The morning started off sunny, so we decided to drive south of Vienna, take a nice hike through that portion of the Vienna Woods.
But by the time got ourselves downstairs, about noon, the skies were all cloudy and gray.
Still. We went anyhow, and had a good hike through the woods. Passed a fair number of people along the paths, too, many of them walking their very happy dogs, who trotted ahead, tongues hanging and tails wagging.
The good thing about the Vienna Woods, and in fact many such nature trails in Austria, is the fact that there are usually several little places along the way where you can get something to eat or drink. So after walking uphill a couple of miles, B and I stopped in at this place where we each enjoyed a bowl of soup.
Click on the various links; two or three photos come up, one of which shows a fantastic view of Vienna in the distance. Unfortunately it was so overcast today I couldn't get a decent shot of this view myself...
----
A bit of a problem when I went to take a piss.
For Christmas, one of my gifts was a pair of long underwear. Today I wore them for the first time. But when I went to take a piss, I found out the manufacturer had evidently failed to include the usual slit from which a man can dangle his hose. WTF?
Then I thought: Hell, I must have put these things on backwards, because surely no underwear maker would be so fucking stupid...
But, yes. When I got home I checked the situation RE the missing slit. NO DICK-SLIT! So, fair warning: Don't buy long ski underwear made by ODLO, style 152042, men's warm, unless you want to sit down like a girl when you piss. Or pull the front of the underwear down a foot or so, like your humble he-man of a blogger had to do. (Well, maybe not a foot.)
---
B's comment: Whiner! Crybaby! If the majority of the world population can pee without a slit, so can you. I am simply filing his complaint under the heading: "Habitual overestimation of the importance of a fairly crudely designed reproductive organ."
---
I shall consider my girlfriend's thoughtful comments.
Then I shall reject them.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Monday, December 28 in Pictures
Took public transport into the center of town today to run some errands, then visit friends.
Interesting day, weather-wise: the skies were dark but the sun was poking through a hole in the clouds, lighting the taller buildings. A nice contrast against the dark skies. Did I get pics? No.
Into the 1st District, where I observed this clear sign of the coming End Times:
click to enlarge, and you'll notice the prices of these cell phones, one of which runs 10,000 Euro (about $14,300). What's worse: people who would make phones this expensive, rich pricks who would buy them, or people who would photograph them and then comment on the absurdity of it?
We passed the famous Spanish Riding School where the Lipizzan horses are trained. There's an open courtyard and each horse has an open window through which he can look out onto the courtyard, and the gawking Jethros who take photos like this. These two seemed to like each other quite a bit.
I found this building architecturally interesting.
Passed the famous Trzesniewski sandwich shop and stopped in for a bite. They serve tiny little sandwiches covered with delicious homemade spreads; they offer about 21 varieties. You can buy the spreads separately if you want. Every time I've been there, the place has been packed. The sandwiches are about 3 inches square and cost about $1.40 each, but they're meant for a treat, not a full meal. Visit their website and click around, check out what they have!
Statues of women with bare breastesess. Strictly verboten in Oklahoma!
----
Went to visit our friends. E is a colleague and friend of B's; her husband is the retired head of the Austrian air force, a pilot with 40 years experience, including as a test pilot...in fact, he told me he's been elected as the vice-president of a test-pilot society. Unfortunately, due to a severe illness, he's now confined to a wheelchair.
At my urging, he talked a lot about flying, both rotorcraft and fixed-wing aircraft. He showed me a model of a German WWI plane that he built, and explained to me differences in tactics used in the aircraft of different generations.
I've met the old general once before and the conversation always gets around to flying (again, at my urging) because, as I told him, "Every boy wants to fly, but very few boys get to fly." He said, without a hint of self-pity: "Well, I had forty good years in the cockpit. My situation now is not so good (he motioned to his useless legs) but still...forty good years in the cockpit."
His wife, E, ever the gracious hostess, served us delicious fruit salad, cookies, and tea. A very nice visit.
Now home, and supper, and a night of writing and reading and TV.
XXX Versus YYY
Yesterday had a theme to it, though not evident until the end of the day, when B pointed it out to me...
We drove into the center of town to finish our tour of the KAMPF IN DER STADT exhibit at the Wien Museum. The exhibit explains the conditions which led up to the Austrian civil war in 1934.
If you click on the link and read about the civil war, you might notice parallels between conditions in Austria in the 20s and 30s, and conditions in the US today. It was city versus country, conservative versus socialist, rich versus working people, religious versus secular. Tough economic circumstances led to great concern over the future, which led to the rise of "leaders" who had "good ideas" about how best to proceed, which led to attempts to suppress and repress various groups of people, which led to marching in the streets, occasional riots, and then a brief civil war.
I'm not the kind of guy who actually starts sentences with the phrase "There are two kinds of people:" but it does seem that there are people who 1) want things to stay the same, or go backwards, even if it means continued discomfort and uptightness, and 2) people who want change and progress, even if it means discomfort and a "leaving behind" of cherished but now outdated modes of thinking, during the transformation.
In America, we've got the Sarah Palin types, and we've got the Ralph Nader types. And there's a broad range of in-between types.
In America, the Right tend to be the people with the guns who don't mind getting in the opposition's faces, while the Left tends to be basically uninterested in and incapable of actual tough fighting. It's somewhat the opposite in Europe, where the Left can be pretty noisy and demonstrative and willing to out-shout the loudmouths on the Right and actually tell them, to their faces, "You are loud, uneducated bullies with stupid, backward ideas." (They don't always win but they're willing to fight, unlike the American Left. Which is why the American Left gets no respect from the Right, and often gets their asses steamrolled by the Right.)
For me, though, I'm like my buddy George the Greek. We think political storms are like actual storms. They come up, you try to ride them out as best you can, and you can forget about trying to control them. This shit has been going on since the beginning of history. It ain't changing any time soon.
----
Went to the movies after the museum. Woody Allen's WHATEVER WORKS, with Larry David playing a more misanthropic, embittered, and obnoxious Woody Allen figure. The movie paralleled the museum exhibit in that it showcased differences between big-city, well-educated, politically / socially liberal, atheistic people and relatively uneducated, religious, conservative, small-town Southerners.
I'm not taking sides one way or the other, but in recent political campaigns the ideal of small-town America was constantly upheld as some sort of mythical holy state of being, when in fact the majority of Americans in the 21st Century live in large cities, with more and more people moving to the cities every year. Why politicians continue to pretend to worry about what small-town people think and believe is quite beyond my comprehension.
The film was entertaining in its own right, aside from any deeper social or political concepts the viewer might want to plug into the story. It's out on DVD in the States; you can get it from Netflix and other rental outlets.
We drove into the center of town to finish our tour of the KAMPF IN DER STADT exhibit at the Wien Museum. The exhibit explains the conditions which led up to the Austrian civil war in 1934.
If you click on the link and read about the civil war, you might notice parallels between conditions in Austria in the 20s and 30s, and conditions in the US today. It was city versus country, conservative versus socialist, rich versus working people, religious versus secular. Tough economic circumstances led to great concern over the future, which led to the rise of "leaders" who had "good ideas" about how best to proceed, which led to attempts to suppress and repress various groups of people, which led to marching in the streets, occasional riots, and then a brief civil war.
I'm not the kind of guy who actually starts sentences with the phrase "There are two kinds of people:" but it does seem that there are people who 1) want things to stay the same, or go backwards, even if it means continued discomfort and uptightness, and 2) people who want change and progress, even if it means discomfort and a "leaving behind" of cherished but now outdated modes of thinking, during the transformation.
In America, we've got the Sarah Palin types, and we've got the Ralph Nader types. And there's a broad range of in-between types.
In America, the Right tend to be the people with the guns who don't mind getting in the opposition's faces, while the Left tends to be basically uninterested in and incapable of actual tough fighting. It's somewhat the opposite in Europe, where the Left can be pretty noisy and demonstrative and willing to out-shout the loudmouths on the Right and actually tell them, to their faces, "You are loud, uneducated bullies with stupid, backward ideas." (They don't always win but they're willing to fight, unlike the American Left. Which is why the American Left gets no respect from the Right, and often gets their asses steamrolled by the Right.)
For me, though, I'm like my buddy George the Greek. We think political storms are like actual storms. They come up, you try to ride them out as best you can, and you can forget about trying to control them. This shit has been going on since the beginning of history. It ain't changing any time soon.
----
Went to the movies after the museum. Woody Allen's WHATEVER WORKS, with Larry David playing a more misanthropic, embittered, and obnoxious Woody Allen figure. The movie paralleled the museum exhibit in that it showcased differences between big-city, well-educated, politically / socially liberal, atheistic people and relatively uneducated, religious, conservative, small-town Southerners.
I'm not taking sides one way or the other, but in recent political campaigns the ideal of small-town America was constantly upheld as some sort of mythical holy state of being, when in fact the majority of Americans in the 21st Century live in large cities, with more and more people moving to the cities every year. Why politicians continue to pretend to worry about what small-town people think and believe is quite beyond my comprehension.
The film was entertaining in its own right, aside from any deeper social or political concepts the viewer might want to plug into the story. It's out on DVD in the States; you can get it from Netflix and other rental outlets.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
The Importance of December 26
This will be a two-parter...
First: B's parents drove over about noon, then we drove across the Danube and through Vienna's 21st District, parts of which were formerly villages---one of those being Stammersdorf, which we walked through / outside of, along paths and vineyards.
The weather: PERFECT. Sunny skies, no wind, and almost warm, like an early Spring day. I don't know why the gods arranged it, and though there's been a bit of sadness (!) on the part of those who wanted a white Christmas, I was happy for the sunshine.
The village church
On the way to the fields, you pass many old wine cellars like this one, dug into the side of the hill
Posted on the side of a wine cellar:
"Without a horse in front of this cellar with lance and sword."
A cyclist enjoying the weather
Some of the vineyards of Stammersdorf
We walked a couple of miles in the fields, then back in the village stopped in at one of the many Heurige (wine tavern) for lunch and a bottle of the vintner's white wine.
Then back to B's place for the continuation of a family tradition: every year, B's dad takes a photo of B blowing out one of the candles on the Christmas tree. He's been doing this since she was a little girl.
------
While walking along the tranquil vineyards and fields, it came to me that this is the season of important birthdays----B's sister on the 24th, Jesus H. Christ on the 25th, and today, the 26th, one of the most important human beings ever born.
I refer, of course, to none other than Henry Miller.
The walk with B and her parents had been lovely, and a good beginning to my celebration of Henry's birthday. But after the sun went down, I decided to go into the center of town alone and commune with the spirit of Henry Valentine Miller in one of the funkiest haunts in Vienna, Cafe Alt Wien (Cafe Old Vienna.)
Cafe Alt Wien
The place was crowded, even at 6:30. No free tables, so I sat at the bar, ordered a small beer, and whipped my camera and notebook out. Started writing.
My notebook, my pen, my beer at the bar of Cafe Alt Wien. How very cliche.
Henry Miller could fill a blank page with a series of very interesting and entertaining black marks, which, when decoded and processed, make you really think about things. He filled many thousands of such blank pages. One might say he left his piss on a lot of trees before vanishing into the void in 1980, nearly 90 years after arriving on this strange planet.
I looked around at the people in Cafe Alt Wien with me. There were maybe 50 of us. All ages. All of us on our way to having our atoms unglued one way or another, one day or another, all of us on our way to becoming ghosts, just like Henry became a ghost, and just like those who preceded him became ghosts, and just like those who follow us will become ghosts.
However: before Henry became a ghost, he played the role of a human being and he played it really fucking well. It's our job, likewise, us sons and daughters of Henry, to do our best to do the same...to be really human.
Friday, December 25, 2009
It's A Wonderful Life
Christmas Eve, we brought the tree in from the balcony, took it into the bedroom, unwrapped it, and started decorating.
BEFORE
DURING
AFTER
It took a couple of hours to place the bulbs / decorations, the lights, then the candles, and finally the tinsel. Then we lit the candles and gazed at what we had wrought. The light of real candles is exquisite!
Unexpectedly but fortunately, B's cleaning woman turned up just when we were thinking of tidying up the place - since she is Serbian Orthodox, her Christmas Eve is only going to take place in 7 days, and Thursday is her normal cleaning day. Our good luck.
Then to B's sister's house. Traffic was extraordinarily light, and it was unseasonably warm out----maybe about 50 F, which for a Vienna winter evening is pretty warm. The streets were wet, condensation from the moisture-rich air mostly.
At R's place, the others had gathered: R, the girls' parents, two sisters who had grown up with B and R, their husbands (one of the couples lives in Nuremberg), and the sisters' 89-year-old mother. AND, last but not least, Sofie The Dog, a black Lab. Sofie was very sweet and well behaved, and mostly laid around---though we discovered later in the evening that she'd stolen two thirds of a box with home-made Christmas cookies someone left unattended.
BEFORE THE EATIN' & DRINKIN'
B'S SOUP
The food was prepared by the guests to avoid any stress for R (she has been battling cancer for many years). First, cream of parsley root (B), then the other girls's veal roulade stuffed with Bavarian veal sausage meat, Black Forest ham and chestnuts with slices of bread dumpling boiled in a napkin and a delicious gravy which contained a pint of port and onions. It was delicious.
Besides being Christmas Eve, it was also R's birthday. A dual celebration. One of the guests was a pretty good singer / guitarist, so there were Christmas carols sung in German around the tree (also lit with real candles.) Most everyone there could sing pretty well. I can't, but I was spared having to because I don't know the words to the songs.
They didn't want me to feel left out, though, so they asked what carol I'd like to hear. Finally I said, "White Christmas." Just like the kind they have in Oklahoma this year.
Since my mom died, Christmas hasn't really meant very much. My dad and I didn't get together for it, neither of us being religious or much interested in standing on ceremony. But this year is special because it's my first Christmas with B and her family, and in the days leading up to it I got more and more into---I don't want to say "THE" spirit, but rather "A" spirit of it.
So there we were, in R's place, me the relative newcomer, but made to feel part of the family. I recorded some of the caroling and intend to put it with a little video I made, if I can figure out Windows Movie Maker.
After dinner everyone opened their gifts, then had the birthday cake in celebration of R's birthday as a dessert. We finally left about 10:30 or so, and noticed now that traffic on the streets had picked up quite a bit----a hell of a lot more taxis than usual. People wisely choosing to let the cabbies do the (sober) driving!
For whatever reason, B and I were wide awake despite the long day. So we cracked a bottle of wine and sat down to watch IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE----in German. Interestingly, there are a few points in the film where you see close-ups of written material---telegrams or the like. Instead of showing the original close-up in English, they inserted a German-language version of the thing, and the look and feel of the clip perfectly matched the rest of the film. I don't know if Frank Capra shot these close-ups in different languages at the time of production, or if they were cleverly added for foreign markets in later years.
In English or German, though, it's a great film.
We took a break in the middle of the film to call our friend Will B. Goode, who house- and cat-sits for me every time I come to Vienna. He told us of the big snowstorm that hit Oklahoma, and said he was just about to pull a turkey out of the oven when we called. Christmas dinner for him and the cat...
Had a good talk with Will, then back to the film, then, finally, to bed about 3 AM.
It's a wonderful life and it's been a wonderful FIRST CHRISTMAS TOGETHER for B and me.
O Tannenbaum
Here's a very short video of our Christmas tree.
The music in the video is the 3rd verse of "Silent Night," sung in German by B's family and friends on Christmas Eve here in Vienna.
The Christmas tree is in our bedroom.
Real tree, real candles!
O Tannenbaum from John X on Vimeo.
The music in the video is the 3rd verse of "Silent Night," sung in German by B's family and friends on Christmas Eve here in Vienna.
The Christmas tree is in our bedroom.
Real tree, real candles!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Merry Christmas
One of the decorations on our Christmas tree.
It ain't Christmas until the fat lady has been hung.
I had this thought today: Love is the antidote to any poison.
Merry Christmas to everyone.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Visit to the Essl Museum
Took a ten-minute ride to the Essl Museum, a really beautiful modern art gallery.
B says the guy who founded it is a millionaire art collector who owns the Austrian equivalent of Home Depot.
Visit their website and look at how architecturally striking the space is---I was really impressed with it.
Three pieces of art caught my eye:
Modern Art at Essl Museum, Austria from John X on Vimeo.
B says the guy who founded it is a millionaire art collector who owns the Austrian equivalent of Home Depot.
Visit their website and look at how architecturally striking the space is---I was really impressed with it.
view of the large third floor gallery at the Essl Museum
Three pieces of art caught my eye:
Wall sculpture made of glued-together empty toilet paper rolls.
This piece measures about six feet square. I might make one of these for my house, but I'd want to paint the rolls, maybe run some colorful fabric inside each "pipe" so it would show through the gaps.
The second thing I liked, unfortunately, I failed to get a pic of. But here's what the artist, Alem Korkut, did---he put some kind of vibrating mechanism under a tray, about the size of a cookie sheet. On top of that he put a piece of white paper. Then he started the vibrator and dumped some ball bearings on the paper, each of which had been dipped in black paint.
So as the surface vibrated, the balls jiggled around and lurched here and there and created a kind of random pattern. At any point in the process you could stop the vibrator, remove the ball bearings, and there's your art to hang on the wall. There were video screens showing exactly how the guy did it.
Again, the only thing I would change would be to use different colors on the ball bearings. First black, then the next color, then the next. I might try this at home, too.
Finally, this thing below. It was ingenious, we thought----a bust of David, on which is projected moving eyes and lips, the lips reciting a Hungarian freedom poem, in Chinese, and behind it all a red piece of fabric. When you look at the shadow of the bust on the fabric, you see yellow stars for eyes and a mouth on the shadow "head."
The artist is named David Adamko, and you can check out his website for the full video of the installation.
Thanks to B who helped me find the names and websites here, after I forgot my notes back at the museum!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Hunting for Our Christmas Tree
Here, they don't slap the Christmas tree up on December 1. Nope; the tree goes up a day or two before Christmas (which is celebrated in Austria on the 24th, NOT the 25th), is almost always a REAL tree, almost always ISN'T three stories tall, and is often taken down on January 6 (Epiphany, which I guess is one of the thousands of Catholic-church inspired holidays Austria has; I can't keep track of them all.)
We've passed a number of tree markets here in Vienna but the trees, having been cut days or maybe weeks earlier, aren't always so fresh-looking. So B asked around, called around, and finally we decided to drive an hour or so outside town to a tree dealer she'd discovered.
Found the place, finally, and pulled into the parking lot. Lots of trees there, but for different reasons they weren't right----too tall, too spindly, too thick, too short, no smell, the needles were too pointy. But no problem! One of the employees grabbed the pickup (which they DO drive in the countryside here, if not in Vienna) and off we went, outside the village to the place in the hills where the trees grow.
The road was steep and still filled with snow, so the guy switched to 4WD on the way up. There were the trees, awaiting their premature deaths. We asked the guy how long it takes a tree to grow to a height of 2 meters. "About six years," the guy said.
So we walked around and finally found a specimen we liked. The guy whipped out his chainsaw, cut it down, and threw it into the back of the truck.
Back in the village, I saw how they prepare trees for transport. 1) Stick it in a fiberglass tube about 3 feet long, trunk first. 2) Pull on the trunk and the tree goes through the tube, simultaneously 3) getting wrapped in a thin plastic net which compresses the branches together, so the tree is kind of the shape of an unopened pine cone.
While B supervised all this, I walked over to a little kiosk where I'd noticed customers and staff munching on stuff throughout our time there. "Do you have anything warm to drink?" I asked her. "Glühwein," she said, a warm spiced white wine. "Please deliver it unto me," I said. When I got ready to pay, she wouldn't take my money, so I guess it's a perk for customers.
We had to do some fancy re-arrangin' to fit the tree into the car, but it fit. Drove home, and stuck the tree out on the balcony until tomorrow when we'll bring it in and decorate it, including with real candles. I'll be sure to post a pic of the tree, decorated with candles blazing, so you'll be able to tell the authorities exactly how our house happened to burn to the ground.
(Just kidding---it's perfectly safe.)
We've passed a number of tree markets here in Vienna but the trees, having been cut days or maybe weeks earlier, aren't always so fresh-looking. So B asked around, called around, and finally we decided to drive an hour or so outside town to a tree dealer she'd discovered.
Found the place, finally, and pulled into the parking lot. Lots of trees there, but for different reasons they weren't right----too tall, too spindly, too thick, too short, no smell, the needles were too pointy. But no problem! One of the employees grabbed the pickup (which they DO drive in the countryside here, if not in Vienna) and off we went, outside the village to the place in the hills where the trees grow.
The road was steep and still filled with snow, so the guy switched to 4WD on the way up. There were the trees, awaiting their premature deaths. We asked the guy how long it takes a tree to grow to a height of 2 meters. "About six years," the guy said.
So we walked around and finally found a specimen we liked. The guy whipped out his chainsaw, cut it down, and threw it into the back of the truck.
Back in the village, I saw how they prepare trees for transport. 1) Stick it in a fiberglass tube about 3 feet long, trunk first. 2) Pull on the trunk and the tree goes through the tube, simultaneously 3) getting wrapped in a thin plastic net which compresses the branches together, so the tree is kind of the shape of an unopened pine cone.
While B supervised all this, I walked over to a little kiosk where I'd noticed customers and staff munching on stuff throughout our time there. "Do you have anything warm to drink?" I asked her. "Glühwein," she said, a warm spiced white wine. "Please deliver it unto me," I said. When I got ready to pay, she wouldn't take my money, so I guess it's a perk for customers.
We had to do some fancy re-arrangin' to fit the tree into the car, but it fit. Drove home, and stuck the tree out on the balcony until tomorrow when we'll bring it in and decorate it, including with real candles. I'll be sure to post a pic of the tree, decorated with candles blazing, so you'll be able to tell the authorities exactly how our house happened to burn to the ground.
(Just kidding---it's perfectly safe.)
Monday, December 21, 2009
To Market
The sun vanished again, and the streets are dirty-slushy with sand and gravel and salt and old snow.
We hung around the house until about 2, then took the tram to into the center of town. Stopped off at a bookstore where I picked up a few Christmas presents for friends here.
Then to the Naschmarkt, the big public marketplace. Had a goulasch and a beer in our favorite cozy spot, a place filled exclusively with men except for B, and the lady who served us. B explained that most ladies would prefer a nicely lit place serving tea or cakes, rather than the dark, wood-paneled, rather rustic place we ate.
Hence a crowd of regulars like these guys, below:
regulars at the goulasch place at the Naschmarkt
another stolen image captured at the goulasch place.
A lady's tea room it ain't, but the food is really hearty.
Then a stroll around the Naschmarkt, gathering food for the upcoming holiday (and for my Tom Yum soup, a Thai specialty I enjoy preparing.)
Stopped at Kaseland for some more cheese, and once again were served by the very friendly and knowledgeable Franz Kammer (the guy with the beard, if you look at the pics on their site.) And, once again, he was generous with the cheese samples AND gave us a little wedge of a special cheese he likes, before bidding us a Merry Christmas.
B stopped off at a microscopically tiny shop where they sell specialty meats and cheeses--and, this time of year, there's warm wine or Punsch to drink inside. I watched outside through the windows and the two guys serving the customers, and the six or eight people crammed elbow to asshole in the place, laughed and joked and enjoyed themselves in there. Wondered what all the hilarity was about, and when B came out she told me about the drinking, so it all made sense.
Then we stopped off for a warm cup of wine, then took the subway home in the dark.
Barely room to breathe in this place, but more than enough room to stand around drinking while trying to decide what meat or cheese you want to buy!
Then we stopped off for a warm cup of wine, then took the subway home in the dark.
Planning Book
I went to the store. I bought a new planning book.
The cashier asked me: "Do you have lots of plans for 2010?"
"My main plan was to buy this planning book. Now that I have," I said, holding the book up with a sense of pride, "mission accomplished!"
Now I have some free time to kill.
It pays to plan ahead.
The cashier asked me: "Do you have lots of plans for 2010?"
"My main plan was to buy this planning book. Now that I have," I said, holding the book up with a sense of pride, "mission accomplished!"
Now I have some free time to kill.
It pays to plan ahead.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
John X Gets a Gift
Do not fuck with this d***.
B's sister R gave me this as a little gift.
It will occupy a place of honor (honour if you're a Brit) on my desk at home.
It will occupy a place of honor (honour if you're a Brit) on my desk at home.
Sunday Hike In The Snowy Vineyards
Woke up this morning to a very strange sight: glaring light pouring into the window. WTF?
Turns out it was the local G-type main sequence star we usually refer to as "The Sun," something I thought was dead and buried since arriving here December 7. But there it was, happily engaged in fusing its many hydrogen nuclei. Let there be light (if not much heat.)
So! B and I took a hike to around the base of the nearby vineyards, and here's some of what we saw:
Turns out it was the local G-type main sequence star we usually refer to as "The Sun," something I thought was dead and buried since arriving here December 7. But there it was, happily engaged in fusing its many hydrogen nuclei. Let there be light (if not much heat.)
So! B and I took a hike to around the base of the nearby vineyards, and here's some of what we saw:
The vineyards, sleeping it off after a long spring, summer, and autumn.
Clicketh on the pic to enlargeth, my brethren. You will see Vienna in the haze...
Nothing like running down the slope to get the blood pumping.
We had a nice walk; went a couple of miles, maybe. Passed a lot of other hikers.
Then stopped off at Fidelio for a cup of hot chocolate.
----
B had to run an errand then, to one of Vienna's taxi companies to buy gift cards for Christmas presents. The dispatcher's office was on the 4th floor of an old-fashioned Viennese apartment building, and here's what the stairway looked like from up there:
Pleasant walk down. Up? Not so much.
Now we're home for a cozy evening in. Some TV, a good dinner, some wine and beer, some conversation.
Snowy Saturday
Saturday it snowed all day and all night.
I walked down to the Trafik to get newspapers for B. On the way, my feet crunching and squeaking on the inch or so of fallen snow, I spotted the owner of Fidelio, a local restaurant we like. He was erasing the menu board outside. Talked with him a few seconds, the usual pleasantries----I like your restaurant, how's business, maybe I'll stop by soon...
On the way back with my papers I thought: "Hell, I'll get an early lunch at Fidelio; haven't eaten there yet this trip."
Stopped off and there were a couple of people inside. I ordered a bowl of chili con carne, not exactly something you associate with Vienna, but the waitress told me it was good. Sure enough, it was. So was the beer. I sat at the bar / counter and soon was engaged in conversation with the lady sitting there.
This was unusual because the Viennese are not known to strike up conversations with strangers. B says it's sometimes aloofness, sometimes shyness, but either way this place ain't like the Red Cup in OKC where strangers at adjacent tables feel free to chime in.Very little of that (admittedly superficial) Okie warmth here in Vienna.
My German is really pretty horrible, I realized as I was trying to say the simplest things to the lady. But I found out she lives in the village just north, she works for the police department as a meter maid, and her son works at Fidelio as a waiter. She told me my German was good, but she was just being nice---it's wretched. I need to get better. I should have been further along after almost seven years of visiting here...
----
In the evening, we met our friend Klausi at Cafe Rudigerhof, his favorite hangout. A nice old fashioned coffeehouse / bar / meeting place. It had continued snowing all day...in fact was still snowing as we drove in, and there was surprisingly little traffic for a Saturday night, probably due to the snow: people were staying home.
The conversation went all over the map, as usual, and some of it was quite beyond my comprehension---stuff having to do with EuroPolitics. I'm not even interested in American politics because as George Carlin eloquently said, it's completely rigged, the game is over, and WE LOST. So I only pay attention to it in passing.
Still, I consider myself a student and it's my job to learn things, so I listen attentively and try to ask the right questions and probe into the meat of things as best I can.
We spent about 3.5 hours there and the place gradually filled up during that time, mostly with young folks. I remember myself as a 20-something. I rarely went anywhere at night and never stayed out late because I always had a job where I had to 1) work weekends and 2) get up FUCKING EARLY. It looked to me like the kids were having a good time but then again, so was I---I finally lived long enough to retire, and now every fucking day is a weekend, as far as I'm concerned.
We drove home in the snow. Sitting at a light, I saw a young couple walking along the broad sidewalk. All of a sudden the woman dashed ahead and slid on the snow, kind of surfing on it, laughing as she did. Pure joy.
The guy had a big smile on his face.
Me, too.
I walked down to the Trafik to get newspapers for B. On the way, my feet crunching and squeaking on the inch or so of fallen snow, I spotted the owner of Fidelio, a local restaurant we like. He was erasing the menu board outside. Talked with him a few seconds, the usual pleasantries----I like your restaurant, how's business, maybe I'll stop by soon...
On the way back with my papers I thought: "Hell, I'll get an early lunch at Fidelio; haven't eaten there yet this trip."
Stopped off and there were a couple of people inside. I ordered a bowl of chili con carne, not exactly something you associate with Vienna, but the waitress told me it was good. Sure enough, it was. So was the beer. I sat at the bar / counter and soon was engaged in conversation with the lady sitting there.
This was unusual because the Viennese are not known to strike up conversations with strangers. B says it's sometimes aloofness, sometimes shyness, but either way this place ain't like the Red Cup in OKC where strangers at adjacent tables feel free to chime in.Very little of that (admittedly superficial) Okie warmth here in Vienna.
My German is really pretty horrible, I realized as I was trying to say the simplest things to the lady. But I found out she lives in the village just north, she works for the police department as a meter maid, and her son works at Fidelio as a waiter. She told me my German was good, but she was just being nice---it's wretched. I need to get better. I should have been further along after almost seven years of visiting here...
----
In the evening, we met our friend Klausi at Cafe Rudigerhof, his favorite hangout. A nice old fashioned coffeehouse / bar / meeting place. It had continued snowing all day...in fact was still snowing as we drove in, and there was surprisingly little traffic for a Saturday night, probably due to the snow: people were staying home.
The conversation went all over the map, as usual, and some of it was quite beyond my comprehension---stuff having to do with EuroPolitics. I'm not even interested in American politics because as George Carlin eloquently said, it's completely rigged, the game is over, and WE LOST. So I only pay attention to it in passing.
Still, I consider myself a student and it's my job to learn things, so I listen attentively and try to ask the right questions and probe into the meat of things as best I can.
We spent about 3.5 hours there and the place gradually filled up during that time, mostly with young folks. I remember myself as a 20-something. I rarely went anywhere at night and never stayed out late because I always had a job where I had to 1) work weekends and 2) get up FUCKING EARLY. It looked to me like the kids were having a good time but then again, so was I---I finally lived long enough to retire, and now every fucking day is a weekend, as far as I'm concerned.
We drove home in the snow. Sitting at a light, I saw a young couple walking along the broad sidewalk. All of a sudden the woman dashed ahead and slid on the snow, kind of surfing on it, laughing as she did. Pure joy.
The guy had a big smile on his face.
Me, too.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Friday In Vienna
Hung around the house until about 2, when we left to run errands.
Then, a special mission. B is helping a young student interpreter to improve her skills so she can pass the difficult interpreting test. They get together about once a month and today was the day. My role was to play the person being interpreted.
So B asked me to think up a few things to talk about.
My topics: 1) the history of the Asian martial arts in the United States, particularly the contributions of Bruce Lee, and 2) how digital technology democratized the film and video industry.
We went to the interpreting school and met the young woman, then walked upstairs to the simulated interpreting room. There were about eight booths there and a central room where B and I could sit. B's job: Listen to my talks AND simultaneously listen to the student interpret my talks, then make suggestions and corrections.
BUT! When we got there, an additional student was joining us. After some prep, the students went into separate booths, B put her headphones on, and I sat down, grabbed the mic, and started babbling. I couldn't hear what the students were saying----it was in German, and listening to them jabber while I was trying to talk would only confuse me. But I wondered: why are BOTH of them interpreting at the same time? How can B pay attention to what I'm saying, AND what two other people are interpreting?
Answer: SHE CAN. I thought "WTF?" No wonder she thinks and speaks so quickly!
I gave my martial arts talk, which I think the women found boring. Then I read an article out of a newspaper, then I gave my digital democratization talk, which the students seemed to find a bit more interesting. B offered her suggestions, tips, and corrections, then we were done.
As we were leaving, the main student B has been working with very kindly gave each of us a little Christmas present. I thought this was very nice of her. She's trying to get into a very tough profession---while it's possible to speak many languages well, SIMULTANEOUSLY INTERPRETING those languages is fucking difficult, especially on the fly with no notes. Anyone who can do it earns their money.
-----
Then to meet our friend Margit. We took a tram to the 1st District where we encountered what? Christmas markets.
Then, a special mission. B is helping a young student interpreter to improve her skills so she can pass the difficult interpreting test. They get together about once a month and today was the day. My role was to play the person being interpreted.
So B asked me to think up a few things to talk about.
My topics: 1) the history of the Asian martial arts in the United States, particularly the contributions of Bruce Lee, and 2) how digital technology democratized the film and video industry.
We went to the interpreting school and met the young woman, then walked upstairs to the simulated interpreting room. There were about eight booths there and a central room where B and I could sit. B's job: Listen to my talks AND simultaneously listen to the student interpret my talks, then make suggestions and corrections.
BUT! When we got there, an additional student was joining us. After some prep, the students went into separate booths, B put her headphones on, and I sat down, grabbed the mic, and started babbling. I couldn't hear what the students were saying----it was in German, and listening to them jabber while I was trying to talk would only confuse me. But I wondered: why are BOTH of them interpreting at the same time? How can B pay attention to what I'm saying, AND what two other people are interpreting?
Answer: SHE CAN. I thought "WTF?" No wonder she thinks and speaks so quickly!
I gave my martial arts talk, which I think the women found boring. Then I read an article out of a newspaper, then I gave my digital democratization talk, which the students seemed to find a bit more interesting. B offered her suggestions, tips, and corrections, then we were done.
As we were leaving, the main student B has been working with very kindly gave each of us a little Christmas present. I thought this was very nice of her. She's trying to get into a very tough profession---while it's possible to speak many languages well, SIMULTANEOUSLY INTERPRETING those languages is fucking difficult, especially on the fly with no notes. Anyone who can do it earns their money.
-----
Then to meet our friend Margit. We took a tram to the 1st District where we encountered what? Christmas markets.
Yet another Christmas Market on the grounds of the Rathaus (City Hall)
So we strolled around, had some hot spiced wine, ate a bit of junk food. I saw even more goddamned man-bags on display, at the same price I paid in Strasbourg for my new bag, but I didn't want to look at them lest I discover a better bag. "Be happy with what you have, Impoverished Retiree," I kept telling myself...
I was hoping we could find a restaurant and have a nice dinner and some conversation, but Margit wasn't really feeling too well, so after strolling around for an hour or so, we parted company.
Came home, defrosted the fridge, made some soup, and am now into my first glass of white wine.
A local Riesling.
Visiting Strasbourg
I'm becoming something of a Francophile. I know almost nothing about the French or their history or their culture, but the two times I've been to France (both times in Strasbourg) I've noticed things that I really like.
Short take: cobblestone streets, beautiful old buildings well-preserved, tiny bars and restaurants that look (and are) really cozy hangouts, French women riding bicycles everywhere (and always with perfect posture!), the sound of spoken French, well-behaved French children, swans in the canals, the fucking AMBIENCE of the place...
I arrived about 7:15 Monday evening from Zurich. B met me at the train station and we proceeded to a small restaurant our friend R had recommended. The place had room for maybe fifteen diners and it was empty when we arrived, though later it began filling up. These places are cozy, as I said, but intimite and romantic when they're not filled with people. So we had our dinner (delicious!) and then took public transportation back to the hotel, a small place in a residential part of town. Very quiet and comfortable, and I got a chance to meet the night porter, Monsieur Baker.
I've met him before, on my last visit to Strasbourg, and since then we've spoken many times on the phone when I've called from the States to talk to B. My French is non-existent but I've learned to say: Good evening, my friend. How are you? Madame B, please. Thank you very much! and so it was good to see him in person once again. He always calls me "Mr. John."
By the way: I've heard all my life how rude the French are, but I find them just the opposite. When people enter small restaurants they greet the other diners with "Bon soir!" and it's always "Please" and "Thank you" and "Goodbye" when doing any business with anyone, even at the supermarket.
The next morning when B went to work, I strolled around town, first starting at the canal and following it for some distance. You can walk above the canal on street level, or you can walk down stairs to canal level. The problem with this approach is, sometimes the next stairway is far away so you have to walk further than you intended. But I had nothing to do for hours except walk, so I did.
Saw a man feeding the swans and ducks, who swarmed around him in a frenzy, fighting with each other. The swans spread their wings wide and elevate themselves a foot or so out of the water when they're pissed, and it's an impressive site.
I found myself in a very old part of Strasbourg. I took lots of pictures but it was so overcast, I recommend you go to the Flickr page to look at their photos instead; it'll give you a better visual sense of the place.
Unlike OKC with its streets laid out in a grid fashion, the streets in Strasbourg meander here and there. Most in this part of town are cobblestone, and many of the streets are closed off to motorized vehicles, though you have to watch out for bicyclists. More than once I rounded a corner, or was walking along just about to move to my right or left when a speeding bike whizzed past silently.
I saw a few interesting canal operations. One was a wooden bridge that swung 90 degrees to allow the tour boats to pass. The operator stretched a chain across the sidewalk, walked across the bridge and did the same on that side, then swung the bridge.
The other interesting thing was the canal lock which raises or lowers the boat to the proper level. The doors of this lock were made of heavy wooden beams and were probably very old, though the mechanism by which the doors were opened or closed was probably modern...I saw no lock operator so I guess the skipper can do everything remotely from his ship via radio signals, or something.
So I wandered around for many hours and eventually got kind of turned around. I consulted my map but couldn't make sense of where I was, so finally I had to ask a couple of women who were standing around having a smoke. I knew my bearings from the area around the university, so I found it on the map, pointed at it, and said: "University?" then pointed left and right with a quizzical look on my face. Which is my normal look.
One woman imitated hands on a steering wheel and said (I guess) "Are you driving?" I moved my fingers in imitation of legs walking. The lady said: "Ooo lah lah!" which meant: You're a fucking long way from where you want to go, Jethro. She pointed in the general direction of the university and after walking pretty fast for about 30 minutes, I found the U and thus was in familiar territory. Made it back to the hotel just as B was arriving from her first round of work...
After a few hours rest we went out to dinner. Found a place nearby and again we were the first people there. Evidently the French like to go to dinner starting about 8 PM. This was another small restaurant and they surprised me with their very large portions----ususally I find the portions about half the size of American portions. (And, probably not coincidentally, the French are about half the size of most Americans.) Had soup as an appetizer and then a huge container of salmon on a bed of noodles with a creme sauce. Delicious but lava-hot (little Johnnie burned himself) and even I, pig that I am, couldn't finish it all.
B had to work again until midnight (!) so she had to leave early. I stayed in the restaurant for about ten minutes, looking at the patrons. All nicely dressed, mostly older people. At the table next to ours were two elegant elderly French women, each of whom had before them an enormous plate of mussels, two large glasses of red wine, and (!) a bowl of French fries.
I'd wanted to visit the Cafe Brant after dinner but was simply too wasted after my walkabout, so I went back to the hotel. Read some, wrote some, watched some TV. I enjoyed the French programs, one of which was an art program about Van Gogh and the painting techniques he used.
The only English language station was CNN. It was also the only channel where the fucking program is interrupted every five minutes with an equally long block of commercials. All you have to do is watch European TV for a while to see how fucked up our system is, with its constant commercial content and it's very shallow, surface-only examination of the news.
Examples: one big news story was the possibility of a big strike at British Airways over the holidays. They kept interviewing people about what a hassle this was for them, how it would fuck up their holidays, etc. but here's their entire examination of WHY the fucking strike might happen: "It's due to cuts in operating expenses." That. Was. IT. Why the fuck didn't they have extensive interviews with the potential strikers to find out exactly what their position was? It was just assumed THEY HAD NO LEGITIMATE POSITION and the ONLY legitimate complaints were those of the travelers. And maybe on examination a viewer would agree with the passengers instead of the strikers, but let us see both sides.
The other really big news? Tiger Woods and his dalliances. I tried to figure out why the hell this was news AT ALL, in ANY way, much less the REALLY BIG NEWS they kept trying to make it. Finally it occured to me: everyone is amazed that a golfer, of all people, 1) WANTS to fuck and 2) KNOWS HOW to fuck. Which, if you think about it, IS kind of startling. I mean, have you ever really spent any time around golfers? If so, you get my drift.
------
Next day, B didn't have to work until mid afternoon so we got to stroll around for a few hours together. We wandered up the main street adjacent to the main canal, past buildings many hundreds of years old, some of which featured intricate wood carvings as part of the building facade. You get an idea of how tall people are these days by looking at the much lower head clearances of the doorways of these old buildings.
Every so often we'd come across an alleyway that we'd follow into an old courtyards. Sometimes these were residential areas and sometimes a mix of residental or commercial, but either way it really was like stepping back in time. I always wonder which of our buildings in the US will be around 500 years from now, if any...
We came to one of the big Christmas markets. There they had hot spiced wine, hot spiced orange juice, but oddly, nothing like Punsch. There were also stands crammed with the usual Christmas bric-a-brac, all kinds of food items, and even clothing of various sorts.
B had to get to work, so we parted company and I continued roaming around. Found a stall selling different kinds of bags and, unable to control my fetish for man-bags, found a medium-sized black bag for about $15. I figured I'd get teased about this later but by now B has become accustomed to my addiction and she just kind of laughs about it...but I have to say, the bag is a good compromise between the fanny pack I was carrying and a backpack. Just right for toting around all my gear.
The sidewalks were crammed with people shopping or heading somewhere. I ran across three French boys about 10 years old. The approached me and started talking in French. I said: "Parlez vous English?" They looked at each other, puzzled---had I really seemed French to them? Finally one said: "Yes. What is your name?"
"My name is John. What is YOUR name?" Again the puzzled look. Then they figured it out. So one by one I was introduced to them. I shook their hands.
They showed me a piece of paper they carried, obviously some kind of school work they were doing. But what? A scavenger hunt, a survey, or what? One said: "Research," but he pronounced it in the French way and I didn't get it for a minute. Then I understood and said: "OK, research. About what?"
They jabbered at me in French. We were getting nowhere so I said: "Sprichst du Deutsch?" No. By now a curious middle-aged woman standing nearby was wondering what the fuck, staring at us, so they invited her over. We all jabbered about whatever the fuck these boys wanted, in pidgin German and English and finally the word "fox" came up. But what about foxes? Finally, frustrated with the unknowing American, they thanked me by way of dismissal and I walked off.
A few minutes later, as I was crossing a long bridge, the boys ran ahead of me on their way somewhere. A tour boat was passing beneath the bridge and the boys suddenly stopped and leaned over the rail. I, a former 10-year-old boy, knew EXACTLY what was about to happen: sure enough, one of the boys SPIT ON THE BOAT as it passed underneath. Satisfied, they ran on to their next adventure.
Later I told this to B. "No girl would have done that," she said. "Right," I agreed. "But he was marking his territory. Spreading his DNA. He'd have PISSED on the boat if he could have gotten away with it. Later in life he'll be ejaculating into and onto everything he possibly can. Part of being a boy..." B looked at me as if I'd simultaneously uttered something bizarre, yet profoundly true. Then she shook her head and changed the subject.
Walking back to the hotel, I passed Cafe Brant. This time I stepped inside for a bite and a beer. The waitress told me the pizza I wanted was only served during lunch ("Finish," she said. "Only lunch time!") so I looked at the sandwich menu and, unable to recognize a single word except "fromage" (cheese) pointed at it and hoped for the best. What I ended up with was a grilled ham and cheese sandwich and a half liter of strong local beer which was delicious, though the beer left me kind of wobbly due to my relatively empty stomach.
Short take: cobblestone streets, beautiful old buildings well-preserved, tiny bars and restaurants that look (and are) really cozy hangouts, French women riding bicycles everywhere (and always with perfect posture!), the sound of spoken French, well-behaved French children, swans in the canals, the fucking AMBIENCE of the place...
I arrived about 7:15 Monday evening from Zurich. B met me at the train station and we proceeded to a small restaurant our friend R had recommended. The place had room for maybe fifteen diners and it was empty when we arrived, though later it began filling up. These places are cozy, as I said, but intimite and romantic when they're not filled with people. So we had our dinner (delicious!) and then took public transportation back to the hotel, a small place in a residential part of town. Very quiet and comfortable, and I got a chance to meet the night porter, Monsieur Baker.
I've met him before, on my last visit to Strasbourg, and since then we've spoken many times on the phone when I've called from the States to talk to B. My French is non-existent but I've learned to say: Good evening, my friend. How are you? Madame B, please. Thank you very much! and so it was good to see him in person once again. He always calls me "Mr. John."
By the way: I've heard all my life how rude the French are, but I find them just the opposite. When people enter small restaurants they greet the other diners with "Bon soir!" and it's always "Please" and "Thank you" and "Goodbye" when doing any business with anyone, even at the supermarket.
The next morning when B went to work, I strolled around town, first starting at the canal and following it for some distance. You can walk above the canal on street level, or you can walk down stairs to canal level. The problem with this approach is, sometimes the next stairway is far away so you have to walk further than you intended. But I had nothing to do for hours except walk, so I did.
Saw a man feeding the swans and ducks, who swarmed around him in a frenzy, fighting with each other. The swans spread their wings wide and elevate themselves a foot or so out of the water when they're pissed, and it's an impressive site.
I found myself in a very old part of Strasbourg. I took lots of pictures but it was so overcast, I recommend you go to the Flickr page to look at their photos instead; it'll give you a better visual sense of the place.
Unlike OKC with its streets laid out in a grid fashion, the streets in Strasbourg meander here and there. Most in this part of town are cobblestone, and many of the streets are closed off to motorized vehicles, though you have to watch out for bicyclists. More than once I rounded a corner, or was walking along just about to move to my right or left when a speeding bike whizzed past silently.
I saw a few interesting canal operations. One was a wooden bridge that swung 90 degrees to allow the tour boats to pass. The operator stretched a chain across the sidewalk, walked across the bridge and did the same on that side, then swung the bridge.
The sideways-swinging bridge over a canal. Note waiting pedestrians on the other side.
The other interesting thing was the canal lock which raises or lowers the boat to the proper level. The doors of this lock were made of heavy wooden beams and were probably very old, though the mechanism by which the doors were opened or closed was probably modern...I saw no lock operator so I guess the skipper can do everything remotely from his ship via radio signals, or something.
So I wandered around for many hours and eventually got kind of turned around. I consulted my map but couldn't make sense of where I was, so finally I had to ask a couple of women who were standing around having a smoke. I knew my bearings from the area around the university, so I found it on the map, pointed at it, and said: "University?" then pointed left and right with a quizzical look on my face. Which is my normal look.
One woman imitated hands on a steering wheel and said (I guess) "Are you driving?" I moved my fingers in imitation of legs walking. The lady said: "Ooo lah lah!" which meant: You're a fucking long way from where you want to go, Jethro. She pointed in the general direction of the university and after walking pretty fast for about 30 minutes, I found the U and thus was in familiar territory. Made it back to the hotel just as B was arriving from her first round of work...
After a few hours rest we went out to dinner. Found a place nearby and again we were the first people there. Evidently the French like to go to dinner starting about 8 PM. This was another small restaurant and they surprised me with their very large portions----ususally I find the portions about half the size of American portions. (And, probably not coincidentally, the French are about half the size of most Americans.) Had soup as an appetizer and then a huge container of salmon on a bed of noodles with a creme sauce. Delicious but lava-hot (little Johnnie burned himself) and even I, pig that I am, couldn't finish it all.
B had to work again until midnight (!) so she had to leave early. I stayed in the restaurant for about ten minutes, looking at the patrons. All nicely dressed, mostly older people. At the table next to ours were two elegant elderly French women, each of whom had before them an enormous plate of mussels, two large glasses of red wine, and (!) a bowl of French fries.
I'd wanted to visit the Cafe Brant after dinner but was simply too wasted after my walkabout, so I went back to the hotel. Read some, wrote some, watched some TV. I enjoyed the French programs, one of which was an art program about Van Gogh and the painting techniques he used.
The only English language station was CNN. It was also the only channel where the fucking program is interrupted every five minutes with an equally long block of commercials. All you have to do is watch European TV for a while to see how fucked up our system is, with its constant commercial content and it's very shallow, surface-only examination of the news.
Examples: one big news story was the possibility of a big strike at British Airways over the holidays. They kept interviewing people about what a hassle this was for them, how it would fuck up their holidays, etc. but here's their entire examination of WHY the fucking strike might happen: "It's due to cuts in operating expenses." That. Was. IT. Why the fuck didn't they have extensive interviews with the potential strikers to find out exactly what their position was? It was just assumed THEY HAD NO LEGITIMATE POSITION and the ONLY legitimate complaints were those of the travelers. And maybe on examination a viewer would agree with the passengers instead of the strikers, but let us see both sides.
The other really big news? Tiger Woods and his dalliances. I tried to figure out why the hell this was news AT ALL, in ANY way, much less the REALLY BIG NEWS they kept trying to make it. Finally it occured to me: everyone is amazed that a golfer, of all people, 1) WANTS to fuck and 2) KNOWS HOW to fuck. Which, if you think about it, IS kind of startling. I mean, have you ever really spent any time around golfers? If so, you get my drift.
------
Next day, B didn't have to work until mid afternoon so we got to stroll around for a few hours together. We wandered up the main street adjacent to the main canal, past buildings many hundreds of years old, some of which featured intricate wood carvings as part of the building facade. You get an idea of how tall people are these days by looking at the much lower head clearances of the doorways of these old buildings.
Every so often we'd come across an alleyway that we'd follow into an old courtyards. Sometimes these were residential areas and sometimes a mix of residental or commercial, but either way it really was like stepping back in time. I always wonder which of our buildings in the US will be around 500 years from now, if any...
What you might see if you enter a Strasbourg alley, off a main street.
We came to one of the big Christmas markets. There they had hot spiced wine, hot spiced orange juice, but oddly, nothing like Punsch. There were also stands crammed with the usual Christmas bric-a-brac, all kinds of food items, and even clothing of various sorts.
B had to get to work, so we parted company and I continued roaming around. Found a stall selling different kinds of bags and, unable to control my fetish for man-bags, found a medium-sized black bag for about $15. I figured I'd get teased about this later but by now B has become accustomed to my addiction and she just kind of laughs about it...but I have to say, the bag is a good compromise between the fanny pack I was carrying and a backpack. Just right for toting around all my gear.
The sidewalks were crammed with people shopping or heading somewhere. I ran across three French boys about 10 years old. The approached me and started talking in French. I said: "Parlez vous English?" They looked at each other, puzzled---had I really seemed French to them? Finally one said: "Yes. What is your name?"
"My name is John. What is YOUR name?" Again the puzzled look. Then they figured it out. So one by one I was introduced to them. I shook their hands.
They showed me a piece of paper they carried, obviously some kind of school work they were doing. But what? A scavenger hunt, a survey, or what? One said: "Research," but he pronounced it in the French way and I didn't get it for a minute. Then I understood and said: "OK, research. About what?"
They jabbered at me in French. We were getting nowhere so I said: "Sprichst du Deutsch?" No. By now a curious middle-aged woman standing nearby was wondering what the fuck, staring at us, so they invited her over. We all jabbered about whatever the fuck these boys wanted, in pidgin German and English and finally the word "fox" came up. But what about foxes? Finally, frustrated with the unknowing American, they thanked me by way of dismissal and I walked off.
A few minutes later, as I was crossing a long bridge, the boys ran ahead of me on their way somewhere. A tour boat was passing beneath the bridge and the boys suddenly stopped and leaned over the rail. I, a former 10-year-old boy, knew EXACTLY what was about to happen: sure enough, one of the boys SPIT ON THE BOAT as it passed underneath. Satisfied, they ran on to their next adventure.
Later I told this to B. "No girl would have done that," she said. "Right," I agreed. "But he was marking his territory. Spreading his DNA. He'd have PISSED on the boat if he could have gotten away with it. Later in life he'll be ejaculating into and onto everything he possibly can. Part of being a boy..." B looked at me as if I'd simultaneously uttered something bizarre, yet profoundly true. Then she shook her head and changed the subject.
Walking back to the hotel, I passed Cafe Brant. This time I stepped inside for a bite and a beer. The waitress told me the pizza I wanted was only served during lunch ("Finish," she said. "Only lunch time!") so I looked at the sandwich menu and, unable to recognize a single word except "fromage" (cheese) pointed at it and hoped for the best. What I ended up with was a grilled ham and cheese sandwich and a half liter of strong local beer which was delicious, though the beer left me kind of wobbly due to my relatively empty stomach.
Interior of the Cafe Brant. Imagine eating, drinking, reading, and writing here.
So I ate, drank, and wrote a few postcards here. I imagined Henry Miller, coming to France in the late 20s, eating and drinking and begging for meals in cafes like this in Paris. Next time I'm in Strasbourg I hope it's warmer outside, because I'd love to be sitting on the sidewalk on a beautiful summer day, watching the world go by.
That night B and I rode into town and spent an hour or so wandering around. Though it was Wednesday evening, you'd have thought it was a weekend, there were so many people on the streets. Many of them were obviously tourists, here to sample the Christmas markets. We bought ourselves a hot orange juice and stared at the giant catherdral nearby, me wondering how the hell anyone could ever build something so elaborate and massive using only hand tools.
Our friend Sue, one of B's colleagues from London, was also in town working. We met her at her hotel about 9 PM for a late supper at the hotel restaurant.
Sue's hotel, the Maison Kammerzell.
If you check out the hotel's website, make sure to click on HOTEL, then under the VIRTUAL TOUR banner on the left, click the FIRST FLOOR link for a look at the interior of our the restaurant where we dined. This is a 16th Century building and very interesting from an architectural standpoint.
So we had a wonderful dinner in what is for me a pretty fancy restaurant, and great conversation with Sue, who's a witty and charming British lady. I told her I think Prince Charles should abdicate the throne in favor of Charlie Watts, the drummer for the Rolling Stones, though "If Charlie took the throne, he'd have to move to a smaller house." Sue no doubt thought me a Neanderthal because I think Charlie is the coolest Brit ever, but she smiled politely at the suggestion.
A very late dinner----we didn't get out of there until about 11:30. The maitre 'd called a cab for us. Downstairs, a FRENCH DRAMA: the cab driver was engaged in an argument with a guy on a bicycle, a small baby sitting in a seat at the back of the bike. At first I thought they were arguing because the cyclist almost hit the cab, or vice versa, but eventually the story came out: the cab driver noticed the baby's seat was wobbling badly back and forth. He was worried the kid would fall off, so he mentioned it to the cyclist---who then got inexplicably pissed about it and started arguing with the guy in loud tones! We got tired of the argument after a few minutes so B leaned forward and told the guy on the bike to let it go so we could get the fuck on down the road. The guy told her to mind her own business and kept babbling, but finally the cabbie said the French equivilent of "Fuck this shit!" and drove off.
----
Next morning, after almost no sleep, we woke at 7 AM, hustled down to the bus stop, caught the bus, then a tram, then the train to Zurich airport, then the plane from Zurich to Vienna. It was a long day by the time we finally got home but a wonderful adventure.
Big thanks to B for letting me accompany her to Zurich and Strasbourg on this (for her) working vacation! I had a great time and my memory banks are filled to overflowing with everything we saw and did.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Strasbourg Pics (click pics to enlarge)
I assume this was originally a private home in Strasbourg (and may still be.)
I can imagine my lawyer and friend, John Law, holding fabulous dinner / poker parties from just such an abode. Spotted on my walk along the canal.
Strasbourg is a beautiful city with canals running through it...
You're starting to get the idea.
A Citroën 2CV.
You still see these around and though I used to hate the looks of them,
reading the Wikipedia article about them made me a fan. Wish I had one!
One of the tourist boats that sails the canals of Strasbourg.
One of many beautiful buildings in Strasbourg.
Saw several of these little groceries in Strasbourg.
Is Safeway or the like really "better?"
A building in Strasbourg decorated for Christmas.
A pretzel stand in one of the many Christmas markets in Strasbourg.
French woman not included. Void where prohibited.
The exterior of the Cafe Brant in Strasbourg.
A great place for dinner or a drink.
Be sure to check the HISTORY page for a great series of old pics of this great establishment!
Visiting Zurich
I might as well start with this: I. Saw. A. MIDGET. A Swiss midget. More on this later, but don't be fooled: They walk among us. And they're trying to close in on me. My days may be numbered, but I won't let them and their little schemes control my life. No, sir!
-----
B had to work in Strasbourg. There's no direct way to get there from Vienna, so we flew into Zurich on Sunday, with the idea of staying with friends overnight, then taking the train to Strasbourg the next day.
Landed in Zurich and took the train to the center of town. There were all kinds of people scurrying around just after dark, and you know you're in an alpine country when a good percentage of them are carrying skis and snowboards, fresh from a weekend at the slopes.
Before going further, let me say this: B is a hell of a wizard when it comes to organizing trips. She had this thing all worked out like clockwork. SWISS clockwork. There were no stumbles or hassles or glitches anywhere along the way---the plane rides, the train rides, the transportation in the two cities we visited (Zurich and later Strasbourg), the timing of the whole thing. If she ever gets tired of interpreting, B can make a living as a travel agent.
Found our friends' apartment after hopping a tram from the center of town. And holy Shiite, what an apartment it was! The place occupied the entire top floor of their building, about 1500 square feet. It was ultra-modern (though the building was old.) Stainless steel state of the art everything in the kitchen, heated hardwood floors, a huge open living / dining area, a patio running the length of the apartment (probably 50 feet long X 10 feet wide) with glass doors also running the length of the patio. There were two bedrooms and two baths in the place, on opposite ends of the penthouse, and we stayed in one while R and C, B's friends, slept in theirs. A hotel suite this nice would have cost long green...
R is one of B's colleagues. Originally from Holland, he's lived all over the place but settled in Zurich. “It's a great place to live,“ he said. “Great and reliable public transportation, lots of things to see and do, a huge lake, two rivers...really nice.“ He and C (a Swiss native) live in an eclectic area; in fact, he said the red-light district was only a few blocks away. But it was obvious their neighborhood is more gentrified than it is rough around the edges.
C had formed a film distribution company some years ago, which she finally sold in 2001. “Like everything else, it was grow or die, and I didn't want to grow any more,“ she told us. “I hate that it worked out that way because I really loved my business, but enough was finally enough.“ She was instrumental in bringing Ang Lee to the attention of the film-going world, and guys like Jim Jarmusch to Europeans' attention.
We sat around talking about all kinds of stuff. C had just returned from two years in Cuba, of which she said: “It's a sad place. Some in the West like to pretend Cuba is filled with happy people, but you can see their spirit has been crushed. They're sick and tired of being sick and tired.“ She loved the place but had to leave because she couldn't get any films going there. No money and too much government bullshit.
R, a great cook, prepared a delicious supper: roast chicken, saffron risotto, roasted bell peppers, and spinach. Along with a really good Italian red wine, a bottle of which I'm going to try to find when I get home.
Afterward we went for a walk in the cold Zurich night. We walked along the river and then over to an old part of town with cobblestone streets and a lot of funky bars, restaurants, and shops. One place shocked me: a Carhardt outlet. Carhardt makes work clothes, not high-end stuff for Swiss yuppies. Yet there was the fucking store. It was closed or I'd have gone in to see what they charge for a $35 pair of work pants. Probably a lot more than $35...
We walked around for about 90 minutes. Back at the house, desert and drinks: creme caramel with homemade whipped cream and some good schnapps, whiskey, and / or both. More conversation until about midnight, then off to bed.
Next morning R had to leave early---had to teach a class then get himself to Strasbourg to do some interpreting work for the European Parliment, same as B. I managed to wake up in time to say adios. He really is a nice guy and a gracious host, and even offered to let us stay at his place in Brussels if we want. Which we will, someday.
B had to leave a few hours later but for me, the plan was to hang around Zurich until about 4:30 then take the train by myself. That way I could see Zurich by daylight.
But not by sunlight----the only time I've seen the sun since I arrived in Europe on Dec. 7 was when the plane to Zurich broke through the clouds. Central Europe seems to be covered by one gigantic gray cloud, and that was the scene for me as I set off after saying goodbye to C about 11 AM. With 5.5 hours to kill, I started roaming around...
Switzerland doesn't use the Euro, so I had to get some Swiss Francs out of an ATM. First lesson: minimum withdrawal, at the bank I found anyway, was 50 francs. Second lesson: the dollar and the franc are about dead even in value right now, so little Jethro didn't have to do a lot of fancy cypherin' to figure out how much I'd be spending on stuff I bought. Third lesson: Swiss money shore is purty! Bright colors and lots of neat security features.
Fourth lesson: stuff is expensive in Switzerland. My mission: find something relatively cheap to eat for lunch. Degree of difficulty: Im-fucking-possible. Passing by the dreaded McDonald's, I took a look at the price of a Big Mac, fries, and drink---$11.70. Not that I would eat that shit, but still. Gives you an idea. Later I passed a pizzaria and saw they had a small pizza for about $17, a medium for about $30, and a family size was $40. At those prices, the pizza better be covered with caviar and gold flakes, and served to me by an army of fawning midgets who renounce their John X jihhad.
However, I later stumbled upon the Swiss version of the inescapable European open-air Christmas market, where I found what we'd call a bratwurst on a roll for $5.50.Which I ate.
Stuff I didn't see while wandering around: homeless people or beggars. Switzerland must have them, but maybe they were vacationing in the south of France the day I was visiting.
I roamed around taking pictures and looking in store windows. I passed the high-end shops. There were a lot of watches on display (Switzerland, remember?) and some of these bad boys were over $10,000 and up. I saw a pair of lady's glasses in an optician's shop for $2000. My head swirled and I wondered if I'd blow my entire $50 / 50 francs on feeding myself...
Very tired all of a sudden, I headed for the main train station. It's huge, and there were thousands of people rushing all over the place. Me, though, I was stumbling. And there, in the center of the place, was about a hundred stalls selling----what else?----Christmas crap.
Only, I found a treasure. One place was selling sausages and other kind of meat. I found a pair of smoked sausages heavy with garlic for about $5. I munched on these things for a couple of hours while waiting for the train to Strasbourg.
After three hours of walking all over the place, I was wasted. I sat down, drank from my water bottle, and watched people go by. When I got up, my legs kind of seized up but I walked it off, exploring the huge train station.
And that's when I saw the midget. He was walking fast, like everyone else, on his way to some nameless something. He looked to be in his fifties and had a semi-long beard. looked at him and realized the bastards had discovered yet again that I was in Europe, and they were watching me! As we passed I stared at him, hoping he'd look at me so I could communicate with a glance that I am still a formidable enemy, not one to be taken lightly by the Smalls. But he didn't make eye contact, just kept walking. Looked innocent enough...but I knew he was telling the others about me.
Finally 4:30 came. I hopped on the train and the train pulled out of the station for Strasbourg, about 3 hours ahead. I tried to watch the countryside roll by in the vanishing light but soon it was too dark to do anything but read, write, and review the pictures I'd taken.
-----
B had to work in Strasbourg. There's no direct way to get there from Vienna, so we flew into Zurich on Sunday, with the idea of staying with friends overnight, then taking the train to Strasbourg the next day.
Landed in Zurich and took the train to the center of town. There were all kinds of people scurrying around just after dark, and you know you're in an alpine country when a good percentage of them are carrying skis and snowboards, fresh from a weekend at the slopes.
Before going further, let me say this: B is a hell of a wizard when it comes to organizing trips. She had this thing all worked out like clockwork. SWISS clockwork. There were no stumbles or hassles or glitches anywhere along the way---the plane rides, the train rides, the transportation in the two cities we visited (Zurich and later Strasbourg), the timing of the whole thing. If she ever gets tired of interpreting, B can make a living as a travel agent.
Found our friends' apartment after hopping a tram from the center of town. And holy Shiite, what an apartment it was! The place occupied the entire top floor of their building, about 1500 square feet. It was ultra-modern (though the building was old.) Stainless steel state of the art everything in the kitchen, heated hardwood floors, a huge open living / dining area, a patio running the length of the apartment (probably 50 feet long X 10 feet wide) with glass doors also running the length of the patio. There were two bedrooms and two baths in the place, on opposite ends of the penthouse, and we stayed in one while R and C, B's friends, slept in theirs. A hotel suite this nice would have cost long green...
R is one of B's colleagues. Originally from Holland, he's lived all over the place but settled in Zurich. “It's a great place to live,“ he said. “Great and reliable public transportation, lots of things to see and do, a huge lake, two rivers...really nice.“ He and C (a Swiss native) live in an eclectic area; in fact, he said the red-light district was only a few blocks away. But it was obvious their neighborhood is more gentrified than it is rough around the edges.
C had formed a film distribution company some years ago, which she finally sold in 2001. “Like everything else, it was grow or die, and I didn't want to grow any more,“ she told us. “I hate that it worked out that way because I really loved my business, but enough was finally enough.“ She was instrumental in bringing Ang Lee to the attention of the film-going world, and guys like Jim Jarmusch to Europeans' attention.
We sat around talking about all kinds of stuff. C had just returned from two years in Cuba, of which she said: “It's a sad place. Some in the West like to pretend Cuba is filled with happy people, but you can see their spirit has been crushed. They're sick and tired of being sick and tired.“ She loved the place but had to leave because she couldn't get any films going there. No money and too much government bullshit.
R, a great cook, prepared a delicious supper: roast chicken, saffron risotto, roasted bell peppers, and spinach. Along with a really good Italian red wine, a bottle of which I'm going to try to find when I get home.
Afterward we went for a walk in the cold Zurich night. We walked along the river and then over to an old part of town with cobblestone streets and a lot of funky bars, restaurants, and shops. One place shocked me: a Carhardt outlet. Carhardt makes work clothes, not high-end stuff for Swiss yuppies. Yet there was the fucking store. It was closed or I'd have gone in to see what they charge for a $35 pair of work pants. Probably a lot more than $35...
We walked around for about 90 minutes. Back at the house, desert and drinks: creme caramel with homemade whipped cream and some good schnapps, whiskey, and / or both. More conversation until about midnight, then off to bed.
Next morning R had to leave early---had to teach a class then get himself to Strasbourg to do some interpreting work for the European Parliment, same as B. I managed to wake up in time to say adios. He really is a nice guy and a gracious host, and even offered to let us stay at his place in Brussels if we want. Which we will, someday.
B had to leave a few hours later but for me, the plan was to hang around Zurich until about 4:30 then take the train by myself. That way I could see Zurich by daylight.
But not by sunlight----the only time I've seen the sun since I arrived in Europe on Dec. 7 was when the plane to Zurich broke through the clouds. Central Europe seems to be covered by one gigantic gray cloud, and that was the scene for me as I set off after saying goodbye to C about 11 AM. With 5.5 hours to kill, I started roaming around...
Switzerland doesn't use the Euro, so I had to get some Swiss Francs out of an ATM. First lesson: minimum withdrawal, at the bank I found anyway, was 50 francs. Second lesson: the dollar and the franc are about dead even in value right now, so little Jethro didn't have to do a lot of fancy cypherin' to figure out how much I'd be spending on stuff I bought. Third lesson: Swiss money shore is purty! Bright colors and lots of neat security features.
Fourth lesson: stuff is expensive in Switzerland. My mission: find something relatively cheap to eat for lunch. Degree of difficulty: Im-fucking-possible. Passing by the dreaded McDonald's, I took a look at the price of a Big Mac, fries, and drink---$11.70. Not that I would eat that shit, but still. Gives you an idea. Later I passed a pizzaria and saw they had a small pizza for about $17, a medium for about $30, and a family size was $40. At those prices, the pizza better be covered with caviar and gold flakes, and served to me by an army of fawning midgets who renounce their John X jihhad.
However, I later stumbled upon the Swiss version of the inescapable European open-air Christmas market, where I found what we'd call a bratwurst on a roll for $5.50.Which I ate.
Stuff I didn't see while wandering around: homeless people or beggars. Switzerland must have them, but maybe they were vacationing in the south of France the day I was visiting.
I roamed around taking pictures and looking in store windows. I passed the high-end shops. There were a lot of watches on display (Switzerland, remember?) and some of these bad boys were over $10,000 and up. I saw a pair of lady's glasses in an optician's shop for $2000. My head swirled and I wondered if I'd blow my entire $50 / 50 francs on feeding myself...
Very tired all of a sudden, I headed for the main train station. It's huge, and there were thousands of people rushing all over the place. Me, though, I was stumbling. And there, in the center of the place, was about a hundred stalls selling----what else?----Christmas crap.
Only, I found a treasure. One place was selling sausages and other kind of meat. I found a pair of smoked sausages heavy with garlic for about $5. I munched on these things for a couple of hours while waiting for the train to Strasbourg.
After three hours of walking all over the place, I was wasted. I sat down, drank from my water bottle, and watched people go by. When I got up, my legs kind of seized up but I walked it off, exploring the huge train station.
And that's when I saw the midget. He was walking fast, like everyone else, on his way to some nameless something. He looked to be in his fifties and had a semi-long beard. looked at him and realized the bastards had discovered yet again that I was in Europe, and they were watching me! As we passed I stared at him, hoping he'd look at me so I could communicate with a glance that I am still a formidable enemy, not one to be taken lightly by the Smalls. But he didn't make eye contact, just kept walking. Looked innocent enough...but I knew he was telling the others about me.
Finally 4:30 came. I hopped on the train and the train pulled out of the station for Strasbourg, about 3 hours ahead. I tried to watch the countryside roll by in the vanishing light but soon it was too dark to do anything but read, write, and review the pictures I'd taken.
Zurich In Pictures (click pics to enlarge)
Welcome to Zurich: a statue in a small park
I happened on a playground. You had to climb a couple of flights of steps but when you got to the top, you had a wonderful view of the city. Here, though, are some guys playing a game of chess.
Here's a view of Zurich from the elevated playground.
A riverside view of Zurich.
Another riverside view by day...
...and by night.
If you dig antiques, this store had all kinds of stuff. EXPENSIVE stuff.
On my train trip from Zurich to Strasbourg, I had to change trains in Basel.
I really liked the colors of this train!
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