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Thanksgiving and Other Events

Well, last night was Thanksgiving. We celebrated too, in our own way. We met up with the missionaries at the church. None of us had any experience cooking a Thanksgiving meal, but we wanted to keep our American traditions alive, but skewing them just a little to give it an Austrian twist.

I was in charge of the turkey schnitzel. Now, I've never made any kind of schnitzel before, and it's a very difficult thing going to the store and purchasing items when you have to go simply by pictures. Sometimes you mistake pepper spheres for poppyseeds, but that's another story. I found some schnitzel meat in my local Spar, but it didn't say what kind of meat it was. However, it did have a little picture of a turkey on it, so I figured that must be good enough. Then, I didn't know what other ingredients I needed, but I figured there had to be a mix that went along with it because I had seen lots of mix packages with "Schnitzel" written across them. Well, I knew it couldn't be Huehner because in my limited German, I do know that has something to do with chickens, but it was the closest I could find. So I picked up some packages. When I met the missionaries at the church, they looked at the packages and I realized that it wasn't quite what I was supposed to get, but it worked out okay. Rather than breaded schnitzel, we had schnitzel with an oniony sauce.

The sisters sliced up potatoes, so we did at least have some mashed potatoes with our meal, but we didnt' think about gravy, so they were kind of dry mashed potatoes.

Elders being elders, they brought rolls and a salad.

The table is set, and the sheaves of wheat make a nice impromptu centerpiece. We toast apful gesprizt (or something) and go around the table saying what we're thankful for. Afterwards, we enjoy a frozen apple pie that I've heated up in the oven. We were going to try and make a real pie, but unlike those celebrating Thanksgiving in America, I had classes all day, so I didn't have time.

This is Sam eating the leftovers:

All in all, it turned out well.

And since I'm behind, I also want to put in some pictures from the Christmas Market that we visited on my birthday. This is the main street in town, Maria-Theriesen Strasse, all decked out in lights:

And here is the Old Town, near the Goldenes Dachl where one of the two famous Christmas Markets are. People gather from all over to drink gluwein (I'm so sorry that I'm spelling all the German words wrong.) and eat kiachl, either sweet (with cranberry jam) or sour (with kraut). We didn't have anything to eat that night because we were going out to dinner later, but since then, I've had some kiachl, and it is tasty. (Also surprisingly filling).

And here are some flowers that my friend Simone gave me for my birthday. She didn't forget about it (like some people I might mention...):

Okay, so that's all for now. I'm caught up and plan on doing a better job in the future. Some things to look forward to:

• Ugly Innsbruck (where I take pictures of the less-than-idyllic aspects of Innsbruck)
• People on the bus (where I describe people who ride the bus, but I don't think there will be pictures, unless I can be discreet)
• Holiday trips to Vienna, London, and Dublin

Routine

I didn't think living in Europe could become routine, even mundane at times. To me, it was always this place set apart where no one had real lives that become everyday. I didn't think of it being under construction, having delayed buses, sirens blaring. The toiletpaper I thought was strange when I first got here now seems perfectly normal. The charm of carrying my groceries a mile home in little canvas totes has somewhat weakened as the winter weather has strengthened. I no longer notice the cigarette smoke lingering on my coat and in my hair, and the smell of alcohol in the town center or on the breath of teenage boys is commonplace.

The thing is, this may sound negative initially, but if you think about it, it's really positive. I mean, Europe (Innsbruck) is real to me now. Rather than the static, two-dimensional view I always had in my head, I know it for what it really is. I don't want to sound presumptious, and I know that there's still so much that I won't understand and know, but I've changed. My view has changed. Rather than the idyllic Tirol seen in postcards or tourism videos and dvds, I have smelled the drunk on the bus and talked to the cripple by the hospital. I walk past the garbage hidden in bushes and the vandalized billboards, and I still love it. I could live here. I love the people riding bikes in stiletto heels and the old ladies on the bus with hats and brooches and umbrellas with curving handles. I love that I can wear whatever I want. I love walking everywhere I go.

If what you love becomes routine, does that mean you shouldn't love it anymore?

Dinner Pary (in Deutsch)

All seven of us crowded into a borrowed car to drive up to Bettina's for a dinner party. She lives half an hour outside of Innsbruck and up a winding mountain with a narrow road and no guardrails. I've only been there in the dark. All I know is that the mountains keep going even after the row of lights stops.

The table was set with candles, crystal, and white plates. We had a traditional Tirolean meal. And everyone was speaking. Most of the time, everyone was speaking in German. Of course they were. It's their native tongue. And every once in a while, one of the girls would recognize that we weren't laughing when they were and remember, "oh yes, they don't speak German" and translate the joke for us. Our delayed laugh was at least still a laugh. It's not that we didn't have a good time when we played Activities - drawing out German words on paper, trying to make others guess without saying the word, or using charades. The frantic looking through the dictionary and written notes across the table when the word wasn't found quite as it was used, and then the lapsing back into German anyway was still all amusing. We even had the upperhand when we played Scattergories. I mean, the likelihood of matching words in English with those in German was much less for the two of us than for the five of them.

And then when we bundled back up in the car, the English speakers stuffed in the very back seat, to drive down the hill. I looked out the snow-streaked back window and tried to figure out what was so unsatisfactory about the experience. What would make it better?

I don't expect them to give up speaking their language and change their lives just to be inclusive of two girls that will only be around for a couple months. I appreciate every time they translate and speak in English, struggling for words. And I know I will revel in the luxury of understanding the nuances of my native language when I return to the States, but somehow it still just leaves me feeling ... lonely, insignificant, obligatory, isolated, overwhelmed, and unnecessary. Yeah, all things you want to feel on a Saturday night with friends.

Venice - All Saint's Day

Yes, Venice. I went to Italy for the weekend. Rode on a train, the landscape speeding before me... or rather, behind me because I was facing the wrong direction. I saw everything as we passed it. We tunneled through the Dolomites and passed vineyards, terracing up the mountains and yellow with turned leaves. The mist hung low over the mountains like little caps and scarves. I tried to take some pictures from the train, but they just don't do the landscape justice:

For one thing, there's that black mark on the window (oh that I had photoshop! [Editor's Note: I have subsequently photoshopped these pictures.]), but more importantly, the colors just aren't the same. I listened to This Mortal Coil - the Originals. When we reached the Italian border, some passport/customs people came on the train to check passports. I had mine ready, but they never reached me. They became busy with some Indian travelers who apparently didn't have their passports and were taken off the train. The customs people never came back. I was disappointed because now my passport does not reflect that I went to Italy for the weekend. (No one even wanted to see my brightly-colored, offically-hologramed visa from Austria.)

I was so wrapped up in trying to find the Tourist Information booth at Santa Luzia that I forgot for a moment we were in Venice. Then we stepped outside and here it was:

But first things first - we wanted to get to our hostel, a camping site that turned out to be at least half an hour outside the city. But it was cheap and nice, private with bath ensuite. Here's Angie outside our little "cabin":

That night, we cruised the Grand Canal in the darkness. At first, we were scrunched into the main section of the ship with some French people (that I was trying to eavesdrop on, but apparently my French isn't that great), but eventually we clambored over some knees and I found myself in the foremost seat on the vaporetto. Here's me with the wind in my hair:

Venice at night is charming - the low lights cast long shadows over the architectural details, the outline of a pilaster here, the curve of an arch there, nothing in full view. The lamps were reflected in the water, and as we passed the open windows of palaces, we could see glimpses of chandeliers and tapestries in third-floor ballrooms. My camera, a cheap one, doesn't like to take pictures of lights. It eats them and spits them out fuzzy, but here are some pictures anyway:

That night, it rained. It poured water against the tin roof of our trailer. We froze inside (because we didn't discover the heater until the next morning). It was still raining when we woke up. We decided to wait a little while to see if it would calm down. Neither of us was terribly prepared for a rainy Venice. The plan was to pack light (or as light as possible, in my case). The rain stopped just before noon and we set out in trenchcoats and warm socks. After waiting half an hour for the bus, then riding in the bus for half an hour, we finally entered the city... a flooded Venice.

Around us, everyone was tying sacks to their feet or purchasing temporary galoshes. I couldn't find where those were being sold, and I hate asking, so we ended up just taking off our socks and shoes and rolling our pants up to the knees. We toured the back alleys and streets of Venice this way, ignoring the garbage that washed up around our ankles. We visited the Accademia and stared at Giorgiones and Tintorettos and Veroneses until our feet tired. Then we stopped by the Salute and rested on the steps, eating cheese sandwiches.

Inside were candles and art, a statue of the Ecstacy of St. Theresa, and organ music:

(sorry, couldn't get a picture of the organ music...)

That night on our way home, a man overheard us speaking in English and stopped to say hello. He was from Greece and didn't think the Italian people were too friendly. He obviously wanted us to invite him out with us, but honestly, he wouldn't have had a good time, since we were just going home. We're boring, you know.

That Piazza San Marco was still flooded the next morning. People walked on platforms set up, a human traffic jam, while those in temporary galoshes (or with their pants rolled up) waded out to the middle of the square for views and photos of the campanile and Doge's Palace.

and lanterns with pink glass and roosting pigeons.

The pigeons were everywhere. They were the only ones sitting to eat at the cafes.

A man sat at a stand on the dry part of the piazza selling pigeon feed for those brave enough to draw the pigeons to them.

We weren't suckered into spending the euro on food. The pigeons came to us anyway.

Obviously, the pigeons were the highlight. Then we took a cruise to the island of Murano, famous for its glass. We observed a glass figure-making demonstration and then were free to roam and buy. Here's what the glass-filled shops looked like:

And here are some pictures of the rest of the island:

So... that's Venice. Good pizza and gelati, lots of shopping, waiting for crowded buses and crowded vaporettoes (vaporetti?), brightly-colored poles and gondoliers in striped shirts (calendars of gondolier men and ... priests?), little stands that close down at 7, people pulling their luggage behind them, and bells ringing.