What might have been we will never know.

The Grade 7 Humanities classes wrapped up their year with a visit to the Mauthausen concentration camp, and Anna Grace offered to share her photo impressions with me. Tony and I have visited the Terezin concentration camp outside of Prague long ago in 2001; and as a family we visited Auschwitz just before we moved to Vienna. Though I do not recommend visiting concentration camps as a "holiday" theme, each camp has its own important story to tell.

Mauthausen is but a couple of hours west from Vienna, near Linz. The camp was one of the first concentration camps established (1938) and one of the last to be liberated (by the U.S. in May, 1945).

The prisoners at this camp included "political enemies of the Reich" and "educated intelligentsia," including, as all historical documents appear to indicate, a relative from Poland who was for reasons unknown transferred to Dachau in late 1944, and from where he was ultimately liberated. 

The camp was a "Category 3" labor camp (meaning, "return not desired, extermination by work.") Estimates of the number of people murdered at this camp range from 125.000 to over 300.000.

On Anna Grace's visit the day was bright and sunny, which probably only meant a longer day of work for the prisoners during WWII. This row of barracks and buildings is about all that remain.

The sleeping arrangements, often 2 or 3 prisoners to a bunk.

The bathroom (with fixtures removed.)

The gas chambers in Mauthausen that came into use later during the war. Update: A commenter on this post questioned whether this was the gas chamber or the room where prisoners were disinfected upon arrival. As I was not in attendance and relied upon Anna Grace's descriptions, additional research from the Mauthausen Memorial website indicates that this room was a gas chamber.

(http://en.mauthausen-memorial.at/db/admin/de/show_article.php?carticle=375&topopup=1)

The crematorium.

One section of the barracks is now a museum that contains the names of every prisoner who was murdered at Mauthausen.

Over 35.000 Poles (Jews and non-Jews) were murdered here. This is the memorial to Polish victims.

In my American ancestry there are engineer and scientist relatives who hold patents with The Ford Motor Company; and I (not to be braggadocios, but as a point of information), hold three patents of my own because of family who were able to leave Europe before and during WWII. But, what might have been we will never know.

Niemals vergessen. Never forget. 

The Tao of Middle School Lunch

In our U.S. school system, middle school students were required to sit with their homeroom class for lunch and the sharing of lunch foods was strictly forbidden. Given a lunch like this, who would want to share it, or even eat it? The goal, according to Anna Grace, was to eat enough of whatever you had so that the "lunchroom monitors" would allow you outside for recess. 

Here the middle school lunch recess is a highly anticipated daily event. A sampling of today's lunch menu included "Ossobuco with Tomato Salad." 

But the gourmet menu is not the reason for the anticipation, as many students bring a packed lunch. Students are free to sit with whomever they choose, and wherever they choose. Whether they even eat lunch is not a consideration, yet none of this excites the middle schooler, either. The only "rule" is that lunches are not to be shared, as "People have allergies."

Over the last year or so, Anna Grace has taken an unusual interest in what I pack in her lunch tote. I have learned in recent months that the reason for such interest is that packed lunches have "Trade Value" on the cafeteria circuit; the more "international" one's lunch, the higher trade value it holds. So much for allergies.

Case in point. One of the highest trade values has been assigned to the unassuming, all-American PB&J (Peanut Butter and Jelly) sandwich. I have even been asked to make an extra sandwich exclusively for the trading circuit.  Word has it that one half of a PB&J has been traded for as much as an entire cafeteria steak frites menu.

Also high on the trading circuit is sushi and anything packed in a bento box. I feel bad for those poor moms who rise early to lovingly pack a lunch like this; they probably have no idea it gets traded away for a sammy and some store-purchased Oreos.

Curried foods are high on the trading circuit, too, though Anna Grace has stated she does not share more than a spoonful of the much-loved curried lentils I put in her thermos. I suspect next year I will be requested to provide a second thermos of lentils.

The lunchtime trade wars extend beyond the middle school, apparently. Both students have informed me that the negotiations involved in The Doritos Trade puts Model United Nations to shame, and single chips have been traded for everything from exotic African stews to homemade falafel to shrimp tempura. But never for PB&J. 

Lunchbox diplomacy. Hmm, perhaps the next generation is on to something.

(Thank you, Internet, for the photos.)

When an edible plant workshop is the saving grace of the week

The last week or so has been one filled with First World Problems. Problems like darling husband being in a walking cast for a fractured ankle and deciding to work at home for a bit. Nothing like having one of the children family members in your business all day. Problems like darling daughter bunny-sitting for the neighbors, and having the bunnies run out of organic herbed hay--so guess who had to go find more?  There are minor issues on the U.S. home front, too; and we have a graduating senior with a top-tier college acceptance in hand who has officially checked out…

…Jack and friends are in Nice, France, at a friend's family villa for their "MaturaReisen" (graduation holiday). 

'Tis a good thing Jack and his friends snuck out whilst they could, otherwise Jack would be in Vienna this week helping to clean up our wine cellar (and his room) from the flash flood that struck the northern vineyard areas of Vienna on Saturday. We, most thankfully, were spared from much of the mud that slid down from the hills; still, water-damage is water-damage.

Jack's bedroom caught the brunt of incoming waters, so action must be taken. The Teen will be in Garmisch for the whole of July as a Boy Scouts Camp Counselor, and leaves for University in August; ergo, the "need" for new bedroom furniture in his room is not imperative. In an inspirational moment I have decided to move our American-bedroom into his room and treat ourselves to a new bedroom. Easier said than done. 

I loathe non-food shopping. For me, this is more tortuous than the Sunday Grocery Shutdown in Vienna. But, Jack returns in a week and we all need places to sleep, so a-shopping I have been. (I am sparing you all from the horrid details of this adventure). In between, though, I caught up with friends for a workshop on edible plants offered by Vienna's city Schulgarten in Kagran, just a few stops from the house on the U-Bahn.  

An Eule (owl) of edible pansies; wild kiwi; Schnittlauch (chive) flowers that tasted like delicate garlic and day lilies to decorate one's salad started our lessons. Plus all the berries we could eat, though mostly strawberries. The workshop brought me happiness.

Hanging with foodie friends was great culinary fun; and although I won't claim to be in-the-know while traipsing through the WienerWald, I did learn enough to stay away from the plants and flowers in the "Witches Garden."  (Obviously, these were all poisonous plants.)

At the end of our workshop we were invited to collect edibles for our dinner table. The three of us had fun at supper that night, sampling the wild this and that with our meal, and wondering how well Jack was eating on our credit card. :)

The Great War: War and Technology

Saturday brought with it more rain, but the silver lining was that neither child wanted to do anything more than play Wii and watch movies, so Tony and I headed out for a Great War exhibit at the Technical Museum of Vienna.

In 1909 Franz Josef I laid the first stone for the grand building. (Thank you Internet, for the photos.)

The reception area is in stark contrast to the outside. Way groovy.

Among the more interesting objects in the exhibit…a handy kit for dismantling and escaping from behind electrical fences.

 A model of a true "War Horse."

 War time technology in the kitchen.

Technological propaganda, a glass slide viewer of war images. 

Communications monitoring was also a part WWI, though the technology was rather simple.

Finally, Tony is currently sporting a walking cast due to an ankle fracture. As a 2 meter-plus red headed guy (with a beard to match!) he already stands out; add to that his gimping about and he is like a circus attraction!  I am not kidding. Children and adults alike stare at him wherever we go! 'Tis strange.

Technologically speaking, however, his plight could be worse if he needed wheelchair assistance.

Dear Austria, let's chat about the Sunday Grocery Shutdown

Dear Austria,

As you know, I have an issue with the Sunday grocery shopping scene here. Or, more so, the lack thereof. I loathe that 99% of your grocery markets are closed on Sundays (and on Saturdays after 18:00, and holidays, too.) The issue is more than one of my need for grocery freedom; it's also one of the inconsistency with the whole matter. Does that not drive you batty, as well? 

Let me run through a couple of "reasons" I've heard for the Sunday Shutdown. First, that Austria is a Catholic country, and Sunday should be reserved for church and family. Fair enough, I suppose. Ireland and Poland are predominantly Catholic, too, but their grocery stores are open on Sunday. Are they heathens for doing so? And what do you do on a Sunday afternoon when the family wants Lemongrass Chicken instead of Oma's Tafelspitz, and there's not a stalk of the citrus-y goodness to be found? The local Akakiko only has so many tables available.

Your neighbors to the north in the Czech Republic, also with a fair amount of Catholics open their TESCOs on Sunday (as do the Hungarians and Slovaks), and we see plenty of Austrian license tags in those parking lots on Sundays we are returning from an international outing, with groceries, naturlich. Does that make your fellow Austrians hypocrites, or but the minority voice on the Sunday Shutdown rules?

Second, I know that there are a handful of grocery stores open in Vienna on Sunday, mainly those at select train stations and at the airport, plus a small Spar in the touristy Inner Stadt. These are designed to provide for "The Traveler." Well, Austria, we had to make a brief stop at one of "The Traveler" grocery stores on a recent Sunday for two dinner ingredients, one of which the average traveler, or even the gourmet traveler would likely not need on a Sunday. Of course the item was available. But that is a detail.

This was the scene. What defines "The Traveler" is left to the imagination. Plenty of non-traveler looking people were going about regular shopping, and most customers offered up their "savings cards" at the register, as well. 

Even sillier? "The Traveler" is prohibited from purchasing canine kibble (who in Europe doesn't travel with their pet?) and laundry powder, among other prohibited items. Obviously "travelers" would not need to wash any soiled clothing, either. 

Fresh fish? Charcoal? Totally available for "The Traveler." Along with large glass bottles of cooking oil. Probably for "The Traveler" to cook their fresh fish with, is my guess, in case their mini grill gets lost with checked baggage.

Austria, I love you. But, if my beloved Paris has found it "socially and culturally" relevant to open grocery markets until 12:00 on Sundays, certainly this is something you could consider? And if you do, I promise not to whine about the shopping malls not being open on Sundays, either.

Love, Victoria.

The Great War (Prologue): Franz is Here!

Spring has been "auf Urlaub" (on holiday) here for the past few days--rain, wind and cool temperatures have done their part to discourage me from going out and exploring anything more than the grocery. But even I need a change from two days of cooking my little heart out (Chocolate cake! Chicken and spinach lasagna with roasted pepper cream sauce! Oxtail Pot au Feu!); so, dressed and with supplies to build an emergency Ark in my tote, a-museum going I went.

The WeltMuseum (World Museum) houses a fantastic collection of treasures on non-European peoples, in the equally fantastic NeueBurg Palace. Many of the treasures were collected over the Hapsburg reign, including those featured in the exhibit I visited today. Franz Ferdinand, heir presumptive, began a world tour in 1892 to advance the ethnological collections of the Empire and a great many of his treasures were on display. Unlike the rest of us, I presume he did not have to concern himself with excess baggage fees. As history goes, Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophie were assassinated in Sarajevo in 1914, triggering the onset of The Great War.

I found the exhibit to be extremely well done, with interesting (!) brochures describing each the dozen or so cases of ethnological tchotchke.

Like a Hindi Hummel collection, the figurines from Ferdinand's visit to Jaipur.

But more so than to the "stuff," I was drawn to his collection of travel papers. We, too, collect the simple trifles from our travels, all of which I have nicely organized in pH-appropriate notebooks, should someone someday care abut our Japan Rail Passes or the take-away menu from one of our favorite seafood shacks on Cape Cod. 

 Plus, I am just in love with beautiful handwriting.

 Travel guide books that you actually want to display.

Having time before meeting my favorite son for lunch, I recalled another (alleged) WWI-related exhibit at a relatively unknown museum nearby.  The title was, "The Dignity of Man," and it was a co-production with Vienna, Sarajevo, and Brno. Sounded promising. I was expecting something that actually had something to do with WWI. What do I know?

The exhibit was dreadful. This is the pretty arcade I escaped the rain from in order to reach the gallery.

"The Dignity of Man." This is an "ArtAttack" representation of WWI.

 I have no clue what this was about, but I am pretty sure it isn't WWI.

 Anyone?

Thankfully I could soon escape to the Styrian Gasthaus where I was to meet Jack. The decorated rooms were warm and welcoming, and my Steirmark Backhendlsalat with a Styrian wine quickly helped to restore "The Dignity of Man."