No Mercy!

Tomorrow morning I'm off to Eichstätt for the weekend! I'm very, very excited. Like I've told many, one of my favorite things of German/Austrian culture is the Christmas markets. I just don't know if anything beats holding that warm mug of mulled wine (Glühwein) in freezing cold weather, and there's no place I love doing so more than in Eichstaett. James is talking about taking me up into the mountains just about every day (he with skis and I with snow shoes), so it could be he kidnaps me as soon as I get back into town.

I'm doing well! Aside from the ridiculous amount of pressure in the bottom of my stomach from eating a hefty lentil soup and plenty of cheese, I'm fit enough to lift a mountain. I got up this morning and decided to take a run. It's been snowing for about a week straight now, and the result has been a beautiful two feet of snow. Thinking, "I've done this before!" I hopped out of my apartment complex with a pair of shorts (no running pants), a hoodie, gloves, and a beanie. Normally, the legs are no problem, but they got whooped today. Just to make sure it would be plenty painful, I went on a foot path next to one of the rivers, which is seldom traveled upon. So I slipped and stumbled my way for a good 40 minutes, continually brushing and scratching my ankles against the snow on either side. I didn't give up, though! NO MERCY. By the time I got back, the hairs on my lower calves were housing their own population of mini ice-sickles, and a good portion of my beard had been frozen together from the moisture in my breath.

I'd still say it was worth it. Since yesterday, the sun has been shining, and it's "a whole new world" as our Persian friend would say. It really is like I'm seeing a whole different kind of beauty. When I go outside, I feel like I'm seeing a bunch of friends for the first time in a long time. All of the mountains grew out their hair and beards and smirk the sun's reflection thinking they've tricked me, but there's no tricking mountain-man-Dan! I have the beard to prove it.

I really don't get all of these Grinches who don't like the winter. Things are happening all over the place that give me warm fuzzy feelings to make up for the cold. The center of gravity of Bad Ischl seems to have shifted to the temporary and recently-built ice-skating rink, which is currently orbited by about five stands serving juicy bratwursts and sinfully delicious drinks. Everyone stands, huddled around small tables and haphazard fires to chat and watch the children playing games, laughing and squealing with delight on the ice. Almost every time I've stood at a stand snow has been falling, aided in its romantic effect by an obtrusive but sweetly decorated and lit crane in the background.

Every time I walk up the Kalvarienberg ("Mount Calvary." sound familiar?), one of the small mountains in Bad Ischl, I walk past children and families sledding down the perfect hills. On my right I pass the stations of the cross leading to Jesus' crucifixion, and on my left kids lose their breath in wonder of temporary flight. When I come down around 4:30 as the light is fading, a boy asks me what time it is. Sadly, there seems to be an adverse relationship between amount of fun had and amount of available light needed to have it. Time to go home. There's a church midway up the mountain, the Kalvarienbergkirche ("Mount Calvary Church", wouldn't ya know?). I don't know if it was the shadows of dawn, but I noticed for the first time yesterday that the statued saints and bishops surrounding the crucified Jesus are dancing. I'm sure that wasn't the sculptors intention, but a couple of them really do have just the slightest hint of a jerk at the hip or a wily leg gotten loose.

Turns out my students like Christmas. I've been forcing them to watch a video matched to the song from the movie "How the Grinch stole Christmas!" You know the one, "You're a mean one, Mister Grinch..." Then I make half of them be the Grinch and the other half be Santa Claus, and they have to battle it out for the fate of Christmas. Most of the Grinches betray me behind my back, because they're burning of such youthful promise and purity that they can't manage a lie.

Everyone can ski except for me. Every time I tell my students I don't know how to they gasp in horror. James, of course, took it upon himself to remedy this situation. He can't have his wingman taking the bench for all of winter, so skiing is the new frontier. I bought a pair of old, terrible ski shoes for one euro at a flea market, and he provided me with the rest of the equipment. At the end of the last snowfall he abducted me and took me to his house, where Lucy filled me to the brim with the meats of her labor only to push me into the cold to face the harsh world of slipping...all of the time. I was made to push my way awkwardly and unbalanced back and forth across the drive-way on a shorter pair of skis. Once I'd improved and James was done clearing snow with his tractor, he took me up the tiny hill next to his house. He gave me one exercise after the other, and I quickly graduated classes, probably making it up to the equivalent of a seahorse in swimming lessons after 30 minutes.

Impatient for an honorable end, we took to the road to find a hill worthy of a good death. No mercy!! After leg breaking work making our own piste (right terminology, ski friends?), James shoved me down the hill in his "baptism by ice" method. No, I'm just playing, he only pushed me with encouraging words and a little advice. By the end, I was a pro, and now I'm retiring.

Föhn ist schön! Love at first sight

Guys, it's happened. Yes, I fell in love. I was always one of those that doubted. I saw the movies and heard the stories, and I thought, "This 'love at first sight': it's for suckers." I was wrong. Oh, so wrong. I was in the bookstore today looking for some new cookbooks and all of a sudden BAM. Red caught my eye. Such class. So simple and yet...calling. I can only compare to a couple of references: Maybe I was Luke's lightsaber in episode 5 (or 2 if you judge by release dates), when he pulled it out of the snow with all of his force to slaughter the yetti, or maybe I was Harry's broom as he called "Accio!" to fight the dragon. It called me, that beautiful cook book. I won't describe it. Be satisfied with my love for it, and know that I spent exorbitant amounts of money on it.

Welcome to every day! This was the high point of today. I'm not complaining. I rejoice in the normal pace of life I now have. New life is always a thrill, but sooner or later it settles into the calm refrain.

Oh, it hasn't been all too normal. On the way to Hallstaettersee with James and his wife Lucy I rode my bike downhill, spread my arms risking life and limb for sake of flight, greeted the sunshine, greeted the surrounding mountains, greeted the warm wind, and sang this song in my head: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6QhykGh4VPw

That's me, James, and Lucy. We took a break almost every hour, enjoying cake, a beer, or a glass of wine. I don't know if I've ever had such a relaxed, prolonged bike ride. The pace and mood of the ride was so relaxed that it almost painted a sense of normalcy over the most graceful of slopes and striking rock faces in the mountains guiding us.

 That place over on the other side of the lake? That's Hallstatt. It's a UNESCO World Heritage Site, because it's been important for almost 1000 years because of it's salt mines and beautiful architecture. The Chinese even built a replica of the entire city in China because...they liked it so much?

It's been autumn here for a while. Living in the mountains has given such new life to dying leaves for me. Frost hits the tops of mountains first, and so color cascades down the hillside. Peaks went from green to brown quickly, while yellow and red spread daily downward. It was as if the mountains shed their summer coat. It was a waterfall of hues as brown, red, orange, and yellow fell from peak to valley.

We were blessed and cursed for the last few weeks by something called "foehn" or "föhn." The easy description that locals give is that it's a warm wind from the south. Everyone celebrated foehn, because it meant we would have a pleasant autumn perfect for hiking and nature-love. I thought myself clever when I said, "Foehn ist schoen!" "Schoen" means pretty. At the same time, it was a curse because it causes headaches and fuzzy thinking. It's a kind of folk wisdom. Everyone warns: you'll probably have days where it's harder to think and you can't quite complete thoughts. Check it out. It's real! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foehn_wind

So James and I exploited the fine weather to the best of our ability. The day after going to the Hallstaettersee we hiked up a mountain called the Trisselwand with his family.

(These are views from the Trisselwand. The mountain behind the lake in the first picture is the Trisselwand.)

James took it upon himself to become my official photographer after I told him that my family and friend want to see pictures of me in cool places. I hope you enjoy.

Two days later James and I almost sprinted up about 1000 meters to one of the peaks of a mountain in Bad Ischl called the Zimnitz. I swear that man is from the future or something. He led the way to the top, often almost rock climbing, at a ridiculous pace. It's amazing how the climb can affect that moment when you turn around to see the landscape. It's one thing when you hike at a relaxed pace taking glances every few minutes, but it's completely different when you climb about 700 meters in 50 minutes and turn around to see the whole world at your feet. Except, we only saw Bad Ischl and it's nearest neighbors. The rest of the world was covered in a sea of fog. The fog stopped literally right at the borders of Bad Ischl.

I'm learning the names of things. Speaking a foreign language kind of inspires that. James and I stood at the peak of this mountain and he told me the names of things. He showed me his house, and he told me the name of the town it was in and why it was named so. He pointed out the boundaries of Bad Ischl. He also pointed where the salt has been mined for almost a thousand years. Then he pointed to most of the mountains we could see (more than twenty) and told me their names. He even explained to me why he thought it was that Bad Ischl was rarely foggy, and how the wind from the nearby glacier probably flowed through Bad Ischl but warmed as it went. The fog slowly crept into Bad Ischl, so we took to the descent.

I'm sure you want to hear about my experience teaching, but I honestly don't know what to tell you that would be particular to my "Austrian" experience. They're becoming adults, and they're wonderful. On the days that I've prepared well they try to match my energy, and on the days when I don't feel so prepared they surprise me. I tried to tell a story about George Washington on the fly the other day, and it was the most boring story I've ever told. I felt sorry for the kids as they rested on their arms and their eyelids drooped. At the end of class James asked them what they'd learned about George Washington. Hands flew to the air. "He was about six foot three!" "He was Commander and Chief!" For some strange reason, they actually listened! It's like they held out hope that the story would get better, and before they knew it they had accidentally listened to a bad story. I now understand why all of our favorite stories involve younger people. They really are inspiring.

It's a dangerous profession, though. There seems to be a direct correlation between the subject taught and my day following the lesson. Lesson learned: don't teach about shopping.

I decided to write the blog with an express purpose. I left the U.S. this last time with a much heavier impression that those I was leaving felt I was going to a very "foreign" place. Many of the people important to me aren't just separated from my passion by the language, but by the distance and culture. Heck, I don't think most people know what Austrian culture would be. When I call my pastor brother, Jeff, I ask him how the churches are, and occasionally we ponder and wrestle some theological question. It's a conversation everyone my family is used to and somewhat good at, since we had a grandfather and two parents to train us. Yet this German speaking world really is foreign to so many that I would have be close to it. So I came at this blog thing trying to make distinctions from the beginning. This won't be a journal, it won't be a letter or email, and it sure as eggs is eggs ain't gunna be no book. So I'll dabble in the sensual, the comical, the philosophic, and the trivial story of it all in an effort to make this "foreign" part of me yours, as well. I'm inspired to write this blog by two truths I love. The first is that very little in this world can make a good substitute for the physical. So, despite how desperately I may try to translate all of this for you, it will never make up for my physical absence in your life. The second is that life is always better when shared.

Thank you for letting me share this with you.

Finding my tuning fingers

Grüß Gott, loved ones and strangers! This is how it always is here...not. This was the most unique day in recent memory, for me. This was the Almabtreib! There is no translation for that word, so I'll see if I can translate it through pictures and words. Let me guide you:

On this day in autumn, cows are led from their pastures in the mountains down into the pastures in the valleys. It is a celebration! In spring the cows are taken up to graze next to small huts in the mountains for the summer. While they are there, the pastures in the valleys are harvested about three times to make bales of hay. In autumn they are dressed up in colorful headdress and decoration and brought back down after the last harvest. It's a celebration because the cows and their caretakers made it back down in good health, all the meanwhile ensuring great dairy products!

On Saturday, James, my mentor teacher and newest best friend, led me with his family by bike on a thirty minute bike ride into this certain valley. The weather, as you can see, was wonderful. James does mountain biking all of the time, and despite being almost sixty years old is almost fitter than I am. It's an old tradition held all over Austria and Bavaria. As a result, tourists and old hats alike come to be a part of the party. We rode to a specific hut where people sat at tables, drank beer and wine, and ate hearty meals. There we found James' biking group, the "faule Saupartie" (the "lazy pig lot" would be a rough translation), was already there making a table their home. Soon after we arrived, three men climbed a little ways up the hill and harmonized a few old folk songs. We joined the lazy lot of pigs at their table, where the three men joined us. There, for the entire afternoon, they sang and played accordion. Every now and again they took a break and let a woman and man play trumpet and tuba. I talked with every possible person, trying to figure out their dialect and even trying it out myself. After the cows were led downhill, everyone circled the caretaker of the cows and sang and clapped for her (that's actually what's happening in the first picture). Down the road the celebration was more somber. The caretaker had died over the summer, so the cows were not dressed, and there was no such circle, but there was nevertheless a celebration.

This place is full of traditions. My first day of work almost a week before the Almabtrieb was one of the most particular and fun I've ever had. I accidentally and thereby impolitely addressed the Direktor of the school informally, but she's cool, and she wanted me to address her informally, anyways. It was also the day before her birthday, so we had a glass of sparkling wine during the break in the teachers' kitchen. James, blind and sky blue in one eye from an accident, took me to lunch, and afterward we went with our colleagues for a hike at a nearby lake. It was also a holiday on that day, called Liachtbratlmontag (Liacht=Licht=light, bratl=Schweinebraten, Montag=Monday). The history of the tradition is: When days became shorter in autumn and lights had to be turned on at the end of the work day to finish the boss would treat his workers to a meal like Schweinebraten and drink with them. The tradition has developed to the point that colleagues often go for a hike and then out to dinner with their boss. So we went to the Schwarzsee (Schwarz=black, See=lake), hiked and talked, and ate a snack at a hut in the middle of nowhere/mountains.

Back in town, we went to the most popular bar in town to get Schweinebraten. The bar was filled to the brim with people, and most of them were wearing Lederhosen and Dirndls. It was too loud for anybody to talk, so we went to another bar. James’ two best friends were there, too, and they were determined to figure out if I was cool or not. They put me to the test. Peter did his best to teach me dialect, and I think I did pretty well. He taught me words that were so old and local that most of the people with us did not understand the words he was teaching me, either. Robert, the other friend, spent a lot of the time explaining Peter and translating what Peter had said (except when he himself didn’t understand). It’s crazy. Some people speak such intense dialect that other Austrians from nearby towns can’t understand them. After a while, James and Peter dragged me into the bathroom to teach me how to jodeln (j pronounced like our y). They went to the wall, slapped their fore- and middle fingers to the wall, and held them next to the ears like a tuning fork. Peter started the song and James did the harmonics. It was beautiful. It wasn’t at all the fast changing octaves that we imagine. I did my best to learn by joining one of them, but as soon as they did a different harmonic I got lost. We went back out, and they sang multiple songs for everyone. It was one of the highlights of the night (for everyone, I think). By the end of the night, apparently, I had passed their test as a sociable, "sympathisch" young man.

Sitting outside of the hut on Liachtbratlmontag with other teachers and retirees, I was challenged to patience. I sat next to an older, nice man for a while. He was hard to understand, as he spoke a stronger accent, but sooner or later I tuned in to his conversation. To my surprise, it seemed to me that he was espousing a somewhat racist belief. Nobody seemed to be reacting, and I was hesitant to form a conclusion for doubt of my ears for dialect, so I asked. "What exactly is this conversation about? I'm hearing something about black people and Asians." Everyone perked up and chuckled, "Don't pay attention to him, Dan. He's just a bit of a crazy racist." Trying not to have knee-jerk, confrontational reaction I asked further. "What exactly do you mean? Do you think white people are better than people of other colors?" Everyone nodded their heads suggesting the answer, but he insisted, "No. I just think it's better when we don't mix. Every culture produces the best things when pure." Note: nobody agreed with him. About as few Austrians as Americans think this way. I smiled, coming from the "melting pot" of countries. "What about jazz? Blues? The influence was cuisines on each other?"

I rest comfortably knowing that good and great alike have come from the mixture of cultures, but I don't dismiss that "racist" entirely. I don't like a lot of things about the directions my generation is going. I reject many aspects of our culture and technology out of the belief that some things are lost. Some shrug shoulders and roll eyes at those who lament the "old days." "Change!" they celebrate. This is the nature of things. We develop and change as cultures in the mix and stir of globalization and modernization. Many things are lost and many are gained, and it is natural and good so. I feel that truth, but I don't think it's always a one to one ratio. I think somethings lost are better, and some things gained are worse. I lament the disappearance of barber shops where men gathered to talk. I regret the seemingly daily substitution of the physical wold for the virtual as we dive headfirst into iPhones and become accustomed to doors with sensors. I worry for the day that cows are no longer led from pasture to pasture driven by song and community. So I'm striving to keep alive what speaks to life, and I'm sorry, but I don't see life in everything.

Every day here feels more comfortable. I should be signing a lease this Friday with the nice man, Walter, for a part of a house. I've fallen in love with the house. As I slowly fill my kitchen, cook my own meals, fill my drawers and iron my clothes, I feel the joy of making a home. Almost every day I discover some small trinket in my house, hear some new creak, or figure out some strange Austrian device that determines the temperature of my water. It's a wonderful thing, living in a new house. In an old house like this you feel like you're getting to know someone new. Each nook and cranny grows in charm as I learn to pay attention to it. Instead of making it mine, I feel invited to become a part of it, and I feel wiser in doing so. It holds older things. Nevertheless, I hang my posters, cook my spices into its walls, and fill its spaces with my music. We share with one another.

No lessons today and no new words; just a wish. So far I've been throwing this stuff into a black hole. I'm writing this to share my thoughts and experience, so I want some reactions! I don't care if it's a comment here, or an email, or whatever. Just because you aren't frolicking in the Alps doesn't mean I don't care to hear about your life, and I'd also like to hear what you think about mine, or my reflections. 

Be well!

Destiny, death, and a yodel to boot

“In eternity there is no time, only an instant long enough for a joke.”  Steppenwolf, Hermann Hesse

Look! I didn't lie about ze singing und ze hills!

Don't you hate me?

 

When a house gets torn down here it's a town event. People gather around and watch as this huge monster of a machine with ginormous mechanical jaws and jackhammer nibbles off fragment for fragment of walls and floors. Long, gnarly hairs of rebar twist and bend in every direction in their refusal to be clipped; a modern day Medusa refusing to get her hair cut.

After a summer of working construction, I was curious about how German's build their houses. They, and Austrians as well, build them normally out of huge bricks and concrete laced with rebar. The exception to that rule is the Fachwerkhaus (http://www.baulinks.de/webplugin/2007/i/1527-fachwerkhaus.jpg) made partially out of wood. If I'm correctly informed, and I may not be, the frame of most U.S. American homes is primarily wood. Even if not, I doubt most of our residential structures could be compared in strength to one of concrete and steel.What does that say about us and Europeans? The joke for Germans and Austrians is that they don't have tornadoes or hurricanes, or much at all really to threaten their houses. It bugged me. Why would we build such feeble structures, especially in the face of tornadoes and hurricanes? I think it was Eva that said it was a pilgrim mentality of needing to create shelter quickly in harsh conditions. I suggested that it was the remnant of the Manifest Destiny mentality. Ever westward we go! Or is it the material American Dream? We can always remodel and add on to suit our tastes and match our wealth. I can tell you I don't see much remodeling going on here. Nobody wants to tear down a concrete wall reinforced with steel rebar if they don't have to.  Although the environmentalist in me is drawn to the more sustainable and permanent structure with less waste, the "romantic" in me can't help but love our wooden houses. I love the smell and look of wood. I love that the corners and angles of our houses are as imperfect and obtuse as we are. More so, I often dream of building my own home someday, which is much less possible in a world of concrete.

I've got permanence on the brain today. It was a gray day here in Bad Ischl. Clouds never left their mountain tip homes, and I didn't really want to leave mine, either. Days like these make it easier to look at our feet as we shuffle and drag them. But Bad Ischl was not at rest! Today they had the Kaiser half-marathon, as well as the Tag des Denkmals (day of memorials). I woke up and walked busier streets. People were jogging everywhere, getting warmed up for the race. I could hear the announcer blocks away. The entire town center was blocked off to traffic. I went to the starting point and joined the throng. It was people-watching prime time. There were families with their children and people from all over Austria who'd come to run or watch the race. Announcers did their best to rile the crowd. Half of their talk was about the race, and half was about how great Bad Ischl is. "Not only..." declared one, "is Bad Ischl known for being one of the best organized runs in Austria, but it is definitely one of the friendliest!" As the race started, everyone cheered on every runner. I'm now living in a proud, close-knit community. It's infectious.

I took two tours today: the tour of memorials, and the tour of the cemetery. While I learned that many famous people came here in the first tour (Lehar, Brahms, Franz Josef, etc.) for reasons of inspiration and wellness (spa town, healing salt water), the second tour I found much more fascinating. It's wonderful how stories can be brought out of names and numbers. A man took us around the cemetery, apparently considered by many to be one of the prettiest in Austria, and explained the lives and deaths of the lowly to the aristocratic. We saw how one family lost their three children within six years. We saw the grave for unborn children, visited and decorated by many. At the end he showed us where a general of WWII was buried. This general was ordered by Hitler to go to Spain and help the Fascists there. He made the order to bomb Guernica, which soon after became inspiration to one of the most well known paintings of the western world, Picasso's "Guernica," found in the Prada in Madrid. The copy is hung in the U.N. in New York City as a reminder of the horrors of war. How strange and sadly we are sometimes connected to each other. 

Oh but I won't leave off on such a sad note! I just spent about five amazing days in the beautiful ski resort town of Saalbach Hinterglemm learning what to expect this year, as well as what is expected of me. Happenstance and good luck greeted me there as well. On the way there I left my bag on a bus, had to talk to drivers and get them to drive it back to me, and missed a train and a bus because of one late train. Arriving two hours late, I got a room to myself for the week. Throughout the week I volunteered and was asked to do quite a bit. I was asked to play guitar and lead everyone in a sing-along on the mountain after a hike, I got picked out of the crowd multiple times that night to do different traditional folk dances  and yodel,

 and two girls and I taught a group about folk/country music. At the end of the lesson they had to write their own folk song, which we sang their song for everyone at the talent show that night. I left with friends and the belief that I can be a good teacher.

So my brain's been on permanence lately. Today I woke up and turned knobs to gas lines and pushed buttons to get hot water before getting too nervous about blowing up my house and gave up. Tomorrow I'll wake up, shower cold or not at all, and start my job teaching kids. It's a completely new, unknown adventure. I have no idea what I'll do, but that's not what I'm worried about. Such mystery beckons the questions I've been asking myself for a while. How do I make myself into a strong, stable man? How do I leave a lasting impact on the people and places around me? How can I influence these kids in a meaningful way? I want meaningful, lasting relationships. I'm not just here to visit. I want everything I build to be worthy and lasting.

I'm not worried or scared. My hands only tremble because they yearn to grasp.

“I will no longer mutilate and destroy myself in order to find a secret behind the ruins.” Hermann Hesse

German word(s)/phrase of the week: Grüß Gott
Everybody says it round these parts. Pronunciation: http://www.dict.cc/?s=gr%C3%BC%C3%9F+gott
Click on the little speaker on the right edge of the right-hand column

Fact of the week: Meaning of Grüß Gott. Read it! It's really interesting!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gr%C3%BC%C3%9F_Gott

Preview for next week: The tyranny of Dan as teacher begins!!! ALSO: my house!

Keep it real, y'all.
 

My bed's in a bathroom

 “I am much inclined to live from my rucksack, and let my trousers fray as they like.” Hermann Hesse

WARNING TO GRANDPARENTS and family: this entry contains content regarding hitchhiking and trusting strangers. They were some of the best experiences, though!

Julia picked me up on a Wednesday at the airport, after waiting for about 45 minutes for me to sort out a missing baggage situation. Julia is best friend, almost sister, and sometimes mother to me. In the passenger seat of her car waited a beer and pretzel. I almost cried; such a touching, heartfelt present. I was in my other home, again!

In those couple of days I stayed with her and her boyfriend/my friend, Dominik, she managed to make my two favorite meals: Brotzeit and Schweinebraten (look at pictures on google), as well as take me to a beautiful lake.

On Friday I took a Mitfahrgelegenheit (a safer and very practical form of hitchhiking through online profiles) to a town called Radolfzell next to Lake Constance on the border with Switzerland. There awaited Hubertus, his family, his brother's girlfriend Amelie, and his boss/friend Eva and her husband Bernt. Hubertus is my other brother, and as such I feel myself very much a member of his family. His family embraces me as brother/son, as well.

I found myself in the house of Hermann Hesse; the first and only(?) he ever built. It was a surprise that I was staying in the house of one of the most famous German authors, as well as my personal favorite. Eva and Bernt had bought the house in 2003 to save it from certain destruction by the city, and brought it back to its original condition. It is a beautiful three-story house with a paradise for a garden that Eva, as botanist, keeps. We often sat all together on the terrace on the second floor, overlooking the garden and lake, to dinner with a glass of wine or bottle of beer.

Much happened in the week I was there. I became good friends with Eva and Bernt, and had countless discussions and heart-to-hearts with Hubertus, his brother Burchart, his mother Oriana, his father Wolfgang, Eva, Bernt, and Hubertus' girlfriend Anais (she showed up later in the week). On the third day I was there, we hosted over 600 guests for the Tag des offenen Denkmals (Day of Memorials opened to the public). By the end of the day, after trying to instruct hundreds of guests about entering the house, or telling the older man not to touch the ancient oven, I had rediscovered that the nicest of people can also be the most stupid. I gave up on humanity again and ensured my coffee-hangover fate with my 15th coffee of the day.

At dinner one night we came to the topic, as often happen with an American amidst a group of Europeans, of guns. In Germany it is straight up illegal to own a gun without a permit, and there is sure as heck no right to carry a concealed weapon. Carrying certain knives is even forbidden. Most Germans feel safe in knowing this, and they are appalled that some U.S. Americans could feel the exact opposite. I've had many arguments with all kinds of Europeans about this, not to mention Americans. Mostly, I just try to reassure them that every one of us isn't carrying a gun, and that most people I know don't own guns (granted I've been in a liberal arts college for four years). I was delighted to finally hear something new, though, and it came from Hubertus' father, Wolfgang. "Both sides are fooling themselves." he asserted, "Many Americans labor under the delusion that their guns will keep them safe, and many Germans labor just as heavily under the delusion that their government will protect them. The truth is that we are not safe." I tried to say "WORD," but nobody seemed to understand...

While there I helped make marmalade for my first time. We made 17 jars  out of elder berries, pineapple, and lemon grass, and it was delicious. I swam in Lake Constance and took my first ferry. I picked delicious, succulent Americano grapes from the vine in her garden. Having eaten a delicious meal and had two beers, I creatively told my waitress, "Es war so lecker, ich könnte vom Glück kotzen!" (It was so delicious I could puke from happiness!). Suffice it to say sarcasm is often an unwelcome guest, especially when it was not intended. FAILURE. Note to self: puke is a dangerous word. Other note to self: you're still not that good at German.

From there I took the train to Eichstätt. From the first moment I saw the fortress looming on the hill I couldn't stop smiling. Beautiful weather welcomed me, and I nearly skipped through the streets in pure ecstasy at being back in my home. While there I stayed with two friends Lisa and Gesa, had yet more heartfelt discussions with them, and got fed delicious meals by them. We took strolls on the hill, through the city, and along the river with a cone of my favorite hazelnut ice cream in hand. I even got to do my favorite activity: kneippen! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yuqv0j-vJoI. First 30 seconds (they don't even do it right).

After missing the train twice to Ingolstadt to visit my friend Tanja, I hitchhiked for the first time in my life. I got lucky and a wonderful couple with a cute two year old daughter picked me up and asked me my life story on the 30 minute drive. At Tanja's house I got fed my favorite meal, Schweienbraten, for the second time! We took a day trip to Regensburg to see Julia run a 10k for her best time. I'd been there five years ago and saw a bird show in the castle on the hill with Katharina and her family. My last night we went Salsa and Bachata dancing, where Tanja taught me more (she's a great dancer), and I showed her what I'd learned.

After a few more relaxing days with Julia, and a great evening with Katharina and her family, I took the train to Bad Ischl. Driving through Salzburg and the Salzkammergut region, I couldn't help but laugh in the train. I passed scenes like this (I encourage you to mute your speakers): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZdKmvmbM3jg

Until the day before I left for Bad Ischl, I had no earthly idea where I would live here. The day before I left, I finally got a call from Walter, whom I'd emailed about renting a room in a house he leased. He offered to pick me up from the train station and show me the house himself. At the train station, I asked Paul Newman's doppelgänger if he was Walter. He was not. The real Walter, once having found me, helped me find the hostel, helped me take my baggage in and find a room, and then showed me the house. He even drove me around the city a little and pointed out the important landmarks.

Originally having answered that they had no rooms left in the hostel, they agreed to put me up in their "overfill room" for the night. It was a bathroom. The sink was over my bed, and a toilet was two feet away from my bed. I loved it! It felt like the perfect embodiment of the traveling spirit. When I checked out this morning, I joked about how great it was to have a toilet so nearby, and the desk clerk joked back that I wasn't supposed to use it. I laughed and said of course not. Ha! ha....

I leave today for an orientation week in Saalbach Hinterglemm. I know I don't deserve everything that's falling in my lap, but I guess that means I have to make even more out of the experience.

“I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value.” Hermann Hesse

Word(s)/phrase of the week: Doppelgänger 

background: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doppelg%C3%A4nger

pronunciation:  http://www.dict.cc/?s=Doppelg%C3%A4nger   Click on the little speaker icon next to the German word in the right column

Fact of the week: meaning of Bad Ischl

My father might tell you that it's called "Bad" because it was bad of me to come here (ha! he's sooo funny), but the word "Bad" refers to baths. This town is known as a Kurstadt, or spa town. "Ischl" refers to one of the rivers that runs through town, called the Ischl. (shout out to Hilary, who asked what it meant)

Preview for next week: I have no idea! That's the fun part.

P.S. sorry for the long entry. They should be shorter from now on.

P.P.S. pictures coming soon

LOVE

omg omg omg omg!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

O.M.G. I'm in paradise!! (omg translation : oh my gosh!!) I'm here, everybody. I'm in Bad Ischl, Austria where I'll be for the next year...or the rest of my life!! JOKE, family. This place, though, this city is stunningly, breathtakingly beautiful. So I thought I'd be living in the outer foothills of the Alps, but it turns out that I really am in the alps. The whole town is surrounded by small mountains. I spent the day laughing at my luck. It's fascinatingly simple what Europeans do with nature. They're greedy with their beauty. "Oh, there's a small hill of an island in the middle of that lake? There I shall build my castle." I imagine it goes about like that. It's unfair. I grew up in Tulsa, and all we had to work with there was a dirty river, really. It's hard not to hate people who get to live in this wonder. Oh wait, I get to do that for a year. Let's all hate me, too.

Before I get any further, quick background. Click on the links:
Here's where I am geographically
http://maps.google.at/maps?q=bad+ischl&oe=utf-8&aq=t&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hl=de&sa=N&tab=wl
As you zoom out you'll see that I'm about 45 minutes from Salzburg, and a couple of hours from Vienna and Munich. I'm in the region of Upper Austria, about an hour from the border to Germany.
Below are the best pictures I could find, but of course they don't do the trick.
http://harmonyhouse.at/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/Bad-Ischl-austria-615544_1024_768.jpg
http://www.eichingerbauer.at/images/content/big/bad_ischl.jpg

So I want this entry to be a kind of legend, or guide for you. I hope it will give you some tools to imagine my surroundings better. The very basics: Austria is a country. It is not Australia, and as you'll see in the map it is south of Germany, which is one of the few geographical facts relevant to me at this point. I encourage you to check out its history, as it was once the center of a powerful empire. They speak German all over the country, albeit in different accents and dialects that are hard to understand even for some native Germans. The region I'm in, Upper Austria, shares a common linguistic history with the German state it borders to the north, Bavaria. I was in Bavaria a little more than one year ago for my year abroad in the town of Eichstaett. Many of the people in Bavaria speak Bavarian, and Bavarian can range from an accent to a full out dialect with different words and sentence constructions. For a German from northern Germany whose had little exposure to the dialect, it can be very hard to understand.

To me: Many have asked me how well I speak and understand German. You can say I speak it fluently, but that's honestly a pretty inexact description. I finally thought of an apt metaphor to give you an idea of my German speaking and comprehension abilities. Imagine a 1000 piece puzzle of some German castle (maybe Neuschwanstein, the most famous). In the middle is the castle on a hill, below are trees, and above is the sky. About a third is trees, a third is sky, and a third is castle. The castle goes like a breeze, because every contour is so remarkable, but the sky and trees are nearly impossible. There's no way to look at a piece with tens of miniscule leaves, or twenty shades of white to blue, and fit them by sight. No, you have to painstakingly try each peace to similarly colored ones. There's about 30 pieces left in the puzzle. That's where my German is at. You see the castle perfectly, and you see most of the trees and sky. From a distance you might think the puzzle is finished. Some German's can't tell I'm not German until they've spoken to me for a few minutes. I'm not trying to brag. I think it's a fair depiction. Now imagine how many other puzzles there are: tanks, horses, a car, a map of a continent, Lord of the Rings, etc. I still have to put all those together. I can do everyday, colloquial German quite well, but have someone talk to me with many religious, literary, technical, military, etc. concepts and I'll be lost. The accent here is very similar to Bavarian, and one of my best friends is Bavarian, so I can understand the people here pretty well.

Well I think that's enough. If you got through this I think it will enrich other entries for you. I hope to get a stable enough life going here to write an entry once a week. I'll make it worthwhile for you.

Dan

P.S. you're a fool, a FOOOOL, if you have the chance to visit me and you don't. Much love

Fact of the week: Vienna (capitol of Austria) is one of the spy capitols of the world! http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/10/world/europe/10vienna.html

German word(s)/phrase of the week: Bad Ischl
pronunciation: Bah like the sheep, bah-d. Isch like sheepish, and lll with your tongue to your bottom gums. bahd ish-l. If we talk I might ask you to try and pronounce it. Be vewy vewy cawefol...

Topic of the next entry: My travels in Germany for the last few weeks
Herman Hesse, the German who watched Jerry Springer, throwing up, hitchhiking, and American Manifest Destiny. Stay tuned...