Czech Canada Road Trip

The AIS MS Band and Strings program was invited to Slavonice, Czech Republic for a two day cultural exchange, including the opportunity to perform at the Institute Slavonice. Since this small town is but a couple hours' drive away Tony and I thought it made for a perfect midweek roadtrip.

I made a point to photograph our transit into the Czech Republic, so my collection of abandoned border crossing photos is complete for now.  This particular crossing building was being offered for sale; whatever could be done with an old border crossing?

Slavonice has an interesting history going back to medieval times, not the least of which is its beautifully preserved town square of medieval renaissance architecture.  The town was also fortified in the period leading up to WWII, and many of the bunkers were refurbished for summertime reenactments between Wehrmacht and Czechoslovak forces.  

On our approach to the town we happened upon one of the more colorful bunkers, so I had to glam it up. (Note the Communist-era utility poles in the background, too.)

Once the Iron Curtain was put into place, Slavonice was cleared of locals because of its proximity (about a kilometer) to non-Communist Austria, and otherwise mostly ignored. Artists rediscovered the town after the Velvet Revolution and established the pleasant little artsy colony that it is today.  Touring the Peace town square (and the entirety of the town, for that matter) does not take very long, but one is compelled to stop every few steps to admire the Sgraffito covered buildings.

I loved the architecture of this building so much that I purchased a hand-printed t-shirt with this design. Anna Grace admired the t-shirt, so I'll know where to look should the shirt go MIA from my bureau.

Even the downspouts around the square were fanciful.

Once a Bohemian Communist HQ, now the vibrant Institute Slavonice. The town has retained its public address system, and when the concert was announced across the square, the hikers, cyclists, and other tourists visiting the town helped to fill the auditorium!  How neat!

After a morning of touring a woodcutter's shack in the forest, painting pottery and designing their concert t-shirts, the students arrived at the Institute for their performance.  

Next to bassoons and violins, cellos are my favorite. Well, and trumpets, too. 

 This particular First Chair violinist performed an enchanting solo in the piece, El Toro.

The finale was performed by the youth choir, Viva La Bella Slavonice, a series of Czech and Slovak folk songs, as well as "Tonight" from West Side Story in Czech-accented English. They were so charming that it was impossible not to smile!

(Yes, I thought the hat on the woman in front of me was beyond awesome, too.)

So why the Czech Canada reference? This region of Czech Republic, at the confluence of the former countries of Moravia and Bohemia, and Austria is one of rocky outcrops, rugged landscapes and dense forests, gently rolling hills and with a climate that apparently resembles Canada. 

Following the performance we left Slavonice to explore some of the area before nightfall, including Hrad Landstejn, one of the best preserved medieval fortresses in the area. Indeed, we encountered gently rolling hills and dense forests, and not having ever been to rural Canada, we presumed the comparison was just.

Castle signs to help the navigationally challenged.

Hrad Landstejn.  

We returned to Slavonice just ahead of a thunderstorm, enjoyed a Czech dinner in our hotel, and planned the following days' return travel home through more of the Cold War buffer zone.

Oh, to be Austrian.

While skimming news over this morning's breakfast a story from the Washington Post caught my eye, mostly because this isn't really anything new: "United States lags Europe on paid vacation time."

According to the article, 

"Oh, to be Austrian.

In its latest update on vacation and holiday rules among developed countries, the Center for Economic Policy and Research notes that the United States remains alone as the only rich nation without legally mandated vacations for employees, and with no requirement that official holidays come with extra pay and a compensating day off. 

The closest (miserly) competitor is Japan, where workers are guaranteed at least 10 days off with pay. The Austrians may be all about northern European frugality, but their paid time off tops the heap: 22 vacation days, 13 holidays, and  month's pay to help with vacation expenses. And if you hang around a place for six years, you can swing 49 days off with pay. If you count weekends, that's 153 days off vs. 212 days of work in a year-or a goof off-to-work ratio of .72" (emphasis mine)

About that frugality. I'll share just a couple of anecdotes, which in no way, I have to believe, reflect the character of the entire Austrian population. When one of my friends informed the (Austrian) owner of their house that one of the burners on their electric cooktop had failed, the owner replied, "Well, you still have three you can use."

When I informed the (Austrian) owner of our house that the sink stopper in the master bathroom did not work; that is, it can not be pushed down at all to stopper the sink, I was told, "Treat it with love." She refused to replace it. 

The master bathroom tub drains has drained very slowly ever since we moved in. It likely has not been professionally snaked in many years, as the entire tub is encased in ceramic tile and is without an access panel.  We have used drain cleaners with no success.  When I asked the owner of our house in the first month we lived here if she would contact a professional plumber to clean the drain, we were told, "no," because "it is our fault for allowing the dog's hair to go down the drain." Right. The owner of our house is not frugal, she is cheap.

About that vacation time. With 153 days off annually, you would think it a challenge to find a sour-puss Austrian, right? What's not to like about only working 3 out of every 4 days? Even Tony is looking forward to "Summer Hours" at the UN, meaning he can leave the office 30 minutes earlier than usual each work day.

Kudos to me, for I found a sour-puss Austrian today!  

Anna Grace and I are departing on a two week holiday to the Balkans and Istanbul once school breaks for the summer, and part of our travel includes the Austrian state train system, ÖsterreichBundesBahn, or ÖBB for short. The ÖBB offers a discount family card, the cost of which pays for itself very quickly. So off to the ÖBB station here in the English-speaking 19th I went today, with passports, photos, and every other ID I thought I might need. 

Me: Gruß Gott!  Bitte sehr, Sprechen Sie Englisch?

ÖBB: Nein.

Me: OK. Ich möchte eine Vorteilscard Anwendung, bitte. (I had asked for the family card application. In my best Germ-English.)

I completed the application and returned to Herr Sour-Puss. He asked me something about residency, and I submitted my Residence Card.  In pretty decent English, he stated:

You cannot have a FamilieCard. You are not Austrian.

The fact that he is DEAD WRONG notwithstanding, I realized I was not going to get anywhere with Herr SourPuss, so I thanked him, called him a camel's ass (in Arabic. Because I can.) and set off on a much more satisfying errand: shoe shopping.

I could compose a long and wending post about the Austrian Postal System and what happens when I forget to ship an online purchase to the UN address and use our home address instead; rather, I will just share the pretty new ballerinas Frau Helpful-and-Pleasant helped me select (in German!) at the Geox store.

Later this week I will engage with the ÖBB folks at different station, one where my Residence Card-holding peers have had success.  Now I must get to the grocery store, as we leave Wednesday for an overnight to "Czech Canada" (isn't your curiosity piqued?), and Thursday is another Austrian holiday so the country will be closed upon our return.

Oh, to be Austrian.

The Boys of Summer, International School-Style

AISVienna hosted this year's international schools varsity baseball tournament, and the past three days could not have gone better. Except for the weather. Windy, cold, and with occasional sprinkles, making it seem more like The Boys of Early Spring.

A brief moment when this parent fan from ASParis was not shouting. Her voice never tired over the three days of the tournament. Amazing.

The tournament got off to a rough start for ASIsreal and Hillingdon London.  And, unfortunately for both teams, it never really improved. The Knights fared decently, with their eyes on a trophy next year.

Most of the team spent their down time watching their opponent's games. Or sleeping.

Foul balls were always a threat to the trams. In the last game the tram was hit, and the tram driver asked to keep the baseball!

Now for a few gratuitous shots of my favorite player as 1st Baseman, Relief Pitcher, and at bat.

Eighty-four hungry teenage boys Varsity Baseball players descended upon the fields at Prater, from Vienna, Paris, Brussels, London, Frankfurt and Tel Aviv. We housed three extremely polite players from Hillingdon School in London. Their hometowns were the exotic locations of NYC, Chicago, and Ann Arbor (by way of Ghana, Australia, and Korea). Two kilograms of meat were consumed each of the first two nights by the players, including Jack; and two 24-inch pizzas and two dozen barbecued chicken wings disappeared on the last night. Along with three boxes of cereal, 4 litres of milk, and a dozen bananas. And four containers of Pringles chips, 2 litres of Pepsi, three bags of Doritos...

To end the sports (housing) season, the final housing gifts of the year: a ceramic Union Jack travel mug, a box of fancy truffles, and a super cute tin of shortbread.

Go Knights!  Looking forward to next year!

Sometimes It's the Little Things

Yes, another exciting outing for the Trailing Spouse. I finally got around to exchanging the winter tires for summer tires on the MomMobile. Austria does not believe in all season radials, which makes sense if we were driving in the Alps during the winter, but maybe not so much here in Vienna.

Having this exchange done at the Volvo dealer required an appointment, blah, blah, blah. Pretty much doing anything in Vienna requires an appointment. Good grief, I even needed an appointment to simply pick up the PIN code for my online Bank Austria account (because I recycled the original PIN before I opened the document. Do not judge me.)

One of my friends directed me to her tire guy, whose appointment scheduling process went something like this:

Me: "Hello, Otto. My friend Eliza gave me your contact. I would like to schedule an appointment to have the tires changed, please."

Otto: "Okay. Call me when you are at the corner near my shop. I come in 5 minutes."

It felt like something from a spy thriller. I pulled up to the slightly shabby corner near Otto's garage and gave him a ring.  A few minutes later a guy carrying a backpack and walking his dog came up and opened the passenger door. The dog jumped in.

Otto said, "Hello," shooed the dog into the back, and directed me to drive further into the industrial park maze, to a "garage" that seemed to be constructed from converted train box cars.

I received just a little, "tsk, tsk" for not having done this in April, as well as an offer to send me a reminder in October to shuffle the tires once again.

Standing beneath a car in Otto's service bay. Because I've never done that.  In the US I had Chris at my Volvo dealer. Chris would take my car late in the afternoon, have the service folks work their magic, and then return the car to me the next afternoon, repaired, washed, and vacuumed. Perhaps I was spoiled.

Thirty minutes later Otto had my car ready for all the summer road trips I've yet to plan. Oh, the simple bliss of a "walk-in" appointment!

Recital in the Wine Cellar

A welcoming front door.

Clayton Theodore resting in anticipation of the reception and the possibility of food being dropped into his reach. To his credit, he only attempted to snatch one cupcake.

My merry mismatched collection of Tilowice porcelain (Poland, 1956, the cobalt blue plates); Boleslawiec pottery (Poland, the white flowered plates); genuine "USZone" porcelain from 1955 Germany (the boring white plates); stoneware from Czechoslovakia (green), a country that does not exist anymore; and ironstone from 1940's England (blue) and France (red) for the buffet table. The younger guests had IKEA plates, circa 2013.

 The venue. Seating for 36 comfortably.

 Moments before a perfect Concerto No. 2, 3rd Movement (F. Seitz) by our favorite violinist.

The weather cooperated wonderfully, which meant all the young violinists could be outside with their sodas and juices; the potluck was aromatic and delicious; the wine flowed and the guests mingled. In other words, an almost flawless first large event in our wine cellar and home.  The "almost" was because of the family who decided that the seats marked "Reserved" were for them, and moved not only the signs, but my camera, as well, leaving me to wedge in somewhere else, and Tony and Jack to find seating in the back.  Cie la vie.

Chim chim-in-ey, Chim chim-in-ey, Chim chim cher-ee!

There is a requirement in Vienna for fireplaces in houses to be inspected (at least) annually by a Chimney Sweep. Yes!  There are real Chimney Sweeps, Rauchfankehrer, in Vienna. Sometimes, like today, my romantic notions play themselves out nicely and remind me that I really am living in Europe.

I had regarded the Sweep's appointment as an ordinary matter; someone like Bert would come to our house, clean the fireplace and hearth, maybe even sing a little bit, and all would be well.

No, no, no! said two of my friends. "That only happens in Disney movies. In real life it's much better. Two very attractive, well-muscled and crisply uniformed Sweeps arrive about half an hour before the scheduled appointment window, spend five glorious minutes inspecting the furnace and chimney, and then they leave."

My friends were right. I did not snap a photo of the Sweeps (who arrived 20 minutes before the scheduled appointment window this morning), but if I had...

Chim chim-in-ey, Chim chim-in-ey, Chim chim cher-ee!

May Vineyards

Following an evening of rain showers, the bluest of skies awaited us on our morning trek.

Vineyards and a bit of the Vienna Woods from my Arabic classroom atop the UN.  Does it not beckon you, as well?

The Lost Romance of Border Crossing

In our short time here to date we have crossed borders into and back out of a few countries once behind the Iron Curtain, either by train or by vehicle. Although I've always held a romantic notion of border crossings (I've probably seen Sound of Music too many times), most of the transit zones are as depressing and unromantic as you might expect. Why should Communist leaders have inspired people to leave, right?

Entering Hungary from Austria?  No passport stamps, just a gray snapshot for the photo books.

Exiting Austria into Slovenia (part of the former Yugoslavia in its day).

Entering Slovenia once past the neutral zone.  This is the sole exception to the dreariness we've discovered so far, doubtless put into place once Slovenia joined the European Union.

Transiting out of Slovenia rekindles the dreary. Maybe the EU Welcome Package didn't include a chit for exit border restoration.

Croatia's frontier. More former Yugoslavian indistinguishable dreary. Croatia officially joins the EU in July; here's hoping for a new look at the border.

Last summer we trained from Vienna to Bratislava past abandoned railway border zones. 

On Sunday we drove to Bratislava, Slovakia, once part of Czechoslovakia.  I realize now that I do not have a photo of our transit from Austria into the Czech Republic in January, that's how unremarkable it must have been.

Almost immediately upon entering Slovakia we were offered directions to drive out of the country! Poland, Ukraine, Czech Republic, anyone?  

 Our purpose for being in Bratislava was to shop. Vienna is closed on Sunday; Bratislava is not. We have an upcoming event at our home for which I needed worry-free stemware, and had time on Sunday in which to obtain it.  The beauty of the Bratislava IKEA is that it does not matter that we do not speak Slovak; we don't speak IKEA, either, and can muddle through the store just fine.

 Not in the mood for a sit-down lunch after shopping, we opted for cafeteria-style food nearby. With awesome plate descriptions!

I took a pass on the "Alcatraz" for the "Silver Lake Plate," be that either Minnesota's or Nevada's city. What I enjoyed was a pork cutlet with perfectly boiled potatoes, unsoggy peas, and the ubiquitous Central European cream sauce. I'm fairly certain this is not what folks in Minnesota or Nevada eat, but I recommend the dish should you find yourself in Bratislava.  We all enjoyed our respective orders, actually, reminiscing about how similar the food was to the inexpensive and delicious Communist time warp of Krakow's Bar Mleczny.

 Shopping completed and tummies happy, we paused to take in the view from atop Bratislavsky Hrad before crossing back into Austria and its gently whirling modern windmills.

A pretty, pretty welcome home. Even without the passport stamp.