I've done way too many lessons on Christmas in the United States, lately. In some lessons I used the Grinch Song to teach them words like "stockings", "chimney", "ornaments" and so on. In others I made them role play a conversation between parents and a kid questioning the existence of Santa Claus, or a kid who already knows. I asked them to raise their hands: "How many of you will lie to your children?" They have a similar thing going on with their kids here. They have the Christkind (the Christ Child). By some students' account, it's the blond-haired baby Jesus who flies from house to house to bring the presents. Other students say it's just an angel. In either case, its departure after leaving presents is noted by the ringing of some coyly hidden bell. How the story goes is often decided by the personal beliefs of the parents (religious, barely, or not). When they all raised their hands to say that they would gladly lie to their dear children I'd moan "but why?!" They wanted their kids to believe in magic! Christmas was never as special again after they found out the truth, they all agreed. "Yeah!" I half-facetiously spat, "Because you then learned that your parents - the two people you trusted most in the world - lied to you your whole life, and that the world is a cruel, horrible place." They laughed, and one of the students confidently shrugged, "They'll get over it."
Life in a foreign country is now barely foreign to me, and surprises are now few and far between. It's almost unsettling to know that. A few weeks ago, I was teaching one of the classes I have every two weeks. I had put the students into groups and made them answer my question. I like to roam the classroom in these minutes, squatting on my hams to listen, sneaking up behind them to see if they slip into German, and on more tired days just getting the blood flowing and staring out the window. In each school, and in almost every classroom, I get a spectacular view of some mountain(s) nearby. On this morning roam through the classroom, I noticed the sun laying its Robert Frost -gold onto one half of the mountain over yonder. It brought warmth, so I smiled and erupted, "Are you all seeing this?! How can you get used to this?!"
This last question has plagued me throughout my years over here. Time and time again I've wondered how these people can so calmly play part to such wonders, as if it were nothing special. It's not just the mountains. It is absolutely unfair how breathtaking some of the most cemented traditions here are. Yet, I'm starting to get used to all of it myself, just like them. It's all become normal, but just when I was getting comfortable Advent came along. This was the last week before the Christmas break, and it just so happened that I was in the Catholic girls' school. I've been asked many times to sing the Christmas "classics" like "Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and "Jingle Bells" with them. At some point, I learned to ask them to sing me a song in dialect. The teacher said, "Ok! Let's sing 'Es wird scho glei dumpa'" to the students' pseudo-chagrin. (I just tried to find a comparable experience for you on YouTube and couldn't be satisfied with the horribly cheesy, artificial results) Then, six or so girls, with the leadership of the teacher, sang a humble but stunning rendition of one of the dialect Christmas classics in a cappella. I was ashamed that we'd sang "Rudolf" and the other things. When they asked me to sing something from back home, I couldn't think of anything on par and promised to come back if I thought of something (I came back a couple days later and sang one of my dad's and my favorites "In the Bleak Midwinter" for them. They seemed to appreciate it).
My heart melts every time I hear one of the more sentimental Austrian traditional songs. I joined a chamber choir here in Salzburg about a month ago, and it was one of the best decisions I've made yet for many reasons. One of those reasons is that it put me right in the middle of the Salburg Advent music scene. Around this time of the year, you get to hear a lot of really sentimental, slow yodeling songs. I never knew this stuff existed until I lived here, but it completely changed my understanding of yodeling (spelled "jodeln" in German). I'm a little caught up in the mood right now, yet I can't help but think that this is one of the most beautiful ways of singing. To give you an idea, here's a video of one of the most popular yodel songs. Everyone kind of rolls their eyes about it, because it's the typical tearjerker that leaves entire audiences sniffling and dabbing at their eyes, but it's pretty nice to hear, and it's even better to be a part of. It's hard to explain, but for example, the basses in a choir often kind of hum in the background of a piece, much like the bass in many songs (albeit fundamental). In these yodel songs, you'll already have a spectacular three- or four-part harmony, and then, all of a sudden, the bass will tenderly slip into a falsetto, and all parts switch slowly into and out of falsetto the entire time. I'm constantly taken by surprise, and it leaves me swaying. By the way, our choir sang yesterday with the group in the video, and the guy with the glasses that they zoom in on at the beginning of the video is my choir director.
This is my third year in the German-speaking world, and it seems I'm reaching the brim on obvious and frequent cultural moments. I could find more if I went searching, but I don't feel much of a drive to search anymore, and I think that's the point. There was a time when I just had to discover and be a tourist. Now, I've got families and friends all over the place here, and instead of taking a trip to some unseen attraction, I visit those loved ones.
So life has taken on a different kind of charm. It's not so flashy all of the time. Instead, it's subtle. Most days I go through the bass hum of every day life, but every now and then someone or something, or everything, switches suddenly yet subtly into or out of falsetto, and I'm left swaying.
