vienna has made me consider many things about the past two years.

What have I learned in Austria?

1. Things on one side of the world are often very similar to things on the other, except for the expected linguistic difference.
2. Germany German and Austrian German are not the same.
3.  A big city is not a small town.
4. The Alps are magnificent. Alpine culture is fascinating, but not for everyone.
5. I can keep a blog better than I can keep a diary.
6. I should probably keep both a blog and a diary so I do not inadvertently over-share.
7. High schools students, re: #1
8. Certain cultural experiences are unavoidable.
9. Certain cultural differences are inexplicable.
10. The cultural differences that are both unavoidable and inexplicable will change you forever. They may also drive you crazy.
11. Americans claim to know nothing about Austria aside from schnitzel and Schwarzenegger, but if Americans actually knew what Austrian things have permeated our culture, they'd be a little freaked out.
12. Things that ALL Americans know but don't necessarily know are Austrian: apple strudel, Red Bull, Lipizzaner horses, the Austrian Alps, the Trachten, the croissant (yes, really!), the coffee house.
13. Once an Empire, always an Empire.
14. The farther east you go in Europe, the tougher it is to be vegetarian.
15. Even obstinate and independent gals will eventually miss their family.

What will I miss about Austria?

Well, I haven't been having any major waves of reverse culture shock. The scenery is a lot nicer in Austria, but the people are friendlier here - nothing beats good old American enthusiasm, though it does get annoying. I've lamented already about the overwhelming wait staff at restaurants in Green Bay, versus the more subtle Europeans (though my parents prefer the former). I miss the Austrian sense of historical perspective, the good food and - though I have noticed drastic changes in the marketing and distributing of "eco-friendly" products in the USA since my departure - the eco-consciousness of Austria as a whole.

Leaving Austria was not as sad as I had anticipated. It sort of felt like breaking up with someone you know isn't right for you anyway, even though they're a great person. Yeah. I'll leave it at that. After all, I'll always have my memories.

Mach Ma Party

So...we decided to have a party when I got back to the States to celebrate all the Austrian thing I experienced for the past two years.

chocolates - received as "going away" present

Yeah, I've been back since June. It's been interesting being back, since most everything is the same as how I left it. Weirdest was when I dated something as being in 2010 a few days ago--like the past two years haven't even existed! But they have, and that's what worries me.

I baked a Sachertorte for our guests, and Mom and I found Austrian and Hungarian wine at Festival Foods. Honestly, I was most excited about that--you don't find Grüner Veltliner in the States very often, which is likely because of the wine scandal in 1985. Some vintners were putting antifreeze in their wine. I found an old New York Times article on the subject for those interested: thank God for internet archiving!

Anyway, that's old news, and most Austrian winemakers work above board nowadays!

The party was yesterday, and went over quite well. We made a PowerPoint slideshow, Mom make Kaisersemmeln and pizza with eggplant (which she thinks is Austrian) and we enjoyed the company of some great people. We shared stories, and I got to see people I haven't seen for a very long time.

I feel like I'm getting closer to being at peace with my Austrian persona and American persona the more distance I get. Is that normal? I suppose it is. I felt for a while that, being in Austria, I didn't have much perspective on myself, but now I do.

It's gratifying, and not just because I can pig out on Mozartkugeln.

Ohrschluck

Another note on Austrian pronunciation: do you know what an Ohrschluck is? How about an Arschloch? In Austria, they're the same thing: an asshole.

At one point in my meanderings around Vienna this year, I somehow made it to Westbahnhof U-Bahn station at the rush hour, to spot a young man with a backpack run out of the southbound U-3 train and headlong into an older man using a cane. This older man proclaimed, in a dignified and quiet manner, the Viennese pronunciation of a common German-language vulgarity, which I took to mean "ear drink" quite literally.

"How quaint!" I thought. "How remarkable. I wonder what Ohrschluck could mean?"

It was not until I got home, and - in vain - tried to look up this "colloquialism" to realize that the stately, cane-wielding gentleman simply elongated his "a's" and his "o's" to the point of incomprehension (for a non-Austrian). I should have guessed!

Stift Melk, Stadt Melk

During my family's time in Austria, I decided to take them to the Melk Abbey, one of the most magnificent extant Baroque monasteries in the world, and home to an order of Benedictine monks, as well as a high school. A friend of mine taught there in 2010-2011.

The town of Melk is about 45 km northwest of Amstetten, and (candidly) the nicer of the two cities, though  

Amstetten is the larger city (about 20,000 inhabitants to Melk's roughly 5,000). Melk was also a satellite site of the Mauthausen concentration camp during WWII. Surprisingly, it was spared from destruction during the war; most likely because it does not lie on a direct train line to Vienna, unlike Amstetten (which was destroyed - and why it's uglier).

St. Colomon is a patron saint of the Melk Abbey. His story is quite interesting. A Scottish pilgrim on his way to the Holy Land, Colomon was arrested in Austria, and, knowing no German, had no defense. He was hanged as a spy. According to the Abbey, he is patron to foreigners living or traveling in a strange land, cloven-hoofed animals, and can be invoked for girls of marriageable age looking for a husband, as well as those suffering from gout. St. Colomon is one of those all-purpose saints, it seems - and a cautionary tale as to why travelers should learn the language of their adopted country!

Here are some photos of the abbey and its surrounds: 

built 1718

relics of St. Colomon

model of the monastery

view of the city of Melk

Family Values

Mom, Dad and Little Sister are here for two weeks to visit, after which I will be heading home for the summer. It's bittersweet, seeing them and sharing the past two years of my life intimately - going to all of my haunts, having them meet my friends. We're a close-knit family, but not in a creepy way. We all love and respect one another enough not to interfere with each other's lives. I've been living on the other side of the world for two years, for crying out loud! With my parents' blessing. And yet...the minute we get together, it's just like I'm 15 again, Sissy is 11, and this is just another family vacation.

It isn't, though. There's the rub. I have been living here, I've made my life in Vienna, for better or worse, but now  - just now that I feel as if everything is under control - I am going to leave to go home. I have been acting as tour guide and translator for the family for four days, and I'm exhausted. I was looking so forward to seeing everyone, and now it's as if all that is negated: like my life is being invaded.

It doesn't seem fair to everyone to say this, but it's how I feel. I know we'll get used to each other in a few days, and things will be fine. I still have to work, and pack. I'm worried about making sure everyone has a good time, about my luggage being overweight when I get to the airport, about finishing the school year on a good note and not sloughing off my duties just because my family's here - the list goes on.

My life here has been independent until now. I haven't had to be part of a family, really, but just look out for myself. The feeling is so freeing and nonrestrictive, it's like being high. It's something I needed - I still need - to be an adult, unburdened and happy about it. I keep thinking, even though Mom and I have been planning their trip for several months, my lifestyle had changed in a snap - overnight - and in two weeks, it will change again in an instant.

I wonder: am I ready to move on - and what have I truly learned from Austria?

Wonder Years Never Cease...

Vienna is full of American ex-pats, and they all seem to love it here. The city has been a melting pot for generations, and there is more diversity in this city than any other central European capital, I'd wager - even Berlin. This is good and bad.

There are several wonderful influences from the eastern European cultures and the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Palatschinken is one - despite its name, the dish is vegetarian friendly (they're basically pancakes. The name is derived from Latin): 

Palatschinken

Other culinary delicacies, not unique to the Wiener Küche, have come to symbolize Austria - grace à empirical conquest (Schnitzel, for example, has Venetian origins) - and for those who insist all things Austrian are indeed Austrian, I suggest taking a look at contemporary Austria's charming yet less well-to-do neighbors. They most certainly would have a different story to tell.

Herein lies the problem: though Austria has been a melting pot since Habsburg times, it seems that, after a generation or two, no Serbian or Slovakian wishes to remember they had ever been anything other than Austrian. This reinforces the unfortunate aspects of of a closed society that still permeate the Austrian mentality: Austrian, good; Other, bad. This is oversimplification for effect, but I don't seen anything wrong with that.

The coolest thing about Austria is not its culture, which is not all that unique when considering the German-speaking world as a whole, but its topography and climate: the Alps. It's a well-known criticism that mountain people are a little kooky, with the reputation of being hicks, but, still, lovable - how else can you explain my 15-year-old students' love for John Denver? (Outside of Vienna, what part of Austria isn't  "Country Roads"?)

This brings me to an Austro-American comparison: we North Americans, too, have a melting pot - many would say the USA is the original melting pot...I don't know about that. (May I, for instance, bring up Ancient Rome?) We, too, seem to promote integration or segregation  - or did, up until the 1960s and the Civil Rights movements. 

In many ways, the United States lives in a fantasy world of past glories and triumphs, i.e. the end of World War II, the 1950s, when we helped Europe rebuild, we gained the reputation of being the world's policemen, and America was - in one way or another - the greatest country on Earth. Despite blatant evidence to the contrary, I'm afraid plenty of Americans still feel this way.

Maybe it's just me, but I feel like it's a lot of hype over nothing to remember the glory days of yore. I would rather live in the present. What's past is past, and now more than ever, the world is changing at a fantastically rapid pace, practically from day to day. For the sake of each nation's collective psychic well-being, I hope my host country and home country both come to their senses, and stop playing the "Remember When?" game, like a couple of nursing home dandies.

Worlds Apart and Worlds We Live In

Last week, I went to a talk at the university given by Swanee Hunt, the former American ambassador to Austria during the Bosnian War (1992-1995). She recently wrote a book (possible her memoirs...I picked up a copy but haven't looked at it yet) and, certainly, part of the reason for the talk was to promote it, but I'm sure her other reasons for coming back were to reconnect with old friends and acquaintances from her time in Vienna as ambassador.

No matter her reasons (though I had anticipated a completely different type of talk), I found what she had to say interesting and rather enlightening. First, she called Angelina Jolie a saint for directing and producing In the Land of Blood and Honey. Then she went on to explain the personal disconnect she was feeling during her time as ambassador, after she began keeping a journal which her husband had recommended she do during her post. She had wanted to be posted to India as ambassardor (I guess as a foreign service officer, one must take what one can get) and, at the beginning, she wanted to do her best in the post she was given, i.e. do a good job so President Clinton would reassign her to where she really wanted to go after a few years posted in Austria.

At the time, there was no American ambassador to Bosnia and Herzegovina. It was considered too dangerous. After the break up of Yugoslavia, the Bosnian lands had been claimed by Serbia; thus, it wasn't even officially a country. Despite ethnic cleansing and snipers stalking the streets of Sarajevo, the EU said "Hands off!" to the United States. NATO and the UN knew bad things were happening to the Bosniaks, but didn't know how to do anything about it.

Thus enters Swanee Hunt.She mentioned, during a ceremony commemorating the 50th anniversary of the liberation of the Mauthausen concentration camp, she had a crisis of conscience: here she was at this state dinner eating off of gold-rimmed bone china, boozing it up and rubbing elbows with big wigs from around the world patting themselves on the back for how far the world had come in 50 years, when, 800 km away, the same damn thing was happening in Bosnia.

She knew, because a stack of memos a mile high were waiting for her on her desk, all about the Bosnia situation.

That's when Swanee Hunt decided to tell the president. Bill Clinton didn't want to do anything, until a car bomb exploded, three American diplomats were killed, and, upon attending the funeral, met their children who were all about the same age as Chelsea. The rest, as they say, is history.

It's interesting to think of this, since many of the refugees from the conflict ended up living in Austria. I have several Bosnian students who, though they weren't alive at the time, do have parents who lived through the conflict. It's amazing to me to think of living through a civil war - or any war at all. For though we (the United States) are still at war, it is so far removed from my self, my daily life and my being that, aside from an academic, philosophical, or political discussion, I sometimes forget there's any conflict at all.

To be honest, that scares the hell out of me.

Wiener Schmäh

FALSCH!

There's something about Vienna - its gloomy February days where, sometimes, the clouds roll in for weeks at a time, making the narrow streets denser, darker, more Medieval - that contributes to that certain, characteristic Viennese sense of humor.


Referred to as Wiener Schmäh by the locals, this gallows humor is melancholy, sarcastic, and just often enough, mean. The term comes from the German verb schmähen which means "to abuse, taunt; to vilify someone." The mentality is said to stem from the working-class denizens of the 19th century who had a more or less Dickensian look on life. Well, can you blame them? Dickens knew what he was writing about! He does have an adjective named after him.

Part of this is evident in what Freud liked to call Schadenfreude, that is, feeling good about yourself when someone else is suffering. Austrians like this. They also like correctness. By that, I mean they like being right. It gives them a sense of self-satisfaction. In fact, a typically Austrian habit is having things your way. Just like at Burger King. 


In the mind of an Austrian, there is a right way and a wrong way to do everything. Their way is right, yours is wrong. However, it is justifiable to do things your "wrong" way, as long as you follow the Austrian's "right" way rules: thus enters bureaucracy! I would argue this can be traced back to the Habsburgs. All that empire hoopla.  I can't even remember how many times I've been told, "You're doing it wrong," by an Austrian. From how I pronounce my "ä"s to what type of cake I order at a cafe - yes, I am getting a slice of Linzertorte because that is what I like. You are not going to eat it, so shut up. It's still a free country, even if socialist (joke!) - everything seems to be up for grabs. 

Linzer Torte

 Unfortunately, I seem to have adopted a bit of that cynicism. Maybe it's because I'm getting over a cold. Maybe it's because the weather turned from below zero temperatures (Fahrenheit) for weeks on end to being in the 30's and 40's within a few days - should make me happy, but my sinuses are disagreeing - but I've been feeling a little geschmäht recently. A little victimized. A tad, wee bit under the weather - in the grumpy sense of the phrase. In fact, I've been a regular cynical grouch. I'll just have to wait for something bad to happen to someone else, and then I'll feel better.

What's in a Dream?

I've been having some weird dreams lately. So much so that I (ironically) wanted to try to find some solace in psychoanalysis. Specifically the granddaddy of it all - Freud.

I figure, while I'm in Vienna, who better to turn to? Of course, many of Freud's theories have (rightly) fallen out of favor; but, many of his discoveries on sleep patterns and hypotheses of how dreams come to be are still the mainstay for psychiatrists and dream interpreters.

The interesting thing about Die Traumdeutung is that, with little more than a hunch, Freud's theories on dreaming ended up being proven in clinical trials - for example, dreaming in sequential order; the idea that a person cannot invent new faces, but uses faces that already exist for "dream people" be they familiars or strangers; colors and objects as symbols rather than literal. Though Freud did have a penchant toward interpreting things phallically.

Freud was also the first to point out that mere seconds elapse during a dream. The feeling we often have of a dream (especially a nightmare) going on forever is, simply put, an illusion. It only feels like hours - or days, or weeks - have passed. Most dreams do not last more than one minute, though they can be linked in our subconscious, which is why in your dreams you may be sitting on a bus in one instance and be "magically" transported to the beach in another. Although dreams do have a beginning and an end, the brain does not make the distinction.

Lucid dreams happen when the dreamer realizes, or remembers, that he or she is dreaming. I often have dreams of this type, and, according to this website (also where I got the lovely photo at the beginning), that means I am highly evolved. That's kind of neat!

Although the text of Die Traumdeutung is sort of a snore (pun intended), it is good to remember that Freud was writing for the 19th century science crowd - most anyone picking up his book during his lifetime would have been a fellow doctor. Thus, the language is a bit outdated, cumbersome and - ahem - Austrian. That is, more convoluted than it has to be. Still, I hope to find new insight into my subconscious self, now that I know the theory behind it.

Heilige Drei Königen

Happy Epiphany!

Just wanted to share some photos of the "traditional" Austrian Christmas tree:

With real candles, though not lit in the photo: 

And the Nativity scene, which is all important on days like today, where the arrival of the three kings in Bethlehem is celebrated (i.e., in Austria, just another excuse to have a party!)

Sliding into the New Year

Um, sorta dropped the ball on this one...but Happy New Year nonetheless!

As may be imagined, I had a hangover New Year's Day (and beyond) but, well, you're only young once.

The typical Austrian name for New Year's Eve is Silvester, owing that December 31 is St. Silvester's feast day. Gotta get that Catholic jazz in there somehow.

Interesting to note is that in Austria, the new year is celebrated with pigs, ladders, four-leaf-clovers, and little lead pieces as good luck symbols. The lead pieces are melted and then thrown into water to divine a person's fortune for the coming year - sort of like reading tea leaves.

Fireworks are also used to celebrate, though I'm going to have to be a Grinch and say I dislike fireworks. The city of Vienna has a fireworks show near St. Stephen's Cathedral, which is always so crowded you're likely to have something stepped on or stolen. Locals also buy their own and light them in their backyards. Or, failing sufficient backyardage, in the street. This New Year's Eve, a friend of mine got hit in the forehead by a rogue bottle rocket, which has dampened my enjoyment of such spectacles.

The part of the evening I LOVED was dancing the "Blue Danube" waltz at midnight - which is typically Viennese, sort of like how we sing "Auld Lang Syne" at midnight in the USA - and I suppose probably also the UK.

Superstitious?

Superstition - it's not just a Stevie Wonder song. Austrians seem especially keen on exploring them, actually, which I find fascinating in a quasi-pagan sort of way. Several examples have recently cropped up in my life. I'll share a few of them with you.

Two of my teachers asked me to do a lesson on superstitions around the world, for example, the number 13 vs. the number 7, breaking a mirror, black cats, opening an umbrella in the house, spilling salt...the list goes on. In my search for cohesion in the topic, I stumbled upon this website, which has a nice little A-Z list of superstitions.

The list my students came up with was pretty basic, and unfortunately the accompanying book lesson (from the less than stellar More!) had a completely awful version of The Monkey's Paw which is an excellent story if you read the original short story by W.W. Jacobs. But, the kids also came up a few unexpected superstitions: wearing red in China symbolizes good luck, and white bad luck; in Serbia, hiccups are caused by people talking about you.

My landlady has a book called "Guided by the Moon" (in English, written by an Austrian) which outlines all of the things you're supposed to do or not do depending on the cycle of the moon.

For example, clipping your nails after sunset on a Friday will keep you from having hang nails or ingrown toenails. Cutting your hair when the moon is waxing will make it full and beautiful - if the moon is waning, you will go bald. Felling a tree on New Year's Eve Day in the morning will make the wood easier to work with - and more durable - if you are planning on making furniture or tools out of it.

Christmas trees need to be felled during the waxing moon in December. If they are, they will keep their needles for months. Always water house plants on a water day (when the moon is going through on of the water signs - Pisces or Cancer, but not Scorpio). Do gardening: planting, weeding, harvesting; on an earth day (when the moon is going through one of the earth signs - Virgo, Taurus or Capricorn).

Sure, these superstitions can be a little silly, and I doubt whether most people actually still believe in them. But remember, this is Freud's country, and a lot of weight is still given to dream interpretation! I suppose anything is possible.

American Passages

Living in Austria has taught me a lot about being an American. It's curious in a way that an Austrian film recently released and chosen by my students to see would not only center around the United States and the "American Way of Life" but in doing so give me pause, leaving me to question how I fit in to this picture.

Last night, I went to see American Passages, the new film by Austrian documentary film director Ruth Beckermann at the Votivkino in the first district with the 7th form (juniors) Wahlpflichtfach (English elective class). All the girls (there are only girls in this class) were late, buying popcorn at the concession stand, trudging into the theater after the lights had dimmed and the previews started, sloughing off their winter gear in the row behind me, reserved just for them.

The film we were set to watch was about the American dream, I suppose. Or the inverse-American dream. As a whole, the film had little storyline, not much to connect images to dialog, aside from the fact that the interviews collected from around the United States served as the common denominator. The interviewees were of diverse cultural backgrounds, many of them underprivileged or part of the minority somehow. Pans of Harlem residents celebrating Barack Obama's 2008 presidential win, a bride-to-be in Mississippi telling the audience how she and her husband met, a gay couple living in Arizona explaining how they came to adopt a set of twins and a former pimp and compulsive gambler at the roulette table of a Las Vegas casino all take part in the aural and visual melange Beckermann gives us. The names are not given - just the stories and the circumstances in which they came about. The footage is coherently edited and flows from picturesque landscapes to portraits of denizens, but the stories seem dislocated, abstract, aborted, unfulfilled. Scattered. It is never fully explained who these people are - why they are important. They are all Americans. I suppose in its way, that is enough.

On Beckermann's part, I felt a very skewed version of reality confronting me from the silver screen. A one-sided commentary on the United States from an Austrian: a foreigner who has had little other, actual cultural contact with the USA. I couldn't help but feel her lack of objectivity on the subject not only prejudicial but lacking in professionalism. Displaying each side of the American story coherently and without injecting her own preconceived notions of what she expected to find seemed absent to me. The "documentation" was not unbiased.

My discomfort with the portrayal of Americans was perhaps underscored by the audience. As a scene of a Memorial Day celebration in Mississippi took up the screen, a woman sang the Star Spangled Banner and, upon saying a few words about the armed services - men and women who make the ultimate sacrifice for their country - she began to cry at the podium. Snickering began in the theater, and in some cases, I'm sure I heard full-blown laughter.

Perhaps she has lost a loved one in Iraq or Afghanistan. Perhaps she loves her country so much, her empathy overwhelmed her. Perhaps it was just too stinking hot on that May day in Mississippi that she couldn't keep her emotions in check. Because it was not explained, we will never know. Despite why she began to cry, it is to me unfathomable that her reaction should be mocked and ridiculed. This woman, in giving respect to her country and the US Armed Forces deserves respect in return.

This may sound hypocritical, and on some level it probably is. Before I spent any considerable amount of time abroad, I was an America-hater, too. It was a pretentious and rather ugly form of self-hate that I hope I've grown out of. Yes, I hate the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I hate that all of (what I perceive to be) the bad aspects of American culture (junk food, SUVs and unchecked consumerism being high on this list) have been exported to Europe, and lauded by young Europeans. I hate that non-Americans assume the United States does not have or has not produced anything worthy of the title "culture" but I now realize that, as an American, I am not defined by what my country does or is, unless this is what I allow. I, one person, am not responsible for 300 million. Perhaps the president is, but I am not. I can hate things about America, but I cannot hate being an American. What else do I have?

I've heard from many Austrians that they don't understand American patriotism. They don't have any idea why a person would sport the Stars and Stripes on a t-shirt or bumper sticker, why they would send care packages to the overseas troops. Or why the Pledge of Allegiance must be recited every day in school. I can't exactly explain it myself, but I do think that there's nothing wrong with loving one's country, and being proud to be where you're from.

Xenophobia and dogmatic patriotism are not all right, but most Americans, including the woman who was filmed, are not crazy patriots or bigots because they commemorate the soldiers who served in any war for their country. And since the equivalent of First Amendment rights came so much later to Austria, it's no wonder to me that there's a cultural gap - that freedom is inherent to the human condition, and that it can - by definition - safely mean two different things to two different people.

Another side of Vienna

This music video was show by a teacher in one of my 7th forms as an exercise in telling directions in English, and I found myself really enjoying the song. And added bonus is that the music video was filmed in a Fiaker, one of those horse-drawn coaches that is extremely expensive (50 euros per 20 minutes) and goes around the first district (Innere Stadt) to see all of the lovely monuments.

For those of you asking to see more of Vienna, pay attention to the background of the video. Toward the end, they go past my street! I was pretty excited when I saw... 

Tanz Baby! Nur Du (2009)

On the 10th Anniversary of 9/11

I'm surprised to see so much in the news and on TV about the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 World Trade Center attacks here in Austria. But then again, I'm not. The world does feel so globalized watching CNN via satellite, or listening to Angela Merkel express her thoughts on the comparison between 9/11 and the Fall of the Berlin Wall.

When 9/11 happened, I was in the 9th grade, sitting in French class. A neighboring teacher who had the period free knocked on our door and told the French teacher to turn on CNN, now. Something just happened in New York. I remember doing nothing but watch CNN the whole day in every class. People were glued to the screen. They wanted to know how something like this could happen to Americans on American soil. Who did this? What was the motive? Why were the World Trade Towers targeted? Or the Pentagon? When would someone explain this? When would it be better?

The explanation we got was a mediocre one, a small-minded retaliatory reaction. There were Saudi terrorists, who hated America and all it stood for, who hijacked these commercial airplanes and drove them, with innocent civilians aboard, into the Twin Towers. They did what only comes natural to Muslim Arabs - jihad and suicide missions to destroy the American Way. Thus, we as a nation needed to go after Al Qaeda, the organization, and Osama bin Laden, the man, responsible for these atrocities.

I, for one, called bullshit. I hate to get political on this blog, because that's not what it's for, and I don't mean to desecrate the memories of all the innocent victims of the attacks, but after gaining some perspective on things - by living abroad and allowing myself to see things from a non-American vantage, even if second-hand - I realized that nationalism and jingoism are the true evils. They are responsible for the terror attacks. They are responsible for the bombing of mosques, synagogues and churches in the West Bank. They are responsible evoking the term "Freedom Fries" when France did not support the USA's decision to invade Iraq.

Even when I was in 9th grade, when the War on Terror was declared and people were calling for "justice," I cringed. It saddened me to see violence and atrocious, reptilian behavior met with more violence and atrocious, reptilian behavior. For that's what war is. Just think about it: the conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq have been going on for 10 years and 8 years respectively and have cost a hundred times more casualties that the original attacks, and a thousand times more pain and suffering. The War in Afghanistan is the longest military conflict in American history, having surpassed the Vietnam War in 2010. Not to mention how much money it's costing taxpayers to fund the war - more than all the schools and teachers' salaries, more than all the hospitals and homeless shelters and Planned Parenthood centers and welfare aid paid out in every state of the Union combined.

And growing sentiment since 9/11 further fueled anger against Muslims and Arabs in the United States - and abroad -  subjecting them to racial profiling and other forms of discrimination. When I was working at the summer camp this year, (you may remember my post about this if you "follow" my blog), I was the Munich Airport manager. I had to escort, among other campers, four very nice boys from Bahrain to their plane as unaccompanied minors. When we when through security, each of the boys were body scanned and searched, and treated quite rudely. I especially noticed, as I was treated kindly in contrast, and there's no doubt in my mind it's because I'm white and "European-looking." If I had been wearing a burka, I'm sure I would have been treated differently, too. It made me so angry seeing these sweet little boys patted down just because of the way they looked and where they're from. One of the boys, Muhammed, said to me before we got to the security gate, "I bet we get patted down. We always do." Out of 60 kids, they were the only four who were.

Excuse me if I'm not being enough of a patriot on Patriot Day. I just can't bring myself to sing, "God Bless America" at the top of my lungs, when I know that hatred of a named enemy is what keeps people going in the good ol' US of A. In the 1950s, it was the Russians. Who will it be when oil in the Middle East runs out?

Magistratsabteilung by Any Other Name...Would Still Require Me to Take an Anger Management Course!

After visit #4 to the Magistratsabteilung and still no sign of my residency permit, I am beginning to worry. And also become angry. Yesterday was my latest "encounter".

First, I wake up bright and early to get there when the doors open at 8:30. I wait in a long line, get a number, go up to the 5th floor waiting room - it's almost become a routine - and sit and wait. This time they made me wait an hour and a half before even calling my number. I remember it being much quicker the first time...unless I'm just delusional.

Well, in the meantime between my 2nd visit where the woman told me I needed to go to Amstetten (because I was still registered as living there) and the 3rd visit where they told me they had sent my paperwork to Amtstetten (after I had already de-registered and re-registered in Vienna, which meant I had to wait until Amstetten sent back the paperwork to be able to do anything) I received a letter in the mail from the MA 35 telling me I needed to bring in my birth certificate with apostille - and German translation - and a housing contract stating where I'm living and who's renting to me, a week ago yesterday.

I immediately went to the translator on Monday to get the birth certificate translated, just like they asked in the letter. I got the translation back Thursday, and, having to fork over 150 euros for the damned thing, I was already on edge - strike #1 - considering (if I had a translation degree and/or certification) I could legally do the translation myself. And with out a #$*@ing degree, I can do it myself, but would a ministry accept it as verified?

Anyway, I got the translation back Thrusday. I already had a Mietvertrag (contract) and first thing Friday morning, I thought I would try my luck, to see if I could get by without an apostille, which I thought would be the least of my worries. Not so.

I get in, and the Mietvertrag is not valid, for some reason. I now need to prove that my host mom/landlady can "legally rent to me" which I think is completely ridiculous, and some bull the MA 35 is pulling because they don't like me, or something. I've never heard of anything like this. I emailed the Fulbright Commission, and they were not terribly helpful as of yet, but I am holding out hope. Such things have to be researched, I suppose.

On top of that (the woman telling me the contract was invalid was strike #2), they did not accept my non-apostilled original birth certificate with State of Wisconsin seal and watermark proving authenticity. Which means I have to send the birth certificate back to Wisconsin to get it authenticated, wait for the Secretary of State to send it back, and then go back to the MA 35, on top of having to get some sort of legal authorization on behalf of host mom Johanna.

Not only that, they DIDN'T NEED A TRANSLATION! Upon hearing this (strike #3), and the woman telling me this was all my problem, not hers, I blew up. She told me to stop yelling at her, and I apologized, but I didn't mean it. I would have sworn at her and called her a spineless cretin and a big fat bitch to boot, except that I have to go back at some point and actually get my Aufenthaltstitel and seeing as she may or may not have the power to grant me one at all (better to err on the side of "may"), I held my tongue, stormed out of the office, and once out of the building and on the street, I started crying. Balling my eyes out. I was so frustrated! And the woman had no right to be rude to me.

That's what upset me the most. I know this is my problem, and that they sent the letter stating I need an apostille.  But I didn't have one last year when I went to the Austrian consulate in Chicago. They sent my stuff onto Amstetten anyway. And I didn't think it would hurt anything to try, even if I got rejected and had to go back. I knew I couldn't get anything done with apostille while the birth certificate was at the translator's.

I guess that's life in the big city. Don't expect kindness, or even politeness. In Vienna vs. Amstetten, Amstetten wins in the bureaucracy department. They were actually nice to me at the Bezirkshauptmannschaft in Amstetten!

I might have tried a bribe next time, but my pockets, unfortunately, are too shallow to allow it.

Waldviertel Pur

I really need to start bringing my camera with me on my walks around Vienna.

This is sort of a rehashing of an earlier post where I said the same thing, but, it still holds true.

On the 31st of August, I wandered around on my usual route and, walking through the Burggarten, stumbled upon all of these tents in the nearby Heldenplatz. Well, upon taking a closer look, I realized it was Waldviertel Pur, which is basically a big fat tourism promotion for the Austrian Waldviertel, which is close enough to Vienna that it makes sense they would try to lure city folk with the joys of "country living" such as wooden carvings, handmade baskets, a hundred different types of cured meat, and a thousand different types of cheeses.

There was also a band (don't know if they come from the Waldviertel) and brochures on hiking and other outdoor activities. But the piece de resistance was all of the food you could sample, or buy to take home. I've realized that most of these "event" situations are more or less about eating food and drinking alcohol. Plenty of delicacies to choose from: Wine, beer, and Sturm.

Yes, they have officially started selling Sturm for the season! Sturm, for those unfamiliar with the Austrian wine-making process, is wine in its very first fermentation of the year. It's a lot like grape cider, with the possibility of as much alcohol content as the wine it will become, but tastes just like juice, so you don't feel like you're drinking wine. Thus the name, "storm," which refers most undoubtedly to the hangover you get the next day...like a hurricane in your head. However, since it is only produced for a few short weeks, typically September through October each year, it is a rarity and an indulgence.

The drink, known as "must" in English, appears in other wine-making cultures. But, I ask you, where else but in Vienna would you find sturm sold in such disparate places as: 1) a traditional Kaffeehaus, 2) a ritzy restaurant in the Museums Quartier, 3) a street festival, and 4) an Aldi (Austrian = Hofer)? If you have an idea, let me know.

Film Fantasy

Some interesting news has come my way: a film might be shot in my apartment! Well, I use "my" loosely...the apartment I'm renting. I'm not quite sure the filming dates, or the type of film (drama, I assume) or even if the crew will decide to film here (though it's looking pretty good), but the cinematographer, director and director's assistant have come to look at the apartment several times, which is a good indication.

The film director is Barbara Albert. I didn't recognize her when I met her (she is purportedly quite famous in Austria) but after doing a Google search, I discovered that I have actually seen one of her films: Free Radicals, one of my many "art house" picks from the APL during my college days...I liked it, I think. The thing is, I had a bit of trouble following the various schizoid plots. Which is the point of the film, I guess, that life make no sense, it's just a bunch of meaningless events strung together by the fact of experiencing them. Which is not necessarily a philosophy I agree with, but at least I found the film interesting. I assume Ms. Albert's latest project is in a similar vein. She likes doing disconnected vignettes, so presumably the apartment will be the setting for one of those.

The cinematographer promised that if they do choose the apartment, filming will be brief, I wouldn't have to do anything, and filming would occur sometime in November. If this comes to fruition, we'll see how many of those promises hold true.

In any case, I find it quite exciting, having considered a brief film career (after finishing a screenplay with the one and only CB) -- and who knows? I might end up writing for Hollywood one of these days. At least I can cross my fingers...or daydream as the case may be. Writers should always look into possibilities, even if they are little logical or plausible.

Magistratsabteilung, or: The First Canto of Hell

One of the first things I need to do in Vienna, after I settle in, is to register with the police and obtain my residence permit (Auftenthaltstitel) for this year.

Austrians love bureaucracy. It is one of the things that makes them happy, I think. I am starting to believe all the things I've read about Austrians and paperwork...almost as bad as the French! Having dealt with both, I still think the French are worse (I had to go to the French Consulate in Chicago 3 times, and even then they did not give me the "right" visa). Nevertheless, a thorn in my side may be what the MA 35 (Magistratsabteilung) becomes.

First, I arrive in Vienna, thinking I need to register with the American Embassy. Since Vienna is a lot bigger than Amstetten and I can't just walk down the street to register with the authorities. Fine by me. But, I have no idea where to go. So I go to the first logical place - the place they tell you to always go first when you're traveling abroad: the American Embassy. I take the U-Bahn to a place near the University, and walk out along the street looking for an official-looking building. Obviously, the one with iron bars, 6-foot high barbed wire and guard dogs is the American embassy. Easy to find, at least.

I saunter into the interrogation booth waiting room, confident for the first time in several months because I (me!) possess an American passport. Well, so what? So do at least 100 million other people. Plus, the guards tell me, You don't go to the American embassy to "register" you go to the consulate. On the other side of town. Bye-bye now.

Right. So I run up to Parkring from Boltzmanngasse (inconvenient seeing as I have to take 2 street cars and it takes 20 minutes from door to door) to get scanned - again - and interrogated. I wave around my passport, which indeed helps this time - I get to go to the front of the line! But it's a small victory, because the guy behind the desk tells me I'm in the wrong place. Again.

Fortunately, the gentleman behind the desk does give me an informative sheet of paper with an address and a list of services the Magistratsabteilung 35 provides. "This," he explains, pointing to the bolded heading, "is the place you want. People coming to the consulate want to get out of Austria, not stay here." Fair enough, good sir.

By now, I have wasted my whole morning running around. Yes, literally. It is now just after 11:00, and the problem with bureaucracy, the biggest problem, is that these buildings, which house "employees" to do "services" for the public have very short working hours. 8-11:30am. M-F. Or, if you're lucky, they'll stay open until noon. With another 1/2 hour on public transport ahead of me, I won't get to the MA in time to do anything but be handed a number. So the finishing of my quest needs putting off for another day.

Next day: out the door by 8 to get to the MA 35 in time to get my papers finished. YES! Today is the day, I tell myself. Today I will arrive home with a brand new Auftenthaltstitel and a feeling of accomplishment!

From the street car stop, I walk along a row of imposing metal and glass high-rises straight out of 1984 into #93-C and swarms of sweating, tired-looking people (it is August), crying babies and that smell you always get in European waiting rooms from the one or two people who are for some reason anti-deodorant.

I grab a number and am directed by the woman behind the desk to take the elevator to the fifth floor. From there, I wait for my number to be called. About an hour. I walk into the room to a weary-looking man behind a desk, who despite his "casual" summer office apparel (Tevas and a short-sleeved plaid shirt) does not have a "casual" attitude. He informs me that 1) I missed the deadline to extend my visa and will thus have to sumbit an Erstantrag rather than a Verlängerungsantrag. But he seems to take pity on me...I think? and decides he can go through with my request as soon as I get all of my forms copied and signed in triplicate. I may use the pay-per-copier outside his office. 20 cents a page.

Once I return to submit my triplicated forms, Mr. Casual has already moved onto someone else. And I thought I was special. Over his shoulder, he tells me to wait a little longer. My number will be called again shortly.

I sit back down. 10:42, my watch reads. Not bad. This gives the guy over an hour. And he did say "shortly" so I wait and watch the screen for my number.

At 11:12, I am sick of staring at a screen, so I whip open my book. I read one chapter, and then two. And by the time I know it, I've read 50 pages but my number has not been called. It is nearly 2:00. Supposedly the MA 35 has closed. I look around the waiting room to see a Turkish couple buying sandwiches from the vending machine. Has anyone told them the MA 35 closes at noon? A woman comes up to me and asks why I'm  there. I tell her about renewing my visa, and that Mr. Casual told me to wait. OK, she nods. It'll be another minute.

Around 2:30, a younger, plumper woman comes to get me. She scans my fingerprints. She takes out my triplicated forms. She prints out a form and tells me to go to the cashier to pay for my Antrag. I can almost taste my victory!

I run up one flight to the cashier, who takes my €80 and hands me a receipt. I rush back down to the plump woman, who asks me for a Mietvertrag. A what? She repeats herself. I tell her I don't have one. She gets her colleague in from next door, who translates for me into English: a contract.

Yes, thanks for that, but just because you translate it for me doesn't mean it will magically appear in my backpack. I only have a Meldezettel - a residence registration form. Which has the same information, but is apparently completely different.

No dice, the ladies say.

Then the new one says something mean about me in German, thinking I won't get it, and the plump one laughs. I feel like calling them a couple of cows - in German - but I realize that would hurt my case, and seeing as I now have to return to the MA 35 to finish my business, the least I can do is hold my temper until I'm out of the building. Play the bureaucrats' game and sometimes, when they feel like it, they might just let you win.

It's a Good Life

The end of summer camp has brought me to where it all began nearly one year ago...Vienna.

Well, depending on one's definition of "beginning." For argument's sake, I will stick with the beginning of my Austrian experience, not the beginning of this blog (for which I was still in Wisconsin), nor the beginning of my international adventure, which began in Chicago...or, Paris if the flight over doesn't count. In any case, there are several points at which I could begin, and all would remain legitimate. But there's one I choose specifically, because it has more weight than others. More significance.

Vienna is significant, because it was the first place I visited in Austria ever in my life - about four years ago now, when I was a student in Berlin. For this reason, among others, I suppose, I have continually compared Vienna to Berlin, in my mind, but also aloud to anyone who will listen. Perhaps this only makes sense to me, but perhaps it also makes sense to others who have lived in both cities. I shall extrapolate.

Both cities are German-speaking and vibrant, though Berlin is slightly larger (4.4 million in the metropolitan area to Vienna's 2.4 million) and a lot less expensive. Vienna was gauged as the second most expensive city to live in (in the EU), after Rome, in Mercer's 2011 Cost of Living Survey.  Vienna is the city of culture, tradition - a place for everything and everything in its place. Berlin is subversive: art for art's sake, not art for tradition's sake. Unadulterated creativity rather than double-checking with superiors...It seemed to me when I first visited Vienna that, although it was a beautiful city, it did leave something to be desired when compared to Berlin. I guess I just liked Berlin better. Now that I am living in Vienna, I suppose I shall truly see the difference.

But I digress. My musings are probably less interesting to the audience than photos of my new apartment. To appease:

my room

my bookshelf already filled with crap

my desk likewise filled with crap

the hall

the balcony

the dining room

the living room

the kitchen

I am subletting from a woman who is currently in the USA helping her daughter with a newborn baby. I could not afford such a nice place on my own (and certainly not in Vienna). While she's gone, I'm doing a sort of house sitting job. The apartment is right downtown, very spacious and nice. I haven't been here very long, but so far I have no complaints, and am looking very forward to the coming year. Not that Amstetten wasn't great, but...Vienna is Vienna.