To Bid Farewell

Sitting here at my barren desk, looking across the wooden floors to the hastily packed suitcases standing near the door, waiting for one last cup of tea to cool, I have nothing else to do.  The room has been cleaned, the mail is being forwarded, I have unregistered as a resident, and I will have my final meal in Austria with a few friends before the one last visit to Café Sacher in a bit. I sit here numbed realizing that yet another year has passed, thinking back upon all that's happened in my time here, contemplating with a little angst the threshold that stands between this very point and the uncertain future that awaits just beyond.  

Just this morning, I was rereading my first blog post, curious to see what I had written about, and if anything left me jarred after spending a year here.  What I see today, as I did on that first day, is the city whose allure still has me wrapped tightly around her finger - a place rich in memories of times good and bad, of opportunities, and of challenges.  I remember setting off on this adventure with what I thought was a clear idea of where my life was heading, of what I wanted to do, and of how I wanted to do it.  In terms of my goals, what this year here has given me most, is clarity.  It granted me the chance to "walk a day in the life," and to realize that, on some levels, what I had intended to do, wasn't really right for me, or rather, that I'm not right for it.  Realizing that, accepting that, and being open to where the road takes me have been immeasurably precious lessons I've learned along the way, and which have helped me redirect my life once again towards an aim that excites me, entices me, and promises renewed commitment and passion.  Oh, how far my life has taken me!  I can remember a year ago, traveling down a path that was far from for what I had hoped, to, in one fine morning last March, learning that I had been given the chance to pursue my dreams in the city among the Alps, granting me the opportunity to reorient my future on something I truly loved.  

John Donne famously wrote that, "no man is an island."  Life here, anywhere, as a hermit would be intolerable, and the accomplishments one may achieve are the combined energies of not only the one, but of the people who support, challenge, and comfort him along the way.  My loving family, the other teaching assistants, the incredibly insightful and connected academics with whom I was privileged to work, the students, the bakers and waitresses, the parish priest, the postal delivery man, and even guitar hero flatmate all contributed to my perspective on this experience, and all influenced the outcome.  In the wake of a trying day or bad experience, I could always count on a handful of truly incredible friends I have made here, with whom I've shared some of my happiest moments this year - friendships that I know will last and whose friendship just may be the most valuable thing I take with me home.  

When I think back on my time in Salzburg, I think not of a place where I did something, but rather of a place where I became something.  As the years pass and I grow older, the ceaseless notion, like waves against the sand, is that the key to happiness in life is being open to all the goodness in the world, and taking what comes.  Too often I attempt to exercise authoritarian-like control over the road map of my future, and that most usually ends as a pane of glass thrown against the pavement leaves millions of shattered pieces on the ground.  The joy I find in life too often comes from taking a misstep, trying something new, going out on a limb and becoming vulnerable - a sense of excitement and pure vitality.  Life cannot be controlled - it is beyond our grasp, and learning that is a lesson this year has injected directly into my blood.  Life is a continuum - one cannot go back, and the only way to go forward, is to go up, making each year better than the last, learning along the way.  

So now, as this day dwindles into the next, I write the final words of this chapter of my life - one too grand for description.  I carry with me into the sunrise of a new adventure the memories of this place, this magical place set like a diamond amongst the towering mountains, along the banks of a life-giving river, with its storybook castle that captures the morning glow, and the smiling faces of friends forever engraved in my mind cherishing that this, this was the greatest year of my life.  

"This Blessed Plot"

When I settled in almost 10 months ago, I was a tad overwhelmed at planning trips for the springtime, knowing there were simply too many places in Europe that needed to be checked off the list and too little discriminatory thinking to narrow down the possibilities.  All of that seemingly sorted itself out in a wonderful way when I learned that my closest friends in Salzburg the first few months would be spending the second semester in places I had never visited before, and each of my three big trips of my last few months in Europe were spent visiting with them in their new homes.  Nearly two months ago I visited Alice C. in Madrid in the center of Spain, while just two weeks ago I was up in Hamburg in northern Germany to see Cecilia.  I planned my final visit to see Alice A.. to correspond with my last weekend on the continent, and it was a trip I had been looking forward to for months with unbounded excitement - a trip to an ancient, magical, and isolated place steeped in tradition, to England.

My only time in England previously had been for three days in February of 2011 as I made my way to Salzburg for the semester.  There in London, I met my cohort and toured the sights while trying to stave off jet lag in what fulfilled my biggest stereotype - a cold, grey, and ever-rainy city.  This time, however, would be markedly different.  Alice invited me to stay at her house over an hour west of London in a countryside village named Kintbury (recently ranked the 19th most sought after place to live, I might add!).  My flight from Munich landed late afternoon in Gatwick, an airport south of London, and right off the bat, there was some confusion at customs.  Because I have a special EU residency permit, my passport was not stamped coming into Germany last year, so the officer was alarmed that I seemed not to have proof of having legally entered the EU.  After some major clarification on my end, he passed me, but asked for the address at which I'd be staying for my trip.  I searched all my pockets, and realized that I must have left the paper with Alice's address on my desk, and told the officer I couldn't remember.  He gave me permission to use my phone to retrieve the message, but, because my phone doesn't work outside of Austria, checking it was a mere formality.  I remembered the address being "1 *something* Green," but for the life of me, I couldn't recall it.  So, sticking with the first name that came to mind, I am officially listed as having stayed at "1 Downton Green."  And, with that, I passed security!  I met Alice with a hug at the arrivals gate, and we headed on our way home.  Halfway through the trip, we had to change trains at Reading, where we had time to grab a bite to eat.  We had Cornish pasties, which are sort of like empanadas - mine was filled with chicken, bacon, vegetables, and a light cream sauce - absolutely amazing!  Quickly dispelled some major notions I had of all English cuisine being bland and overcooked!  My first big delight came whilst standing on the platform, waiting for our connection.  The Royal Ascot, a major horse race, was taking place not too far away, and its attendants were making their way home.  Men in smart morning dress, women in cocktail dresses and fanciful hats - uniquely English, and so, so great to witness.  That was one of what would become many "We're not in Kansas anymore" moments from my 4 day trip.  When we were nearly there, Alice's mom picked us up from the station, and drove the few minutes' drive home.  I sat in the front...on the left...and I clutched the door handle a few times, especially driving on the left around a traffic circle - terrifying!  We pulled up to terraced houses that brought my childhood rushing back to me - Privet Drive from the first pages of Harry Potter - so cool!  As we pulled up into the driveway, I heard who would become a good friend throughout my stay - Madge, the dog.  I was licked to death, and periodically sat on, but it was so great to play with a dog again!  And with that, as I think we were all exhausted from a long day, it was lights out.

The next morning, Alice's dad drove us back to Reading where we were caught the train up to Oxford for the day.  We walked out of the station, and within 5 minutes, we had already passed a castle...a stone and mortar, ancient castle.  Through the city we walked, right to the center, the heart of the place, where the famed University's sprawling campus lies.  We first made our way to the Church of St. Mary the Virgin, which has a tower that boasts arguably the best panoramic view of the city.  Up narrow spiral staircases and ladders, we were just above the roofs looking out at what seemed like endless steeples and towers.  It was truly impressive.  Below, we could see countless courtyards of the many constituent colleges.  The architecture is just stunning - when I think about all the Gothic college buildings back home, they just pale in comparison to the place upon which they were based.  Ancient stone and pointed window frames, gargoyles and cloisters, perfectly manicured lawns and creeping ivy - unreal.  Immediately, the place felt familiar.  It felt just like Princeton, especially with the interaction between the University and the city.  Also like Princeton, it's a small city, and once you leave, you're in the middle of nature, which I really, really appreciate.  After the tower, we just wandered through the tiny streets, passing college after college, and even a cricket pitch, until we came upon the Meadow Building of Christ Church College, one of the oldest and most prestigious of the University's colleges.  We took a tour inside, up a staircase that inspired the famous one in Harry Potter's Hogwarts, which lead to another of the film's inspirations, the Great Hall, a dining hall that is probably the furthest thing from Catholic University's dining hall that I've ever seen.  A massive room with tall ceilings in pristine Gothic style, hardwood-covered walls adorned with portraits of great intellects, four long tables were being set for dinner with silverware and fine glassware.  Dinner takes places here each night, and eating starts with the sound of a gong after prayers are said in Latin.  The very thought that college students eat in a place like this every day is just mind boggling.  Tradition - the Oxford experience would be nothing without it.  

Entrance to Christ Church Meadows, Oxford.

Perhaps taking a cue from the Great Hall, we were hungry ourselves and walked just down the road to the Covered Market, a collection of restaurants, cafés, bakeries, and boutiques along tiny alleys under a roof.  There, we had lunch and freshly baked cookies from a corner stall called Ben's.  I had peanut butter and chocolate chip, both of which were warm and gooey, and absolutely delicious.  After seeing a bit more of the city, we met up with one of Alice's friends, a biochemistry student at Oxford, for coffee.  He was explaining to us some of the Oxford traditions, like that for final exams, the guys are required to wear dark suits with a carnation, the color of which, pink, red, white, indicates to which year the student belongs.  Naturally, he was also going to a black tie garden ball to mark the end of term, something that I can't imagine would happen in the US, though I hope!  On top of that, we saw some school students who must have recently graduated, because they were walking down the streets in their gowns.  Again, cue Harry Potter fantasy.  After parting with her friend, we made a quick visit in the Ashmolean, which, at nearly 400 years old, is the world's oldest university museum.  Feeling a bit drained, we grabbed a water bottle and plopped down under a massive tree in Christ Church Meadow were we chatted for an hour or so.  Just to our left, we could see the city, and here we were in a wild field, where two deer ran about 20 feet in front of us through the meadow.  The place is beautiful in a way that no place I've ever been to is like.  It is so old, so full of tradition, so ingrained in knowledge, and so very uniquely pretty.  For me, it was right out of a book, and all the traditions I had ever attached to the idea of English universities were fostered and blossomed in Oxford, and for those reasons, it almost didn't seem real.  

We then took the train back to Reading, where Alice's dad gave us a lift to Newbury for dinner with Alice's mom and boyfriend, who I liked right off the bat when he came to visit Austria in October.  We had drinks at a nice place before heading down the road to an Indian restaurant.  Surprisingly, the English's favorite dish is Indian, and I was keen to try it.  The meal was great!  We each ordered something different, and shared out dishes, so I got to try a few different things.  Everything was really good, and so much flavor compared with Austrian food!  Right after dinner, I got a quick tour of Newbury, which is again a very pretty city.  A picturesque canal runs through the city, and the old brick buildings give the place a quaint charm.  I learned from a mural in front of the library that Newbury was home to an American airbase during World War II that was home to the 101st Airborne Division, and where Gen. Eisenhower took some now-famous pictures with paratroopers right before they embarked upon their "great crusade" into the night sky above Normandy the in the wee hours before the Allied invasion at the beachheads.  Then, we went home to watch some TV and drink tea (ha, classic!) before heading to sleep.  With dog at (or really, on) my feet, I was truly feeling right at home.  

The next morning I was treated to a proper full English breakfast, with eggs, bacon, tomatoes, beans, and homemade bread with marmalade - a delectable start to what would be a great day!  We all drove in the car through ancient hedgerows that had probably been there forever, lining the narrow roads of what used to be horse paths, barely wide enough for a car today.  That was a really great experience that I would have never had if I had visited by myself, as I would have stuck to public transportation.  Here and there we'd pass a stone church with a small, flower-covered churchyard behind some wild shrubs, or a well-kept manor house behind a winding driveway, or English gardens behind battered brick walls.  Birds, sheep, and cattle popped up in random fields left and right, and it was on this drive that I felt most removed from everything I had experienced in Europe.  It was so different, and yet, I recognized it instantly.  Having spent my entire life reading about this Island from the likes of the Bard, Wordsworth, Eliot, Shelley, Coleridge, and the lot, I was now in the place that inspired them to write some of the most profound literary works of our language, the eternal soul of the countryside they loved and adored.  After about 20 minutes, we pulled up in front of an old church and started by foot through the woods.  After a while, I continued just down the road up to a place I never thought I'd see: Highclere Castle, aka, Downton Abbey!  The only person I passed on my way up the familiar white stone path was a young man cutting the grass - I had the whole place to myself, and I didn't miss the opportunity to touch the massive door knocker that's featured so often when welcoming dignified guests in the series.  Another life goal checked off! 

"Carson, we'd like some tea, please."

We drove a bit further through the countryside, up winding roads to the highest point in Berkshire, the Combe Gibbet, which offered spectacular views of the countryside.  Here were the sheep-covered rolling hills, valleys, villages, and wooded patches of the books - a surreal experience seeing it firsthand, and feeling just as invigorated as the authors who were inspired to write of the vast beauty before them.  We then made our way back through the hedges towards Kintbury.  It was on this short drive that it came to me - the home of Shakespeare and Churchill, of Hitchcock and Nelson, of double-decker buses and red phone boxes, of fish & chips and the Beatles, of castles and the Queen, of legend and history, of fruitful isolation and world domination, of rolling hills and immense pride, of Harry Potter and the BBC - England, for me as an American, is the place that is so familiar in mind and yet a world set apart, unto itself.  It evokes so many stereotypes, but further still, those thoughts are a common way of life for most.  I stopped dead in my tracks upon seeing passengers actually queuing for the bus in Oxford - one of those, "whoa, they actually do this!" moments.  I had moments like this throughout my stay, and they made me smile each time, realizing that the way of life lived here is the fantasy that so many of us back home have of this wonderful place - it's real!  Her most famous son to put his pen to paper once wrote of England,  "This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, this earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, this other Eden, demi-paradise, this fortress built by Nature for herself against infection and the hand of war, this happy breed of men, this little world, this precious stone set in the silver sea."  And I think he nailed it right on the head.  The English have a lot to call their own, a lot to be proud of, and yet, they go about being some of the most polite, kind, and friendly people I've ever encountered. 

That was further emphasized later that evening.  After recuperating from our long walk through Highclere estate, Alice and I took the train to Reading to meet two of her friends for dinner.  This was my first time seeing Reading properly outside the station, and it was a really cool place.  We passed down a shopping street where the redbrick façades glowed in the waning sunlight below blue skies.  A warm breeze ushered us to a happening Mexican restaurant above the canal where we had a few cocktails and a really yummy meal of a chicken chimichanga with rice and beans, including a terrific dessert of dulce de leche ice cream in espresso with a cinnamon-sugar coated churro.  From my normal diet in Austria, the Mexican food made me sweat, but it was so, so delicious!  After dinner, we caught the train to Thatcham in between Reading and Newbury where we met a bunch of Alice's friends for drinks at their usual hangout, a place called The Swan.  I absolutely loved this place.  A low-lying brick building, with two crooked brick chimneys, a few old lanterns separating the patio from the table scattered across the lawn under a massive tree - it had so much character!  Alice's friends were a great, friendly bunch who I liked right from the start, and they all lived in the area, which gave the place an authentic neighborhood joint feel.  A definite highlight of the trip happened not too long into our first drink of the night.  One of Alice's friends gave me the one coin I needed to complete my collection!  In honor of the Queen's jubilee, the mint released a series of coins that, when you place all of them together, form the monarch's coat of arms, with each coin having a small portion of it on the reverse.  I was highly entertained, and so happy to have been given the last piece of the puzzle!  When the sun finally set, it was a bit nippy, so we moved inside, and I just fell in love with the place.  Brick walls, heavy wooden cross beams, bookshelves stacked with books no one's ever read.  Not too different from an American bar, maybe?  But here, it's not an imitation - it was here first!  It was a really great time, and maybe my favorite part of the trip, and again, definitely something I would have missed if I were just a tourist passing through.  

Gorgeous buildings in the village center, Kintbury.

The next morning was my last, but before I took the train back to Gatwick, Alice and I took Madge for a long walk in and around Kintbury.  We walked through a few windy fields and crossed a stone bridge to reach the footpath that ran along the Kennet and Avon Canal that runs through the village.  We passed by some sleepy canal boats, and under trees blowing in the breeze, providing a canopy right over the canal, creating its own little world, quiet as can be on a Saturday morning.  We crossed a bridge and came up in the churchyard of the village church, a 12th Century (!) Saxon building with a surrounding cemetery that only magnified its character.  A few minutes later, through the quaint but pretty village center, we were back home.  I packed up my bags, had one last cup of tea with a delicious jam cookie, and then it was off to the station.  Alice came with me to Reading, which I actually think was the most visited site of the trip, haha, and it was there were we said our farewells.  It hurts, thinking that it will most likely be some time before we get to see each other again, but I'm truly grateful for the experience to have lived in "real" England, in a place where I instantly fell in love with the country before me.  Looking back on this year, I feel like I've learned about 2 countries - Austria of course, but also England.  Throughout the year, we were learning about each other's culture, way of life, and country.  Having great friends who live there makes it that much more enticing, and I hope to visit many more times.  I could have spent my last weekend in Europe in a number of places, but I can think of no better way to say "goodbye" to the time I've spent here than in a wonderful place with an especially wonderful friend.  

All the Difference

Imagine if the United States were a place where each state was home to a different culture, a different language, a different cuisine, a different world view, a different way of living.  On a whim, for the sheer enjoyment of it, or for the simple change of pace, one would be able to drive 2-3 hours and be someplace markedly different from where the journey started.  Within a single day, one might be able to experience half a dozen unique places, with there always being the promise of one further yet to explore.  Knowing that the opportunity to jump into something new, something different is only a few hours away is so liberating, understanding that one's not stuck in one place without refuge.  That excitement, that world of possibilities and constant motion and immersion, is what I find in Europe.  Being in the geographic center of the continent certainly has its benefits.  Germany's a stone's throw away, Italy, Switzerland, Hungary, Liechtenstein, Slovakia, the Czech Republic, and Slovenia are all reachable within three hours, and affordable airfare makes the continent's other countries no more than a few hours' flight away.  And yet, Europe in its comparably small size to the U.S., is home to so much difference.  Each country has its own identity, and still within those realms, it is easy to find localized identities particular to the tiniest of regions.  For example, last weekend I was in Vienna for the goodbye party with a dozen or so other American researchers.  The next morning, a friend and I decided to travel 40 minutes east to Bratislava, the capital city of Slovakia - a different language, different food, a different way of life.  Living in a world where travel between cultures is easy, and almost a part of life, I feel that perhaps, sometimes, it can be taken for granted.  I had students who wouldn't have blinked at the prospect of driving down to Italy for lunch with family, then returning home to Austria in the evening.  Heck, I feel it myself sometimes, hopping on a plane and landing on the other side of the continent just over an hour away.  It's nothing, a simple trip.  I've always considered myself an ardent patriot, and America will always be home, but for as large of a country as it is, wherever you go, with some variation, it's still the same country, if you know what I mean.  To experience this world here, it takes travelling thousands of miles across a gigantic ocean and costs thousands of dollars - and that is why I appreciate being here so very much.  I get to live in a world that most Americans will only be able to see in pictures and stories, and for that, I feel truly blessed.

It is because of the geographical separation, as well as its consequences, I think, that makes me feel a certain way about being here.  I've spent nearly two years of my life abroad, almost all of that time spent within Europe.  I've immersed myself within cultures, I'm learning languages and trying new things, my mind's been open to varied ways of thinking, I've made new friends, and I'd like to think I've developed along the way.  I know my way around many cities, I know the places to go to, and where to avoid, and I think I'm starting to understand how and why the people here think what they do.  Some days I even feel like a local.  But I'm not.  And I never will be, and with that realization comes some feelings.  I'll never forget the time a student asked me which countries in Europe I had visited.  When I listed a substantial number, the teacher mockingly said, "Ah yes, the typical American - seeing all of Europe in 2 weeks."  Well, yes!  Like I've mentioned, it's not an ordinary task to visit the other side of the Atlantic, and you're darn right I'm going to seize every opportunity to expose myself to as much of it as possible in the time given.  And therein lies the fundamental difference between us, I believe.  To those living here, Europe is a birthright, a circumstance simply of where they were born.  It is theirs and belongs to no one else.  It is their home and their way of life.  Even when traveling with other Europeans, I feel a degree of separation - that the trip means something different to me than to them.  For many, they're used to it.  Many family vacations are to other countries, but for me, it's a whole new world.  And that's perfectly okay.  

I've spent nearly the entire year entertaining this question, trying to understand and articulate what it is exactly that I feel, and rereading this, I still feel as if I've failed to clarify.  I think it really comes down to where one considers home to be.  "Awesome" doesn't begin to describe this place, and the people who inhabit it, but for me, I don't think it ever will be, ever could be, more.  To me, it is very clear that the place where my friends and family are, where I went to school, where I first played piano, where I learned to drive, where I fell asleep on the beach at the sound of the crashing waves, where I sat with friends on a warm July night watching fireworks, where I learned to polish my shoes and make sauce, where I went to my first concert, where I watched a Marine march off to war, will be my one and only home.  At times, I'm torn.  I feel as if I could live here forever, being constantly stimulated by the opportunities to travel easily and explore the wealth of experiences to be had, but I think it's the thought of being eternally "Tim, the American" that dissuades me from doing that.  Maybe it is because I just haven't spent enough time here, or perhaps haven't worked as hard as I must, but I don't feel like I could ever become an insider - it'll always be a life of challenges and adjusting as an outsider, and the comfort that comes with being home is just that - it's home.  My time in Europe is coming to a close, and although I am so looking forward to returning to the States, I will sorely miss this place, the lifestyle I've enjoyed here, and its great effect on my life.  I guess, when it all boils down, all I'm saying is that I wish the Atlantic Ocean didn't exist, and traveling to France would be just as easy as driving to Massachusetts, but alas, that's not the case!  Birthrights - they make all the difference.

A Very Good Weekend

It isn't very often that I travel to a place I know so little about, or rather, that what I thought I knew about it was so, so wrong.  Having spent nearly 2 years of my life living between Austria and Bavaria, I had thought that I understood what this area was all about, and even more so, what it looked like, and in those respects, this past weekend was a smack in the face.  I recently returned from spending three days in northern Germany, in Hamburg.  Of the more than two dozen trips I've made to Germany over the years, it was the very first time I stepped foot outside Bavaria.  Hamburg, its own state, sits along the Elbe River, one of Europe's largest, and is in the vicinity of both the Baltic and North Seas.  It's one of the European Union's largest cities, and second in Germany behind Berlin.  I knew Hamburg was a major port city, and I expected it to look exactly like Elizabeth, NJ, with endless rows of metal shipping containers, electrical plants, oil refineries, and monstrous cargo ships.  Being in the Protestant north, I didn't expect to see artistic images or objects around the city or painted on walls as one would in the Catholic south.  I didn't expect to see any of the beautiful, detailed work of Italian artisans in the baroque style, as it doesn't share that connection with Italy that Bavaria does.  In short, I didn't expect the city to be a pretty sight, nor did I really expect it to have a cultural scene, as my sense of "beauty" didn't seem to fit with the grey, industrialized, austere metropolis I envisioned.  It's not a city I had ever intended to visit, but this time around, I had good reason.  One of my best friends from last semester, Cecilia, had moved up to Hamburg to study at the university there, and my trip up to visit with her was the first one I planned this spring.  The trip would have been worth it just to spend a few days catching up in a quiet café, and, with my notions of the city, I half expected to do that, but with my tour guide extraordinaire at my side, those preconceived thoughts were blown from my mind and I had arguably my favorite weekend of the semester.

It all started taking a midday flight from Munich up to Hamburg.  The flight took me directly over parts of the city, and from the air, I could see just how green it all was.  My first mistake came when I was looking for the local train into town.  I walked up to an attendant and said, "Grüß Gott," which is the standard form of greeting in Austria/Bavaria.  I could tell I erred as soon as I said it, judging from the lady's facial expression.  While the formal "Guten Tag" is used more in the north than in the south, the most common greeting was simply "Hallo," or "Moin moin," a local greeting which utterly threw me off.  The lady (and a few more people along the way) may have been irked by what I said, but at least those words are German!  I have no idea where their little phrase comes from, but I heard it absolutely everywhere.  After dropping of my things at my accommodation, I jumped on the train towards Cecilia's place, about 20 minutes southeast in a suburb called Bergedorf.  She had underplayed it, and I was so surprised to see how beautiful it was!  We met with a big hug at the station, and then walked about five minutes into the heart of the quaint old town, with its cobblestone streets, jagged storefronts, and overhanging trees above the walkways, leaving a marbled design on the path as the sunlight passed through the leaves.  There was some type of festival going on, attracting a crowd of every age, shape, and size.  Though the center was buzzing, we grabbed some ice cream and managed to find a secluded patch of grass alongside the castle (which was surrounded by a moat!) right in the middle of a gorgeous park.  Having seen nothing but cold rain for 2 weeks, and since all the teaching assistants had left me pretty much on my own for a while, being hundreds of miles away, under the bluest of skies, feeling the sunlight's warmth upon my face, eating ice cream next to one my best friends made me really, really happy.  I could tell right there and then that it was going to be a wonderful weekend.

The Rathaus in the city center.

After a bit longer in Bergedorf, we headed into Hamburg for the night.  About a 10 minute's walk down a tree-lined shopping street, we arrived at the main square with its towering city hall rising far above the city.  Bordering this square was a canal and a few buildings with a long colonnade reflected in the shimmering water below.  I was dumbfounded.  Here's a scene right out of Venice nearly a thousand miles north in the very north of Germany, a place I thought would be cold and characterless.  Beautiful!  The noble swans and the ducks swam about, under bridges and in side canals, gracing the water without a care in the world.  Just beyond the Rathausplatz was the Binnenalster, one of two artificial lakes from the Alster, a major river.  It really took my breath away.  It's designed in a square, tree-lined on three sides, with a walkway circumnavigating it, bordering by refined Classical façades on three sides, and a wide promenade on the city-side.  In the center of the lake is a fountain that shoots water upwards of 60m into the air.  The sun was pouring down on us, and a gentle, cool breeze from the water blew through my hair.  Oh, how wrong my impressions had been!  After strolling around the Binnenalster, we had dinner at a neat place called Alex on the pavilion alongside the lake.  After feeling a bit parched, the local brew, Holsten, went down like water.  We had their take on fish & chips, and it was just incredible to have seafood again!  Afterwards, we walked along a quiet street, past the university and through a lively park to a neighborhood called Schanze, a very hip area of town.  I liked the vibe of this place immensely.  It seemed as if every building housed a restaurant or a place to gather with friends for a drink.  The most astounding part was just how many, many, many young people were there.  I guess I took Salzburg for the norm, but then I realized, sitting in a café or going to the opera really is an "older person's" cup of tea.  I do love it, but it just made me realize how Salzburg isn't really geared towards the younger crowd.  There in Schanze, it was great!  We sat at a table just off the main drag and ordered a Hugo, a cocktail of prosecco, fresh mint, elderflower, and lime, and boy, was it refreshing!  The sun was still beating down pretty hard on us, and as I looked at my watch, I was taken by surprise.  It was 10:30, and there I thought it couldn't have possibly been later than 8.  I think it's because Hamburg is so far north, that it gets to enjoy the most of the sun in the summer hours, and, after my monsoon season in Austria, more sun was a welcome thing!

The next morning, I awoke prematurely at seeing sunlight peek through the window...at 5am.  The sun really doesn't fool around in Hamburg, and even though it would have been nice to sleep a bit longer, I jumped out of bed with a lot of energy, ready to take on the day.  I met Cecilia at the station, and we took the metro to the Speicherstadt, which is Hamburg's old warehouse district.  I essentially thought all of Hamburg would look like this, and from every picture I had seen of it, I didn't expect to be impressed.  Wrong again.  The old part is built almost entirely of deep red brick, and its buildings were specially designed to offload grain and other cargo from ships and store them in the facilities along the canals.  The buildings are simple, but I found beauty in that they were practical and full of history.  Today, the buildings are mostly home to museums, high end restaurants, and art galleries.  We walked a block further, through some type of charity race, to the newer part of the district, which is seeing massive amounts of gentrification and building projects.  As we walked along the canal, I noticed that most, if not all, of the buildings we residential.  Each complex was built in a rough square shape, maybe 5 stories high, and each in a different, but very, very modern architectural style.  I liked the buildings a lot, because they seemed to have gotten "modern architecture" right - they seemed very livable, and in some way, really warm and eco-friendly.  I had forgotten, most of Hamburg was destroyed in air raids during the war, and German modern architecture had really staked its claim in the city in the recent decades.  As we ended our meander through this area, we came across a truly gigantic building project, the still-in-the-works Philharmonic Hall, which is set to open next year.  I don't know for sure, but I'd wager it'll be the world's largest concert house - it really is enormous.  We then continued along the Elbe a few hundred meters to an area called Landungsbrücken where we caught the ferryboat to the end of the line, and then back.  Again, a surreal feeling.  I miss the ocean so very much being in Austria, and here we were, on a rooftop terrace with the wind blowing through our hair, seeing the riversides from the water.  A major bonus was that the ride was included in my day card, so it didn't cost extra.  We were able to see a few neighborhoods from the deck, as well as the entrance to the sprawling port of my preconceived notions.  It was a truly impressive, and totally relaxing way to spend an hour or two.  We got off at the Fischmarkt, to which we'd return tomorrow, and found a place across the street from the river for an al fresca lunch.  Cecilia said I had to try one of the Fischbrötchen, a Hamburg specialty of pickled fish on a roll.  I was a bit trepid about trying it, as "pickling" and "fish" aren't two words I would have ever put together, but it's a common thing here in Europe, and I was set on trying it.  Again, blown away.  It was, to that point, the best thing I had tasted in weeks.  The ingredients of herring, a pickle, lettuce, and a rémoulade, worked so well together, and it was the perfect size for lunch.  

The Binnenalster on a sunny summer day.

Next, we jumped on the metro and came out near the football stadium and a relic of the war, an imposing Flakturm, a fortified concrete anti-aircraft tower.  Diagonally across the street was the entrance to Planten un Blomen, one of the many parks in Hamburg.  We claimed a patch of grass on a slight slope amidst the bustling people and chatted a bit before both dozing off under the sun.  We spent most of the afternoon relaxing there.  After quite a while, we continued walking through the park, and came out near the university where Cecilia studies.  We walked along some of the streets, with their ivy covered row houses, and came to a tiny ice cream parlor to cool down a bit.  Nearing dinnertime, we headed off back to Schanze and popped into one of Cecilia's favorite restaurants, a Korean place.  Not only was it in a great area, but the restaurant itself was fun.  Its design was clean and simple, harmonious, if you will - themes that would only be mirrored in our meals.  Waiting for our food to come out, we realized that maybe the sun hadn't as happy to see us as we it, because we could really see just how red we had gotten between sitting out in the park all day, and having windswept faces from the boat.  Per usual, the watch tan line is back, as is the ridiculous forehead tan line where my hairline starts, and even more pathetic upper arm tan lines in perfectly straight lines where my shirt had covered!  We were really starving by the time our food arrived, and I was really excited, at it was my first foray into Korean cuisine.  We each ordered a main dish, and then shared three smaller dishes.  I had rice noodles with a black bean and braised pork sauce, and julienned cucumbers as my main dish, and we shared pickled eggplant, kimchi, and sweet potato glass noodles with julienned vegetables.  Outstanding!  Nothing tasted as I had expected.  I had heard stories about kimchi, cabbage fermented for months under ground and served with chili paste, from Korean friends, and I was very excited to try it.  The sweet potato noodles were outrageous, and had so many flavors going on!  The eggplant was served cold, and was extremely refreshing, and its flavors were a bit mysterious, but excellent.  It was, by far, the best meal of a weekend filled with great meals, and I just loved how clean the flavors were, and how healthy the meal seemed.  We had plans to meet a few of Cecilia's friends in the park for a light and water show, but we were so drained from the sun that we ended calling it a night.  

The iconic Speicherstadt, Hamburg's old warehouse district.

We met early the next day and made our way to the Fischmarkt for the Sunday market.  Again, we headed to Landungsbrücken and started the long trip through the various vendors, all the way to the old fish market hall at the opposite end.  Like most markets, people were selling everything under the sun, but what amused me the most were the fish and produce sellers.  They were auctioning things off, yelling at the tops of their lungs, offering the neighboring vendor some friendly competition whilst simultaneously entertaining the crowds that braved the cool overcast morning to do some shopping.  We had another Fischbrötchen for breakfast.  This time I had mackerel, and as it was my first time having fish for breakfast (as well as that type of fish), again I was a bit apprehensive, but it was just as good as lunch the day before and was a great start to the day.  We ended our tour of the market by meeting some of Cecilia's friends inside the old hall, which was a really neat place, hopping with people eating breakfast and featuring live bands.  After a while there, we headed into the center of town to grab a coffee to both warm up and wake up!  We went to a café right on the Binnenalster that offered a great view of the lake.  After sufficiently warming up, we walked through the city back to the Speicherstadt one last time.  It was very quiet on a Sunday, surprisingly much more so than in Salzburg, but we eventually settled down at a bakery with outdoor seating, taking a table in the sunlight for a few hours.  There, after lunch, I tried a Fritz-Kola, a local Coke, and a Franzbrötchen, a kind of flattened croissant with a cinnamon sugar glaze slapped in the wrinkles.  Simple, yet incredible! Sitting there in the sun for a few hours, I reflected on what a fantastic weekend it had been - we'd seen so much, we'd talked so much, and I cannot remember the last time I laughed so much.  And then, before I knew it, it was time to head back to the station to catch my train back to Austria.  It ended with a long goodbye on the platform, because we both know it'll probably be a while before we get to see each other again after I return to the U.S., but at least we parted with one Hell of a weekend behind us.  

Hamburg took my misinformed opinions and criticisms and turned them upside down within an hour of being there.  The city itself is full of life and character, and owns a cultural scene all to itself.  Its people are warm, friendly, and thankfully, speak German so articulately and correctly that it makes Austrians seem like the kid who never passed German class.  They're tremendously environmentally friendly, and it seems they've allowed the environment to integrate with every aspect of their lives.  Parks, open spaces, and greenery can be found on every street, amid every cluster of buildings.  I easily forgot that I was in one of Europe's largest cities.  It has more canals than Amsterdam and Venice put together, and has more bridges than Amsterdam, London, and Venice together.  Like the phoenix, it's a city who's been reborn of the ash of war and developed, and continues to develop, into an incredibly beautiful and vibrant home.  It has everything I'd want in a city: it's large but doesn't feel it, it's for young people, it's home to many and to many cultures, its food is incredible, its architecture remarkable, it's on a river and has beaches, and it's a city I'd very much like to visit again.  Best of all, I got to see it with a wonderful, wonderful friend.  It was a very good weekend, indeed.

Heeere's Johnny!

Rapidly reaching the breaking point, and going stir crazy!

The incessant pitter-patter of little drops of water on the slanted metal roofs creates the constant buzz that fills the ears, even in silence.  Children in colorful jackets splash about in the stream-like streets, without a care in the world.  Sitting in the window seat of a toasty café, I can see those caught unfortunately without the proper gear, dashing across puddle ridden sidewalks, finding only temporary shelter under overhangs or in doorways.  As I sip my Melange and dab at my slice of cake, the umbrella stand grows crowded as people file in to find refuge from the dampness outside.  I've just come from Mass in an empty Church, the weather having dissuaded even the most pious regulars.  As the priest muttered prayers in an ancient language, the accompanying music, written in a minor key, even seemed somehow sad, only emphasizing how dismal it's been of late.  It's been cold, damp, and grey for the past week, and it's rained continuously for the past four days - I wonder where it's all coming from?  A lot has changed within the last week, and from here on out, the experience will be a different one.

Just south of the city - it's been so long since I've been able to see the Alps, that I nearly forget they're there.

Last week was the last for teaching, and, as such, most of the other teaching assistants, my friends here, have already landed back home, with a few of the stragglers to join them in the coming days.  Of the four of us staying in Austria for a bit more, three are travelling, so, for the time being, I have the city to myself.  The University was closed this week for Corpus Christi, a holy day of obligation and a federal holiday in Austria. Not having a schedule, work, or classes to go to has been a challenge.  Even the libraries were closed for the week, and as I need to access them for research, there truly wasn't much to be done.  Having enjoyed some wonderfully summer-like days in April and the beginning of May, I was certain the worst of the weather was behind us, and I sent all of my warmer clothes home with my parents.  This past week has been an exercise in how many layers I can wear at once to stop shivering.  Because of those same warm days we had, the maintenance crew in my building turned the heating off, which meant sitting at my desk, wearing three tops, cocooned in my duvet.  I spent the majority of the week finishing a book, writing some letters, cleaning my room (twice in a day, to give you an idea of what it's been like), polishing my shoes, spent hours sitting at a horrendously out-of-tune piano in the basement, listening to music, cleaning again, grating cheese for fun, and even packing a suitcase.  As you can tell, life's been thrilling recently.  I had hoped to read, but one glance at my bookshelf nixed that idea - The Good Old Days: The Holocaust isn't exactly my idea of cheery reading for a rainy day.  The other day I went to the cinema and saw three films, just to be out and with people.  One was a Catalan film about Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, which was fascinating, Hitchcock, starring Helen Mirren and Anthony Hopkins, which I thoroughly enjoyed for its wit and intelligence, and for its overall good story, and then a third film produced by the Danes which was like a cross between the Swiss Family Robinson and Castaway.  It'd been so long since I could remember watching a movie on the big screen (let alone, three!), that I had forgotten just how much I enjoy just sitting there, watching a story unfold before my eyes - it was a completely perfect thing to do on a pouring day!

Alas, Gene Kelly was not to be found hanging off this lamppost.  

Despite the rain, and perhaps a little bit of cabin fever, I have to tell myself, I could be in a million other places, and I'm still pretty darn happy to be stuck in an endless rain here in Salzburg.  Thankfully Uni classes will be up and running this week, and I'm inexplicably excited for next weekend, as I have a little weekend trip planned.  I've been to Germany over two dozen times, and this trip will be my first time stepping foot outside of Bavaria!  I'm heading all the way to the northern part of the country, up to Hamburg, to visit Cecilia, one of my closest friends from last semester, and I am so, so looking forward to it.  It'll be great to hang out with a great friend, and as an added bonus, it's sunny up there!  

My regular waitress has just come up to me, asking why I'm all alone today, and why I'm not surrounded by girls - ha, what a year it's been!  As it's getting more and more crowded, I'm feeling guilty about taking up a table with my laptop, even though they'd let me stay all day - I think I'll head back to maybe organize my shirts by color, or perhaps place my spices in alphabetical order before I head back out tonight to another café to, haha, keep my sanity.  

Class Dismissed

Last summer I read an old story called The Once and Future King.  In it, T.H. White wrote a beautiful passage about what to do when it seems as if all is lost and there is no purpose to living - he says to learn something is, 

             ...the only thing that never fails.  You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honor trampled in the sewers of baser minds.  There is only one thing for it then - to learn.  Learn why the world wags and what wags it.  That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting.  Learning is the only thing for you.  Look what a lot of things there are to learn.  

How true?  No man can understand all the mysteries of our complex universe, and the process of learning stimulates the mind and awakens within oneself a yearning to comprehend and conquer the unknown.  To White, learning was redemption.  I've thought a lot about this quote over the past months, and in times where I've questioned my effectiveness at work, it comes back to me and holds me up, challenging me to reach at least one student, to make him question, critique, understand, and perhaps walk away a bit more enlightened.  

For the past 8 months I've been working 12 hours per week in an Austrian school as an English language teaching assistant.  Working with a team of 27 English teachers, who average 9 classes each, I've visited with nearly 2,000 high school students, ranging from age 14-23, not including several adult evening school students.  The school is so massive, that even today, my very last day teaching, I was still introducing myself to classes.  This was a recurring theme throughout the year, having to repeatedly say "Hello" to new groups of kids, and on more than one occasion, I seriously questioned if my being there would have any positive effect on the students, as with many of them, I only visited them once.  I also came into the job with several major preconceived notions of what teaching entailed, and how it should be done - both of which proved to be misinformed.  On my first day, one of the older teachers told me, "Don't take any of this seriously, and just be open to whatever they throw at you," and those words entirely transformed my thoughts on being in the classroom.  I soon realized that the best made plans might work swimmingly with one group of students, and then flounder like a fish out of water with the next.  Flexibility is key.  Sometimes the students are outrageously eager to participate, and then at other times, trying to elicit engagement is worse than having teeth pulled.  Contrary to popular held belief back in grammar school, teachers aren't maliciously holding students hostage on beautiful days, and would like to be outdoors just as much (if not more) as the students. Same goes for school holidays, the source of life and hope for teachers everywhere.  It's a hard life, and one Hell of a way to make a living, but every so often, it hits you, just how incredibly privileged you are to be exposing these kids to the world around them, even if they don't always appreciate it.

My largest wrongly informed idea about teaching was that the teacher is the source of all knowledge, and that the job consists of walking into a classroom, spilling information for students to remember, and then leaving.  In fact, I had major reservations about accepting the offer to come to Austria, because I expected to research full time and meet "real" Austrians through the university, etc - afraid that teaching would bog me down and limit my immersion abroad.  So, so, so wrong.  I got to spend 12 hours a week chatting with the people who live here on a real level, seeing how they see our world, having them challenge some of my held beliefs, challenging them, learning about our similarities, our differences, and why they exist.  How cool is that?  I now know that teaching is a far cry from the authoritarian image I had in mind.  In fact, teaching is half learning - or, as that wise teacher said, "be[ing] open to whatever they throw at you."  You can read as many textbooks on Austria as you'd like, but if ever you've the chance to actually talk with them like I had, do it - it'll change your world.  

Today was my final day.  It's over; a closed chapter in my life.  But what a chapter it is!  Funny, how the condition of my grant about which I was most dreading before arriving here has developed into my most treasured.  Of the hundreds of students I met, I'm positive my thoughts fell on some deaf ears, but I've striven these many months to touch their minds and open their world view to how someone else sees it - it's certainly worked in the reverse - and even if only a single student walks away with a spark for something we've discussed, then that's rewarding enough.  Learning - "it never fails!"

My final class presented me with an engraved hammer / screwdriver that they made in class.  On the other side it reads my name and position.  The handle is a hollowed-out drill bit, and the ball cap unscrews to form a spinning top that's designed to "flip" and balance on its axis.  

From Afar

I often find it difficult to describe to friends and family back home just what it is about this place that keeps calling me back.  My default answers are flawed attempts to explain the culture, the cuisine, the experience, and I almost always fail to wholly convince them of this place's allure.  Many, not understanding my motives, are puzzled as to why, if I wanted to travel and experience something foreign to my own way of living, I didn't select to travel to a new region of the U.S.  Why travel thousands of miles away from home to experience something which could be explored a mere few hours away?  Mountains, old buildings, coffee and cake, beer, rivers and blue skies - all things which can be found at home.  But put them in the right context, a different context, and they mean something entirely removed from the learned conceptions people have who have experienced them in only a singular, or very limited, frame of reference.  It really takes being here, seeing the differences, both obvious and subtle, that one starts to comprehend why I speak about this place the way I do.  Two weeks ago, it was my parents' turn, and recently, I was able to show two friends my home away from home.

My best friend arrived last Tuesday, and after a quick tour of the city after flying through the night, the day was over.  The next morning we traveled to a sleepy village called Gmunden on one of the eastern lakes of the Salzkammergut.  Pastel colored buildings, a single church steeple rising towards the sky, a tree-lined promenade ran along the street-car avenue that leads up towards the quiet train station.  Before us, a wide, blue lake ever-expanding to the bases of snow-capped mountains in the far distance, interrupted only by a lonesome castle, the sole occupant of its tiny island, a tired bastion against the lapping waves.  Sun, fresh air, and a good chat by the shore - it was wonderful.  Over the next few days, we explored with another friend Munich, Vienna, the Obersalzberg, and Linz, as well as, naturally, Salzburg and its environs.  We ate countless times (too much, for certain), walked all over creation, had tons of good laughs, and above all, it was just great to see two good friends, one of whom I hadn't seen in nearly 4 years.  This place brought us all together again, and I think it's charm helped break down any remnant of misunderstanding.  Sometimes, "a day in the life" is all that's needed for one to understand everything, and I think we had a terrific time exploring, catching up, creating new memories.

The final resting place of 5,600 murdered victims of Nazism.

One of the more interesting visits we made during their stay was to Mauthausen, a Nazi concentration camp on a beautiful hilltop overlooking the Danube valley not too far from Linz.  I had been there once before, but for my two friends, it was their first visit to one of the camps.  There, at this place in the sun, thousands of people lost their lives to hatred.  Much of the original camp is intact, and that's partly due to its construction.  Mauthausen is one of the richest granite deposits in central Europe, and from its quarry, the fortified camp was constructed.  Its prisoners were forced laborers in the quarry, cutting stone and carrying it up an uneven and perilous staircase known as the "staircase of death."  For the amusement of the SS guards, groups of workers were occasionally marched off the cliff above in "parachute practice," to their deaths below.  Though it was not an extermination camp like those of infamous stature in Poland, Mauthausen was equipped with gas chambers and crematoria.  At one spot, one can stand on the mass grave containing nearly 6,000 people.  Memorials, images, and texts constantly remind visitors of the oppressive brutality and human anguish that occurred in the not too distant past.  It is sad, or at least it should be - and that is something that troubled me.  Seeing people around me, fellow visitors, young and old, with tears in their eyes, hearing gasps and quiet appeals to God, seeing the discomfort and sadness on faces - all appropriate reactions.  But surprisingly, and disturbingly to me, I felt nothing.  I walked through as if it had been a museum on dinosaurs, or some Roman settlement.  Names were only numbers, ovens only museum exhibits, graves only parcels of land.  Having been to almost a dozen camps, and having learned so much about this era in history recently, I feel like I've been desensitized to what others find grotesque.  I remember my first visit to such a camp, which was with a high school group on my first trip to Europe in 2007.  We went to the place most frequently associated with the camps, the place which must have been the deepest level of Hell, of greatest despair and violence, to Auschwitz.  I can remember being nearly physically sick - being in the same place where over a million people perished, smelling death 60 years later, wondering if the dust I had on my sleeve after brushing up against a wall was human ash or simply disturbed dirt.  It was terrible.  And now, they all seem the same.  No reactions, flattened affect, a place to be analyzed, a task to be done.  I always questioned how on earth people who had childhoods not unlike mine grew up to systematically follow orders and kill people in the camps without hesitation.  I guess, for some, after the first time, it only gets easier until it becomes such a mechanized action that it ceases to be a question of consciousness.  I feel as if the closer I have gotten to understanding the Holocaust, the further I grow from acknowledging the human element that seems to integral to it.  What a frightening and terrible field!

2 days of teaching, 6 weeks left, and still lots to do!

When You're Having Fun...

...time flies.  I had forgotten to turn my watch forward a day at the beginning of May, and when I corrected it just the other day, I realized that I've been here 8 months, with only two to go.  I remember distinctly my thoughts before I left home back in September, thinking that this would be an awfully long time away from home, a challenging year, a year of working and learning, a year that would be integral to the foundation of my future.  I thought it would be a lot of things, and it certainly has proven to be that way, but the one thought that was furthest from my mind was that it would be short.  The first month, I think, was the quickest, as there was so much to do, so many trains to take, so much moving around, so many people to meet, and so much adjusting that needed to happen swiftly.  Right off the bat, I became friends with an awesome group of people, and so then the hardships were balanced with great times being around a fun crowd.  8 months, 36 weeks, 3/4 of a year - it's a good chunk of time, and it's just crazy how fast it's passed by.  

Last week I took an early train about two hours north of Salzburg, to the tiny Bavarian city of Passau on the Austro-German border.  It's famous for being at the confluence of three major rivers, the Inn, the Ilz, and the Danube, and for its Italianate baroque architecture.  I had spent a day there on my first solo trip to Europe while participating in a summer German immersion program in northern Bavaria back in 2009, but this time, I wouldn't be alone.  There, in one of the most random of places in this neck of the woods, I met my parents.  Mom & Dad were taking a 15-day river cruise from Amsterdam through the Netherlands, Germany, Austria, Slovakia, and Hungary to Budapest, stopping at a new city each day.  It was surreal seeing them in Passau, of all places.  I met them in Lederhosen, of course, as they were on my turf, and we walked around the city for a bit.  It's really tiny, and I think we saw absolutely everything in under an hour.  We found a quiet street corner café and had some coffee.  I think the thing that surprised my parents most was how little coffee one gets, as compared to your average American cup, but, they really, really enjoyed it.  The café was sort of quirky inside, but it had two huge glass counters with sweets, one with cakes, and the other with a multitude of chocolate truffles of every flavor imaginable.  We actually liked the place so much, that we returned later in the afternoon and split three different cakes between us: a plum torte, a sort of cherry cheesecake, and a colorful liqueur-soaked cake that tasted a bit like cassata.  

Mom & Dad get a taste of my life for the past 8 months.

At midday we joined the the rest of the group from their boat at the Cathedral of St. Stephan for an organ concert.  The church has one of the most stunning ceilings I've ever beheld, and the organ is the world's largest cathedral organ, with nearly 18,000 pipes.  The organist started with a rousing Bach piece, jumped forward 300 years with a work by the French composer Marcel Dupré, and finished off with the finale from Widor's Fifth Symphony, which everyone knows and which really (literally) shook the building - it was incredible!  After the recital, we headed to a rooftop restaurant along the river for lunch.  Wiener Schnitzel, potatoes, and Weißbier - couldn't have asked for a more typical, or better, meal.  We headed back to their boat just across the street, and took some comfort in the shaded lounge chairs atop the deck and relaxed to the view of the pastel-colored houses across the way and the rush of the Danube as it flowed on to the east. A little bit later, and it was time to say farewell until I return home before the 4th of July.  

Stunningly beautiful and tremendously sumptuous sound in Dom St. Stephan, Passau.

Because of a few holidays, I haven't worked in nearly a week, so I took up some quality time here in Salzburg.  I've been to my favorite café here 5 times since they opened a little over a week ago, and the owner says I'm his best customer (which I'm slightly ashamed about, but it's SO good!)  I went with a few friends the other day, and the waitress already knew my order before I opened my mouth.  That's bad!  I hopelessly try and justify my going there so frequently, so I'll just say that because they were closed for 4 months, they could use the money, and, I have to get as much of this café culture as I can possibly take, because 2 months from now, there'll only be Starbucks back in the States!  Many of the museums in town opened their doors free of charge, and I took the opportunity to visit the Cathedral museum, which has the most ridiculous opening hours.  After months of hitting and missing, I finally got inside, and grabbed a pretty cool view of the place from the organ loft.  There were also some incredible treasures in there, like bejeweled vessels hundreds of years old, and vestments handmade in Spain of gold threads for one of the archbishop's elevation to the cardinalate in the 1700s.  A few days ago, I went to the local brewery, Stiegl, to pick up some gifts in their store.  Two friends came along, and we ended up in their courtyard beer garden for lunch.  I nearly ordered my go-to dish, Schnitzel, but they had a burger on their menu, and oh, how I have been craving one of those!  1/2 lb. of fresh, really fresh, meat cooked medium rare, cheese, thick bacon, lettuce and red onion - delicious!  Add some crispy fries and both a Weißbier and a seasonal Kräuterbier, and I was very, very happy!

The past few days Salzburg's been host to a regional brass music festival.  The bands were pretty amateurish yesterday, but this morning I caught about an hour of Salzburg's own Trachtenkapelle, a wind ensemble that specializes in the traditional music of the province.  There they were, dressed in the blue and brown Trachten from Mozart's time, playing Austrian military marches, Strauss waltzes, and even some Dvorak and von Suppé's famous Light Cavalry Overture.  It was quality music, a fun performance, and a wonderful venue set in the shadow of the great cathedral and the mist of the lively fountain in the Residenzplatz, and it's one of the things that I treasure about this place - a living tradition that attracts those from all ages, and brings them together (for free) to celebrate the Austrian way of life.  

Apologies for the atrocious picture quality - not sure why it's distorted here.

Franz von Suppé: Ouvertüre - Leichte Kavallerie

Guitar hero in the room next door has his final recital coming up before he returns to Colombia for the summer.  At this point, I think I'm going to pay for the ticket simply so I could hear how the end of his singular piece actually ends.  If he actually plays it through without erring, I can die knowing I've witnessed a true act of God, because that's really the only thing that'll pull him through.  In the meantime, as always, he's "trying."  

I booked a trip to see a great friend in England, my best friend comes in 2 days, 4 more days left of work, and a whole lot to do.  Time flies when you're having fun!

Klein Aber Fein

"Small but pretty" were the words once said to me by my barber here when he was trying to sum up all that Salzburg is, and I think he hit it right on the nose.  A friend and his sister were passing through town on their way from Munich to Vienna, the two largest cities in this area, and I could tell they felt a little claustrophobic here.  We walked through the old city and saw all the major sites within a couple of hours.  It is small.  But I think that's what I like most about it.  As much as I adore Vienna, for example, I'm overwhelmed at times by how vast it is spread, with a large multinational community, far laying suburbs and distinct neighborhoods, subways and tram cars, endless streets and apartment buildings, the business and rush of a major capital city at all times.  Maybe having lived in a smaller city like Salzburg has conditioned me to feel so small and insignificant when staying in Vienna, but I definitely lean towards life here.  

Salzburg has, in my opinion, the greatest combination of city and nature.  It is home to world class concert venues, attracting artists of the highest caliber all year round.  It contains over a dozen museums, over 20 beautiful churches, a plethora of quality restaurants and unique cafés, two major universities, a mountain top fortress, professional sports clubs, and beautiful, preserved architecture spanning 1,300 years.  My favorite aspect of the city is that within 15 minutes from city center, I can be in the Alps.  How crazy is that?  There's not a single American city I can think of where that's possible.  It's city surrounded by smaller cities, surrounded by smaller yet cities, surrounded by suburbs, upon suburbs, upon suburbs, until one can find nature on the scale that one does here.  Three alpine mountains are within the city limits, and, in fact, the old city is confined by two of these.  It is the only large city in central Europe to have cow fields within the city limits.  I love that I see the same people all over the city - it makes me feel as if I know them, like I've been here long enough to distinguish myself from the tourist.  Frequenting the same places, and having the people who work there recognize me makes me feel more like a local.  For example, one of my favorite cafés, Café Würfel Zucker, reopened after moving from their former location.  They were ridiculously busy on opening day, but I went back the next day, and the owner stopped to chat - he remember that I and my friends visited their old location often, and he was really glad that I had returned.  I know nothing about him, and he knows nothing about me, but simply because we've seen each other a few times, we can strike up a conversation and learn, and that's a really great feeling.  Salzburg's an unbelievably beautiful place, and it still doesn't fail to take my breath away on a daily basis.  There are some days where I wake up, walk down to the river, plop down on the side, and, while taking in the sheer brilliance of the view before me, think to myself "there's no other place I want to be."  It's often said that a picture is worth a thousand words, but I don't think a thousand words could do this place justice.  Beautiful.  It just is.

Small but fine, indeed.  

Thursday evening I was called by the school for something urgent.  Friday morning is the first day of the students' final examination, and the test begins with a listening section.  The test preparation books three of the teachers had came with a CD, which they assumed contained the spoken texts.  Wrong.  They waited until the day before to discover that it was just a practice test to use on the computer, which meant they needed their resident native speaker at the ungodly hour of 6:30 to read the selections aloud in 5 different voices, as it was a dialogue between 5 people.  I remembered earlier in the year when I had worn a tie and jacket to school, and consequently nearly gave several students a heart attack, that I was told only to wear a tie if someone's died or if the students have a major, major examination, such as this Matura.  So, I wore a suit and tie, thinking I'd fit in.  Wrong again.  Apparently that dress code is only for the final, final oral presentation, and I could have gotten away with wearing a t-shirt.  Oh well!  Some good news was that in return for coming in for a few hours at the last minute, and on my day off, 5 of my classes will be cancelled, and, as 4 of them had already been cancelled due to scheduling conflicts, I have only about 20 classes to teach over the next 4 weeks...and they can't come soon enough!

I'll be able to see my parents on Tuesday, and my best friend and another friend from university are coming the following week, and I'm really looking forward to seeing all of them again.  Getting caught up work, research, school work, and my friends here, I can sometimes forget that this isn't going to last forever, and that in coming here, I left my whole life behind me, including the people I miss the most.  Sometimes, in order to grow, though, you need to do that yourself, and that's probably the most important thing I've gained from this experience abroad.  7 weeks, and counting!

Here We Go

The end is in sight, the time flies as the weather betters, and the feeling that 'soon this'll be over' is starting to set in.  It's been an amazing adventure since its start in September, and with the past few weeks having been as incredible as they were, there's a strong indication that my time here will go out with a bang.

Last Friday I caught an early train to Vienna, perhaps my favorite city.  I took the metro right into the heart of the Altstadt and rose from underground to meet the intricate façade of the great Cathedral rising high above the city.  It's towering spire was caressed in soft sunlight, and the roof's colorful mosaic tiles were glistening brightly under the radiantly blue sky.  A little walk through narrow, shaded streets, past varied architecture, including Otto Wagner's once-radical post office, I found myself amidst an unruly garden with trees hanging over walkways, benches with elderly couples sitting intimately, sharing the experience of watching the city slowly come alive for the start of a new day, monuments to masters of music stand surrounded by beds of brilliantly vibrant tulips, sprinklers sputtering the last rush of water before being reclaimed by the ground, the lone police officer keeping watch over the growing bustle through his tinted red glasses.  There are few things in life which are as magical as witnessing a great metropolis come to life at the start of the day.  

The Wiener Sezession, "To each age it's art, to art it's freedom."  

I walked along the winding paths of the Stadtpark, working my way around the Ring, on to the Karlsplatz, past the Islamic-influenced Karlskirche with its engraved minarets flanking the cross-topped copper dome.  My first stop of the day was the famed Café Museum, originally designed by Alfred Loos, diagonally across from the famous Wiener Sezession venue, and the old haunt of architects and artists alike, where I had a scrumptious Schwarzwälderkirschtorte (black forest cake, thankfully with morello instead of maraschino cherries) and a Melange.  Heavenly.  From there, it was on to a yet another Viennese landmark, Café Sperl, for a much needed water, as the temperature had climbed to nearly 80°.  This place definitely gave off a different vibe than the rest I had visited.  It was simple, worn, if not downright grungy, and I could definitely see how it became the favored café of a blue collar, failed artist by the name of Adolf Hitler.  It wasn't really my cup of tea, as it were.  Off I was again, but this time, keeping sure to stick to the shady side of the street. I was to meet up with a friend and her boyfriend, and when I arrived early, I ordered a Radler, which is half beer, half lemon soda, and drank it like it was water!  The place was a real hole in the wall, and filled with locals, and after my friends arrived, I did not expect what was to come.  A mountain of Schnitzel...a mountain!  Two massive pieces of fried meat, hanging off the plate in all directions, sat before each of us.  More food than any one person should attempt at a time, it was crazy good!  My friend, Margi, had promised it would be better than my newly beloved Figlmüller, and boy, was she right!  Probably the best Schnitzel I've ever had, and I will definitely be making a return visit before I head home. We had a really fun time chatting, laughing, but then the day had to continue and we were both off.  I made my way to another favorite place in Vienna, the hallowed Staatsoper, to meet another friend, Daniel, for a night at the opera.  We waited in line a bit for our tickets, and raced up to grab out spot, dead center, a few floors up.  The orchestra began with a roar, and then we were in for an emotional roller coaster.  Puccini's La bohème, my desert island opera.  A simple story in Paris' Montmartre about poor artists falling in love under the moon, the struggles of life, the death of a lover, the opera's music is beyond romantic, filled with tenderness, passion, and sounding like a classic film soundtrack.  It's arias still give me goosebumps, and it's reality permeate every cell in my body.  It speaks to me, as it does to so, so many, and brings me into the core of its emotion, letting me go only in the final chords - the final chords, which signify the soprano's death, which are written in a major key (unheard of for 'sad' music), and make the sadness even more terrifying and heartbreaking.  It's an opera that is about life and love, and it's rapture gets me every time.  Incredible to see it on the stage.

The quiet, dingy Café Sperl hidden away on a Viennese side street.

May 1st, Maifest, closes schools and businesses across Austria, and much of Europe, for a holiday to honor the laborers, a tradition in Austria restarted and codified only after the annexation with Germany in March 1938.  The more traditional provinces celebrate the day with traditions rooted in paganism associated with preparing for the growing season of spring and the return of longer days and warmer sun.  Villagers clad in Tracht (Lederhosen and Dirndl) amass in a field or public square for the raising of the Maibaum, a decorated tree, nearly 100ft. tall in Salzburg's case.  By a simple system of supports and pulleys, the tree is gradually raised by men throughout the day, sure to rest for the necessary beer.  At the end of the day, once the tree has been set in place, youngsters are encouraged to try and climb the tree to reach the treats suspended near the top.  As I experienced with the national holiday on 26 October, not a single student over the past 2 weeks could explain why Austrians celebrate May 1st.  To them, it's a day off from work to wear traditional costumes and drink beer with friends.  To me, and apparently to them, today's celebrations remain cryptic, and I'm not entirely sure of the significance behind any of the customs, and again, this sense of little civic knowledge surprises me - it's so foreign.  

Raising of the Maibaum for Maifest.

Yesterday I had run out of my coveted Pecorino Romano and headed to the shop around the corner to pick up some more.  It was the end of the day, and Antonio's father was manning the shop, singing to himself as he cleaned up some knives behind the counter.  To him, I'm the "Americano," and his face brightened when I approached.  Without saying a word, he reached into the display and grabbed the wheel of my cheese.  As I was about to leave, he threw in a loaf of fresh bread from Udine, and poured me a small jar of freshly pressed olive oil from his family's farm south of the border, as a gift.  He told me to forget the pasta tonight - cut a thick slice of bread, a paper thin slice of pecorino, and dip it into some of this oil with a bit of fine balsamic vinegar.  Wearing a red bow tie, a white apron, hunched over and with wrinkled face, with a voice like Corelli and a heart of gold, he's the type of man you want to pick up and place in your pocket to keep with you always, and he sure as heck knows good eats.  Bread, oil, cheese.  Throw in a light Chianti, and dinner's on the table.  Mmmm!

Monday evening I planned my final teaching schedule with my supervisor, and get this, I'll work a whopping 5 days in the whole of May.  He's given me plenty of opportunities to travel around my classes, and my final scheduled "class" actually consists of him taking me out for a drink.  Many of my Fifth Form (final year) students are preparing for Friday's Matura, or final examination, and have been taking me out with a small group of students for beer, simply so they could practice their English.  In doing that, in meeting with them and shooting the wind, I've seen a different side of them, and they of me, and a few of us actually consider each other friends now, which is a really remarkable thing.  I came into this year thinking that I'd have very little effect on the kids, but now, after nearly a year, even though I haven't often visited with the classes, I see just how much I've learned, how I've changed simply by being with them.  It hasn't always been fun, but I think we worked together every time we met to break down walls, to search for the truth, to explain how we see both see the world, and to try and find our place in it.  It's a rewarding feeling, and I think I'll be able to look back on this experience and smile knowing just how great an influence both of us have had on each other, and that, my friends, is a beautiful thing.