Bratislava is for Everyone!

Another sunny chore-free weekend, another day trip in the MomMobile. One could almost get used to this lifestyle.

This past weekend Bratislava opened its palaces, museums, and archives for free to all those interested, to commemorate the historic privileges of self-government.  

From the western approach it is near impossible to miss Bratislavsky Hrad, the "fake" castle. The castle is not technically fake; it just happens to be a rebuild from 1959 so we call it a fake castle.

In addition to the open doors, the city pulled out all the stops for local wines, along with samples of Slovakian cuisine in the Stara Trznica, the Old Market Hall. But of course. It is not a festival in Central Europe if alcohol is not involved.  

We sampled Fazulova, a bean soup with smoked knuckle, sausage, and noodles. Excellent paired with a Frankova modra red. I have begun keeping a wine notebook, as I have come to rather like some of the red wines of the Czech and Slovak Republics. And of Hungary and Romania. A favorite Austrian red is a Blaufrankisch from the Burgenland state. But I digress.

Believe it or not, sampling Slovakian fare made us hungry for lunch!

We found a sunny table in the Old City, where Tony ordered Lokse plnene, a potato pancake filled with chicken livers sautéed in red wine. I tasted. The dish was delish. 

I ordered Brydnza pierogi, another Slovak dish of dumplings filled sheep milk cheese and topped with fried pork belly. I am impressed that I've actually managed to lose weight while living and eating in Europe. See? My old American jeans are loose!

A walkabout the city was a necessity afterwards. Bratislava's Old City is compact and full of character.

The view from inside the Municipal House onto the square.

The beautiful court house within.

In the archives section of the municipal house we learned that following the end of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, most public signs changed to add the third language of the country: Slovakian (the language restored), German, and Hungarian. 

One member of the family climbed the tower of the municipal house for a birds eye view.

(She's on the far right, waving.)

Making our way back to the car, past a small market and other city scenes of interest.

Bratislava is for Everyone!

The ponytail is the charm. No doubt.

The picnic hamper and camping chairs packed in the wagon, off Tony and I set this morning for the American International School Budapest, for a four school Track & Field (and Softball and Volleyball) extravaganza.

We've crossed the Austrian-Hungarian border many times, but today was the first time I noticed the (now) irrelevant sign designating a special transit lane for diplomats (CD, Corps Diplomatique). How times have changed…

The AIS Budapest campus, with both the American and Hungarian flags. Always nice to see a little bit of "home." AIS Vienna doesn't fly the stars and stripes (I've not seen the flag anywhere on campus, but I may be incorrect.) 

The event began ominously, with wet, wet, and wet everywhere. The weather didn't deter our favorite long jumper, though. She topped 18 other jumpers for a 1st place! The pony tail is the charm, no doubt.

The pony tails are at rest, but the athletes are on the go. The track referee was too cute. He announced to all the runners,  "I say, 'On mark.' Then, 'Get set.' And then I shoot."

Thankfully, most thankfully, the miserable weather gave way to light clouds and sunshine. Has to be the ponytail charm.

 A personal best of 130cm for my favorite high jumper (and a 3rd place overall).

With special appreciation for the discus-thrower who photo-bombed Anna Grace's amazing jump. :)

Blond swinging ponytails aside, any day spent cheering on our athlete and her peers is a day well spent. Go AISV Knights!

Anti-Americanism? No.

A recent post touched on a sensitive topic for some.  I had portrayed the conduct of a neighbor as anti-American, and I was rushed to judgment as to the whole of a country I adore living in.  I stand by the statements of my previous post; our late neighbor expressed her hatred for us as Americans. Period. May she rest in peace.

Does this mean I think the Viennese, or the Austrians are anti-American? No.

We live in harmony with the neighbors in our complex. The Austrian family across the path are friendly and we chat about neighborly issues; their young son loves Clayton Theodore. Other Austrian neighbors across the path are equally as friendly; one couple hires Anna Grace to rabbit-sit for them when they are away. Our immediate neighbors on one side are also Austrian; they are cordial, and the wife always has love for Clayton Theodore. On the other side is a non-Austrian family with three young children; they are an extremely friendly family. I have gotten to know their au pair rather well, as quite frequently she has to retrieve the soccer balls that come sailing into our garden.

In the neighborhood I have lots of friendly relations with dog owners (they are a wonderfully friendly group of people!). I have congenial relationships with my shoe guy (he is awesome), and perhaps I have a little crush on the "assistant butcher" where I shop for beef and pork. The older, head butcher speaks a form of German I struggle with so there is considerable hand gesturing when the assistant is not there. The assistant, though, is patient with my Germ-English, and from him I have learned a great deal about how to prepare many of the mysterious cuts of meat I spy in the markets. He will even occasionally add in a Markknochen (marrow bone) for Clayton Theodore to my order. What's not to crush on?

At the grocery store recently I have even made inroads toward blending in! One must weigh most produce items before going to the register in the grocery here, and somehow I had forgotten to weigh my head of cabbage. With the conveyor belt full of groceries, in a lane with a clerk who knows I am not Austrian, I had to scurry back to the produce department to weigh my item. When I returned to the lane, the clerk had not only completed tallying my purchases, but had even packed my grocery bags for me!

When I purchased a cabinet from a second-hand store and my item got lost in delivery this week, the very kind shop owner had incredible patience with me over the telephone to sort out the problem, and the delivery men could not have been more gracious with their apology for a rather late delivery. No anti-Americanism there!

Is life in Vienna always this pleasant? Of course not.  I have written about the pea hen who stalks people from her living room window near the American school roundabout. Not anti-American, just empty and sad.

The owner of our rental home here suggested I talk to our (Polish) maintenance person about a housekeeper when we first moved in, as, "His people do that kind of work." I'm guessing she didn't see my family name on the lease contract. Again, not anti-American. Maybe just insensitive.

Our son has strong Polish features, and his two closest friends here are of Romanian and Spanish heritage. On a couple of occasions now Jack has commented that when out with his two friends, a couple of older Viennese have openly dismissed the young men in public as "damned foreigners." Anti-American? No. Maybe anti-foreigner? Who knows, and I do not have the interest to care.

One of the exits from the grocery I frequent is marked as "Right turn only." This seems to be but a suggestion, as 99% of those drivers exiting the market turn left, myself included. I am usually given the horn from the Wiener driver behind me when I attempt to turn left, and then watch in my rear mirror as they themselves turn left. My license tags indicate that I am not a real Wienerin, and neither do they indicate than I am an American. Again, perhaps anti-foreigner? Who knows, and I do not have the interest to care.

Finally. Last autumn Tony and I were at the grocery and ran into some American friends. In the wide open space of the Q19 mall atrium we were having a conversation when an old, over-coiffed, over spray-tanned, over-dressed pea hen pushed her cart right between us to get to wherever she was going. The four of us just shook our heads and laughed. Anti-American? Absolutely. The old bat knew exactly what she was doing.

So there it is. The sum total of my less-than-"World's Most Livable City" unpleasant experiences. Is this anti-Americanism? Nah, it's just all part of the adventure here in "Second Poland."

Preparing our Wolverine

Yikes! pretty much sums it up. Now that Jack is officially a Wolverine, we, the parents, receive paperwork due date reminders, general information about campus life, and newsletters specifically designed to help us "Prepare our Wolverine" for college life.

This week's newsletter was devoted to campus housing selection. We parents were encouraged to consider the following questions in order to help us guide our student's housing preferences:

Does he get himself up for school on time? Really? How many moms are giving their Teenage Son a "wake-y, wake-y" call in the morning?

Does she know how to work a washing machine? Sexist much? Both of our children have been doing their own laundry more or less since the age of 10. Life skills.

Does he understand how his health insurance plan works? Of course he does. It's not Obamacare, for goodness' sakes.

Does she know how to use public transportation? We leave our children home alone here in Vienna when I am in the mood to travel with Tony. Not only do they cook for themselves, but they manage somehow to get to and from school without issue, and brush their teeth before they go to sleep. By this criteria, they are ready for grad school.

Once upon a time when Tony and I were coeds at Michigan, back in the days of personal responsibility, housing choices were either quad-rooms in the large buildings, or for lucky gals in the dorm lottery, a room in one of the all-girls old and charming houses on central campus. I was one of the lucky gals who "won" a space in Betsy Barbour House.

Betsy Barbour House was like a sorority but without the drama. (Except for my second year, when I and "Maria" had adjacent single rooms at the end of the hall, and I would help her sneak her boyfriend's German Shepherd into her room when he had to work weekends. This is a story for another time.)

The house was always clean and quiet; and we had a lovely living room as well as a true dining room rather than a cafeteria. Civilized campus life, if you will. In warm months some of us would sit atop the sun room roof and "study."

This photo was taken a few years ago when we were in Ann Arbor over the summer and Anna Grace and I snuck into Betsy Barbour House, but recent photos look very similar.

Central Campus was the place to be for the non-Engineering student; all the classrooms are there, and everything is walkable. Engineering students lived up on North Campus near the College of Engineering; the geeks were all a bus ride away from Central Campus.

Now, thanks to a generation of participation-trophy coeds, Central Campus dormitories are generally reserved for the "Michigan Learning Community." The students who reside in most of the Central Campus dorms are now those who haven't learned to set their own alarm clocks and dress themselves "need individual attention to ease their transition to college." Since Jack thankfully does not meet that criteria, he will be stuffed into the dormitories on the North Campus, a bus ride away from the heart of Michigan's campus life. But!  The North Campus Recreation Building is "new and improved!" Nice.

We have no doubt that, "Preparing our Wolverine" will be a tedious process as the next weeks progress. Whereas we were once worried that because Jack is attending late orientation that his preferred class choices might not be available. Now we are concerned that he will have a roommate who needs tucking in and a bedtime story each night. 

Hail! Hail! To Michigan. The Leaders and the Best?

Anecdotes on Austria

When I shared the news with colleagues and staff that I was moving to Austria, there were a couple of people who did not know exactly where Austria was geographically (and yes, one staff member confused Austria with Australia). 

I thought almost everyone could place Austria on a map. Yet, a few weeks ago a friend shared a depressing article summarizing a survey of Americans who were asked to complete a blank map of Europe. I don't know anything about the survey sample or methodology, but it turns out I may have been incorrect in my assumption.

No, I do not live in "Slovakia." This was a common map mistake in the survey, interestingly enough.

This respondent could likely not even place "Wiener Schnitzel" in the correct country.

The country I live in does indeed have a name, a point missed by several respondents.

No, I don't live in Lithuania, the land of Borat, Romania, or Second Poland, either. Second Poland?

Nor has Austria invaded Poland. Lately.

At least this respondent was honest.

Perhaps it would have been better if these respondents hadn't taken the survey?

Besttatung. This is the loose German phrase for "funeral services."  One of our elderly, and so very, very, very, very, very curmudgeonly neighbors passed away this week. The ambulances and police arrived at the house in the morning; then, later in the day the city Besttatung personnel arrived with the coffin for her. A little different protocol than in the U.S. 

The deceased woman had pretty much since we moved in expressed her hatred for us, as Americans; expressed hatred for our children, as Americans; and expressed hatred for our dog, who knows why, on a regular basis. She has made living in our otherwise relatively pleasant complex, well, hell.  I can only wonder how much her inner pitifulness impacted her life on Earth, and can only wish she is now in a place where there is no room for hatred.

Going 0-2 on Ex-pat Spring Break Holidays Finale: Where is Jack?

Perhaps our son's absence from the photos was not noticed?  Jack was in Ireland for the spring school holiday, participating in the International Model U.N. conference at St. Andrew's College outside of Dublin, in the village of Dun Laoghaire. His time was fairly scheduled, but he did manage to send me a few photos throughout the week.

Like this one of his meal of roasted mackerel with crab legs. Our son eats well on our credit card.

 Jack also seemed to enjoy morning and evening walks along Dublin Bay.

Lastly, these two photos were sent with the description, "I could only look…"

Going 0-2 on Ex-pat Spring Break Holidays Part V: Regrets

Regrets. Last-minute, slapdash planning with little time for research meant I sulked in Cluj-Napoca over the lack of time to absorb the achingly beautiful architecture around every corner, and could only window-gaze at the closed quaint second-hand stores and chic modern boutiques. Adding insult to injury is that we also missed so many dining opportunities in Transylvania's culinary and cultural capital.

Cluj was an important city in the Hapsburg Empire, and it's easy to see why even in this small collection of photos. This is St. Michael's, Transylvania's most valuable Gothic church that dominates the square.

Teleki and Banffy Palaces, now home to the National Art Museum.

The National Theater.

The Orthodox Cathedral.

As it goes around this part of Europe, the beautiful New York Hotel was Gestapo headquarters; it was from this building where the deportation of over 16.000 Jews to Auschwitz was organized.

Oradea, Romania. More regrets. With a forecast of rain, rain, and more rain for our final intended destination in Hungary, we canceled our lodging and rerouted toward home a day early. With nothing more in sight for kilometers, and tummies rumbling madly, we reluctantly pulled in for "lunch." Yep, Romanian McDonald's are as uninspiring as you might imagine. Later we learned that the city is a culturally and architecturally vibrant destination, and worthy of much more than a passing glance through the panelak-ed outskirts. Sigh.

Not all of the trip was a culinary regret, thankfully. Delicious food was enjoyed at every destination, just not enough of it for me.  In Szetendre I was delighted to find the Hungarian version of my beloved Shopska salad, the perfect accompaniment to Hungarian Goulasch soup. Just look at the richness of that paprika-colored soup! Anna Grace had Cevapcici, a traditionally Yugoslavian ground meat dish spiced with garlic and paprika; while Tony opted for a simple grilled pork cutlet topped with fried potatoes. 

At our guest house in Sapanta, we were treated to a first course of Ciorba de Perisoare, a traditional pork and rice meatball soup with a slightly sour taste. Delicious. The main course was Sarmale, Romanian stuffed cabbage served with the best polenta we've ever eaten. Sarmale are different from the Polish stuffed cabbage I grew up with and, dare I write, a bit tastier?

Breakfast the following morning was amazing. Fresh yogurt unlike any we've eaten before; vegetables, a spread of roasted paprika and eggplant, and delicate cinnamon-filled rolled cookies, along with Romanian kolbasa and fresh sheep cheese. 

To close the road trip report, one more border crossing photo for my collection, the jaunty and retro-colored frontier line between Hungary and Romania.

So. Last year's spring holiday was an oversold disappointment, and this year's last-minute abbreviated road trip was an undersold whirlwind. Maybe next year's spring holiday will be the "Third time is the charm?"