Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

It's snowing in Vienna - ever so lightly, but my Bahamian husband is excited by the mere spectacle of it all! I only wish I could be home, instead of in the office, to see his face! I can only imagine what will happen when he sees serious snow!

(Pictured to the right: Snow along the Schönbrunn park this past February and a shot of the view in the evening from my office window.)

A Funny Thing Happened At The Ubahn Station

This morning, my black husband was waiting for the underground train home when a white woman, who he noticed had been staring at him, approached him on the platform and asked: "Do you have some white stuff I can buy?" In disbelief, my husband shook his head and told her that he had no idea what she was talking about. He telephoned me at my office right away to relay the story. Laughing, he added, "Why did she think she could come up to me? I'm the only black person standing on the platform and she comes up to me? Maybe if she had gone to one of the white guys, she would have gotten her fix!" Funny how the world works, isn't it?

Welcome Home, Honey!

I have been in and out of a lot of airports in recent months. In fact, last Thursday I returned from a press freedom mission to Belgrade. Unfortunately, as is the nature of these missions, there is no built-in time for you to take a couple of hours and see the city and its people. In that regard, I think the missions fail both the person on the mission and the local journalists. But, more on that later.

I wanted to comment on something that I see in the airports that I think is so sweet. In the airports in Russia, Serbia and Turkey, there is a big flower/Teddy bear stand where people buy these incredibly big bouquets of flowers and stand at the gate waiting to present them to the friend or family member they are there to pick up. It somehow reminds me of when I used to fly as a child. Back then when you flew, you wouldn't dare wear just anything on the airplane and it wasn't uncommon to see people bringing flowers or balloons to greet their loved ones when they stepped off the plane. I think it's a nice idea and one I may have to adopt.

p.s. Today is my six-month wedding anniversary. Wow.

Alison
Sunday, 6 December 2009
9:18 a.m.

Christmas in Vienna

You really begin to miss Thanksgiving in Vienna when the Christmas lights go up the first week of December! But how glorious they are! Vienna has such a reputation for its celebration of Chris Kringle, as they call it. There are Christmas markets everywhere and men set up stalls to roast chestnuts and kertoffelpuffer (potato pancakes).

But despite the growing revelry in the air, my mind is always on the turkey these days. And I'm not alone. The Marriott is not only hosting Thanksgiving dinner, but is also showing American football!!!! Be still my heart! A bier garten -- what we could commonly refer to as a microbrewery -- that we frequent, known as 1516, is also have turkey and football. While we plan a trip to the Marriott, I am foregoing their turkey for my own feast since it will be me and Nicholai's first Thanksgiving as a married couple! On our menu:

Apple Glazed Cornish Hens
w/Sausage Apple Stuffing
Honey Glazed Ham
Sauteed Cabbage (can't find collard greens, mustard greens or any of those kinds of greens)
Sweet Potato Casserole
Caramelized Onions
Cranberry Sauce with Cinnamon and Spice
Fresh Rolls

Apple Crumble Pie
Sweet Potato Pie

I can't wait!

Alison
10:02 a.m., 19 November 2009

The R-U-D-E factor

I do like Vienna. I do. I mean it. Truly.

But ...

Well ... Let me tell you what I don't like. Actually, what I cannot stand. I CAN NOT STAND the rudeness of some of the Viennese. It is rare to hear an apology or an "Excuse me" -- in any language. And it's beginning to work my nerves. (The first German words I learned were "excuse me," "please" and "thank you.")

One day on the underground (the subway) this week, one guy intentionally bumped into me THREE times. I guess he didn't expect that I would say much, even though he mumbled something that caused the girl in front of me to turn around and, in sympathy, give me a look of apology. I mean, I am a woman. And I am a foreigner. BUT, poor dear, he underestimated his prey, because when I pushed him back after his third assault and said to him in English: "If you push me one more time, I will kick your ass," he backed off. No amount of language barrier could mistake what I was saying to him. You could tell it in his face. So, when in some parts of Europe, realize that some people have not been taught the art of politeness, which is odd in a country that stands high on titles: PhD, MS, BA, AA, Dr ... you name it. My British boss always teases me about how polite I am -- always saying "excuse me" and "sorry," he says, adding that Americans are the most polite people in the world, besides Australians (which could explain why my Australian friend is always complaining about the manners of the Viennese!)

So the lesson is that while in Vienna, one must be acknowledged by his/her title, but one must not necessarily be acknowledged when one's foot is stepped on or when one is pushed.

Alison
10:39 p.m., 3 November 2009

Life in Vienna

Life in Vienna. Whooaaaa. You should so come and visit!

I have so much to say and so little time. Tomorrow morning check back ...

Alison

10:22 p.m. Monday, 2 November
(and what's with this European way of telling time and date?! arghhh!!!!)

Dancing on the Graben

You can hear the clapping and the faint sound of 80s music all the way on the third floor of our building. After working near Stephansplatz on the Graben for even a short while, you know what's happening without even looking out of the window. Almost every Thursday and Friday a group of five to six young white men lay down a makeshift rug, if you will, turn up the volume on their Boom Box and start break dancing. Within minutes there's a crowd. I, personally, find it hilarious. But I will say that they are not all that bad. But it would be interesting to see some booty-shakin' going on!

3:28 p.m. Thursday, 22 Oct.

The Name Game

My boss and his partner are having a baby and there, understandably, is a lot of excitement oozing from his office nowadays. On one occasion recently he remarked that he and his partner were not agreeable on what to name the child. I suggested something like Vivian, thinking it would match well with the surname 'Dadge' only to be told that Vivian wasn't on the approved list of names one is allowed to give their child. And, secondly, the child wouldn't have my boss' last name because he's not married to his partner and blah, blah. It just goes to show you how the customs of one country can differ so much from that of another. The fact that you have to name your child from a pre-selected list is amazing to me. A friend of mine tells me that if you want to name your kid a name that is not on the list, you have to explain to the "authorities" why you want that name and you have to prove that that name is a legitimate name in another country. But one thing is firm, you cannot, in any circumstances name your child Jesus, when though in Latin countries it's a legitimate name. (Somehow, I kind of agree with that.) But what is disturbing is that, fundamentally, regulating names is an assault on freedom of expression, don't you think?



And then I found this from the Austrian Times (Sept. 22, 2009): Kids names spell trouble
Teachers brand some pupils dunces because they have non-traditional names, an official survey of primary schools has revealed.Names like Chantal and Maurice are an instant turn off for teachers, says the study by Germany's Oldenberg University.But children with more traditional names like Hannah or Alex will be treated better and thought of as more intelligent, says the survey of 2,000 teachers."If teachers do not believe in the potential of their pupils then the pupils' performances will plummet," said Professor Astrid Kaiser, who led the research.


Hum. I wonder what Condoleezza Rice would say about that.

Alison

10:24 a.m., 21 October 2009

The Art of Blogging

Good grief, blogging is hard. It's like brushing your teeth everyday. It's a learned activity; you first have to get used to it.

So much has happened in the past few weeks. First, let me start by saying that we (my husband and I) received our residence permits (residence Visas) today. What a victory that was!

Secondly, and most importantly, I want to let you know that from now on, aside from focusing on our travels in Europe and beyond and our general impressions of everything from food to people to places, I will also attempt to share periodically my views on the issue of press freedom. Because I work for an organization whose mission it is to fight for a free press, I am consumed with it daily and there are times I would like to share some observations, and invite you to participate in a conversation, on press freedom worldwide. I hope you will find it interesting.

Today, however, I'll tell you a little about my recent travels.

Two weeks ago, I went across the border to Bratislava, the capitol city of Slovakia. ... I can hear some of you Americans saying it now: What? Where? Well, Bratislava -- formerly part of the former Czechoslovakia -- lies on the eastern border with Austria and is a lovely city. It is also home to the Bratislava castle, seat of the Hapsburg emperors. (see: http://www.slovakia.org/sk-faq.htm).

I arrived in Bratislava via catamaran which cruised along the Danube river, the longest river in the European Union and the second longest in Europe, behind the Volga. The hour and 45-minute trip was all very lovely! Particularly interesting were the small fishing "huts," for lack of a better word, that sit along either side of the river.

A day after leaving Slovakia, I traveled to Russia on a press freedom "mission" to talk to government officials and journalists about freedom of expression and media freedom in Russia.

Our first stop was Moscow.

Moscow. Wow.

What hits you immediately is the amount of traffic. It makes New York City look like main street in Poughkeepsie. Traveling anywhere by taxi is more than an hour in most cases. But what a nice looking city, full of old buildings and broad boulevards. Full of restaurants offering wonderful pickled vegetables and dumpling dishes (that amazingly resemble the Chinese type) and, unfortunately, full of vodka. Vodka EVERYWHERE. It is a city of heavy, heavy drinkers.

Better to let the experts explain it to you. This from World Affairs Journal:

"How many Russians are actually drinkers, and how heavily do they actually drink? Officially, Russia classifies some 7 million out of roughly 120 million persons over 15 years of age, or roughly 6 percent of its adult population, as heavy drinkers. But the numbers are surely higher than this. According to data compiled by the World Health Organization, as of 2003 Russia was Europe’s heaviest per capita spirits consumer; its reported hard liquor consumption was over four times as high as Portugal’s, three times that of Germany or Spain, and over two and a half times higher than that of France.Yet even these numbers may substantially understate hard spirit use in Russia, since the WHO figures follow only the retail sale of hard liquor. But samogon—home-brew, or “moonshine”—is, according to some Russian researchers, a huge component of the country’s overall intake. Professor Alexander Nemstov, perhaps Russia’s leading specialist in this area, argues that Russia’s adult population—women as well as men—puts down the equivalent of a bottle of vodka per week.

"But medical and epidemiological studies have also demonstrated that, in addition to its many deaths from consumption of ordinary alcohol, Russia also suffers a grisly toll from alcohol poisoning, as the country’s drinkers, in their desperate quest for intoxication, down not only sometimes severely impure samogon, but also perfumes, alcohol-based medicines, cleaning solutions, and other deadly liquids. Death rates from such alcohol poisoning appear to be at least one hundred times higher in Russia than the United States—this despite the fact that the retail price in Russia today is lower for a liter of vodka than a liter of milk."

Despite the grave news, Moscow is a city not to be missed. I'm looking forward to returning so that I can do more touring. And I have to take Nicholai! I ran into no less than six people named Nikolai (Russian spelling) while I was there. Russian names are great: Nikita, Alexei, Galina, Dmitry, Anatoly, Arkady, Vladimir, Natalya, Dominika, Tatyana, Veronika, Anastasiya, Alexandra.

Just like the movies.

After three days in Moscow, we left on an overnight flight to Tomsk, a city on the Tom River in Russia's Siberian Federal District. Yes, Siberia.

Tomsk is a beautiful, quaint city and was a welcome relief from the hustle and bustle of Moscow. A university town, it is full of trees and has a lively nightlife, including a wonderful jazz club called Down Under, owned by a character-of-a-man named Dennis. I loved it. We even had the opportunity to have an Armenian-style barbecue of grilled pork and grilled vegetables at the vacation cottage of a local businessman. In some ways, it reminded me so much of Martha's Vineyard.

As for the temperature, we were more than lucky. The weather was great with temperatures in the low-to-mid-70s, when normally there would have been snow on the ground! I lugged a full-length winter coat with me and didn't wear it once!

In my next blog, I'll tell you about my trip to Turkey, which came on the heels of Russia.

Alison
Tuesday, 13 October
10:23 p.m.

Sorry, sorry for the lapse in posts. By this week Thursday, I will have been to three countries in a littlE over a week-and-a-half! I have so much to write about and beautifuf pictures to share. Today is Sunday and at the moment I am at a wifi "cafe," and I use the term "cafe" loosley, in Moscow checking my emails. I head for Vienna in a few hours and then to Turkey in the morning. Will post as soon as possible!

Alison
4 oCT.
10:36 A.M.

Another Week, Another Dollar

In the last week I've met some fantastic people -- even a group of black American basketball players, one of whom is soooo country! I LOVE IT!

I spent the morning at the Russian Embassy trying to arrange for a Visa to Russia (I wasn't sure, to be honest, that they'd even consider it considering I'm an American!). I leave next Tuesday on a week-long mission to talk to journalists in that country about their work. It'll be my first mission with the International Center for Journalists, so I'm excited. After that, I head to Turkey to participate in a discussion about press freedom! It's a darn good thing I got those extra passport pages before I left the States!

Remind me to send photos of our dinner this past weekend at our new friend Salem's house. Of Mexican-American heritage, she made mole (with the accent on the 'e'), black beans and rice. It was delicious! Nicholai is promising to have her and her kids over next for fried fish, peas and rice and plaintains. Even I can't wait for that!

Alison
9:24 p.m.

Sturm

Fall in Vienna is not only ushered in by cool breezes and an end to many of the summer markets and festivals, but it is also the time of year when sturm is introduced. Sturm is fermenting grape juice taken from the first grape harvest. It is on sale in Vienna for only a few weeks in the fall because it has to be consumed quickly since it is still fermenting. It comes in white or red and costs anywhere from 1 euro to 1,40 euros a glass. And, as every local will warn you, it is strong (because of the high sugar content). As my husband will tell you, "It ain't strong." Ha. Okay, Big Daddy.

Nicholai has taken a huge liking to the sweet, slightly fermented red "wine." The other day, he had like five glasses! He stood and his eyes were glazed over. I lmao.

"It'd be good if you could pick up a bottle of sturm," he tells me when I ask him if he needs anything from the grocery. (Silently I laugh.) No problem. At least it's a soft introduction to wine for my beer-drinking husband, who also marvels at what he describes as the wonderful taste of (Chinese) plum wine. Who knows. Maybe in a months time I can move him on to real wine. Now THAT would be amazing!

alison
Sunday, 11:05 p.m.

Ah ha!

Now I know what the woman at the cash register at the grocery store was trying to ask me! She wanted to know if I had a Billa card! Basically a discount card for the grocery store. I went into the store during lunch today and the woman checking me out figured out pretty quickly that I couldn't speak enough German to really talk to her, so she asked me in English, "Do you have a Billa card?" Ahhh. And the light bulb went off. Cool.

What some people eat for lunch here you Americans might find very odd, not to mention paltry. It's like fancy picnic food (and I'm not talking Paula Dean picnic food!) or homemade antipasto is even a better way to describe it. First they pull out the sesame or multigrain bagel and then lay slices of cheese across the bread. Then they cut up a handful of yellow bell peppers or toss some arugula (aka rucola) or maybe a thin slice or two or proscuitto on the side and that's it. I saw one of our interns in the office kitchen yesterday making this same kind of combo on a plate the size of both my hands together (thumbs pressed to the side of the forefinger). I asked if she wanted to use the microwave so she could melt her cheese on the bread. You should have seen the look! But she was polite, "You know," she said, "that's a good idea. I was kind of thinking about that, but maybe it would make the bread not so fresh."

Duh. Righhhttt. And the cheese was probably something special, too.

Meanwhile, me and the Canadian are laddling up gobs of jambalaya or microwaving bowls of chili with a hefty salad on the side or carting Burger King through the door (well, that's more me than the Canadian. But, hey, I only did it once! Good grief!).

Of course, all of this could very well just be the people in my office because you can hear all the way up on the second floor the silverware scraping the plates at the cafe below and the smell of bacon and sausages fills the air beginning at 11 a.m. ...

In other news, Nicholai has another baseball tournament this weekend. I don't understand why he can't go to church on Sunday and THEN the game. (humph) I'm convinced it's an anti-Baptist plot (remember: My husband is Catholic).

Alison
Friday, 11 September, 12:08 a.m.

I should be in bed! ASLEEP!

All the Pork You Can Eat -- Seriously!

Now, I like me some pork. I won't even pretend like I don't eat it and that the smell of frying bacon doesn't send me straight to the kitchen. Well, Vienna is pork heaven. There is pre-seasoned pork, pork medallions, pork chops, pork sausages, a variety of bacon strips, pork ribs, sliced pork for stirfrys, pig feet, pig snout, offal and, for a mid-afternoon snack, jause - a slice of bread topped with cheese or ham.

The good news about pork is that it's somewhat easily identifiable. But the rest ...! Whoa, holy cow. You should see me in the Billa grocery store in the meat aisle standing there, and standing there, and standing there trying to figure out which is veal, which is beef and which is deer because, of course, I can't yet speak German. And in the midst of my pondering, I wonder if I remembered to bring my bag because, you see, you have to bring your own grocery bag to the store to carry your groceries home. Yep.

Buying meat is a grueling process and I'm sure people are looking at me as though I'm crazy after about 10 minutes of pacing back and forth in front of the meat cooler.

I can see them from the corner of my eye (the eye with the Torc contact lens, of course, because the other eye sometimes doesn't catch the subtle movement as well as the left eye with the Torc, which is intended for astigmatism ... just in case you wondered). And I could have sworn last week that one girl looked at me strangely and then walked to the next aisle to retrieve her friend so she too could see how lost I looked.

In the end, I snatch the old standby -- chicken -- and am on my way. Well, almost. I turn around mid-aisle, return to the shelves and shelves of pork and pluck a package to go. Why not? When in Rome ...

Alison
Tuesday, 5:49 p.m.

Why Wien?

A number of people have asked, and probably many more have wondered, why I decided to move to Vienna. To me, the answer is as obvious as the nose on my face.

After returning from my fellowship in Africa, I was faced with looking for a job in an industry that was reeling from layoffs and newspaper closures, so I knew it would be an uphill battle finding a media job in the States and, frankly, I wasn't sure I wanted to be back in a newsroom where morale was low and people were stretched thin trying to do five different jobs. And finding a well enough paying job in the media again in The Bahamas, particularly as a foreigner, would prove next to impossible. Anyway, I'd been there and done that!

So, I reevaluated my career objectives and cast a broad international net when looking for a job. I knew that I wanted something closely related to the field of journalism or to work for a company/agency/media outlet that could make good use of my 25+ years in the media industry and whose mission or products actually meant something to me.

My fiance at the time (now husband) and I had hoped to return to Ghana to live and work for a couple of years. The plan was for me to teach at a local college there while continuing my position as Managing Editor of Canoe Quarterly magazine. I was excited about working with the magazine and about AUCC. But in the end, AUCC didn't come through with the position, even part-time. So, I had to look elsewhere.

After about six weeks of moving back to The Bahamas from Africa, the International Press Institute came along. I liked the idea of working for the organization right away. After some telephone conversations, one of which was held in my friend's hotel room two days before my wedding, IPI's director offered me the position of deputy director.

Moving to Vienna meant a few things, the ability to add even more value to my resume in the working abroad category, the opportunity to do more work on the business side of an organization, working with a non-profit and, most importantly, to in many ways continue the work I'd started as a fellow in Africa in terms of helping train journalists from under-developed countries and to help fight for press freedom.

Down the road, I'll be able to establish a solid global media consultancy agency, and that's good because I can do that from anywhere -- even The Bahamas.

Personally what I gain is obvious: The chance to travel around eastern Europe as well as Africa and the Middle East and to be able to do it with my new partner. And of course there is the affordable health care and social security for me and my husband and the great quality of life.

Plus, I'm working hard, learning a lot and having fun!

Alison
Sunday, 12:50 p.m.

Do You Smell That?

I thought I was subtle. The intention was to sniff quickly and without being noticed. I lifted my arm and reached for the rail as though to steady myself on the rocking subway train while bending my head down to take a whiff of my underarm.

"Don't worry," said Nicholai. "It's not you."

But the funk had to be coming from somewhere.

After nearly a month of riding the U-Bahn, I have discovered that stank comes in all shapes and sizes. And, amazingly, the funkiest people seem to be men and women decked in the latest high fashion. And no matter how much perfume they use, it's not enough! Stank, stank, stank! And I'm told it will only get worse in the winter because people won't bathe as much then (they certainly don't bathe that much now) because it's cold.

I'm often heard that Europeans don't bathe as frequently as Americans. It must be true.

Here's what one person (who calls herself 'Calamity Jane') posted on the Able2Know website (http://able2know.org/topic/63253-1) that might give some clue if it's actually accurate:

"You know, in Sweden and Finland they just go into the Sauna and sweat it all out. Afterwards they roll in the snow and feel very refreshed. In the UK the Brits take advantage of the rain. They closely follow the weather forecast and with the first drop of rain, they head outside and lather up in soap. The French and Italians eat a lot of garlic and the smell of it usually overtakes any other body odors. The Dutch and Germans, who knows what they do. Just try not to take any public transportations there. The Swiss and Austrians have customary bathed every Friday since 1920. With daylight-savings time they switched to Saturdays. No one knows why. Any outings in these countries should be done on Sundays as the natives are still smelling fresh. So brace yourself - it's rough out there in the old country."

Alison
11:40 a.m.

A Funny Thing Happened On the Way To Church

So I find an English-speaking Baptist church. Hip, hip, hooray.

... Well, maybe one 'hip.'

Thank God I travel. Otherwise, I don't know if I would have been prepared for what I walked into at 10:20 a.m. on Sunday. Not that it was bad. In fact, it was kind of good. One thing it was for sure: It was a mini-United Nations. There were people from many nations at International Baptist Church of Vienna on this past crisp Sunday morning.

Service began with a litany of songs I've never heard. Thank goodness they were broadcast on a screen on the back wall where normally the alter would be. Instead of an alter or a podium for the minister, there was a camp ground site. Yes, a camp ground site. Had it not been for a presentation by the church's very cute United Colors of Benetton-looking kids, I would not have understood it. It turns out that the theme of the previous week's first week-long Vacation Bible School somehow tied into camping.

Okay.

The sermon was fascinating as well. It was a slide show presentation on the minister's travels to Iraq, beginning with a brief overview of the country.

Okay.

What I got from the "sermon," though, was that it is the responsibility of Christians to minister to others around the world. To spread the good news. But what I also got out of my attendance at the church was a new friend.

When she first grabbed me to say hello, I immediately detected an American accent and was draw in.

"We've met before," she said.
"Um, we have?"
"Yes. You are the woman with the Bahamian husband."
"Yes, I am," I said. "So, we met? I don't think so?"
"Yes. I sent you an email in reply to a message you sent about about living in Vienna."
"Oh, when I was looking for a hairdresser," I replied, fishing for some sort of clue. "You were away and just got back in town?"
"No."
Okay, this sistah, bettah to help a sistah out, I thought.
Why, oh why, do we have to be so difficult? All over the world!
"Okay, well, I'm Alison."
"I know."

... To make a long story short, we started to talk -- eventually -- as she walked me to the U-bahn (the metro) and then decided she'd join me for lunch. (Now, Nicholai had stayed home to sleep. But the real deal is that he's Catholic and he is convinced that the Baptist stay in church too long. I wonder why he thinks that?)

It was a long "getting acquainted" session, but a wonderful one. She summed it up, "Don't think I'm stalking you. It's just that I don't meet that many "real sistahs," but we need to hang!" I felt the same way. We needed to hang!

I liked her. She reminds me so much of my friend Marquita -- in every way. They look somewhat alike, they are funny as hell, they are too real for words and they can tell a story. Boy, can they tell a story. She had me laughing and laughing. Out loud.

So, we are planning to meet again and this time we will involve our husbands. It will be quite an adventure.

That afternoon when I arrived home, I made it a point to remind Nicholai that church hadn't lasted eight hours (even though I called him periodically during my outing to let him know my status). And as I told him almost word-for-word about our conversation and what we did, his eyes were glued on me. If you know, my husband, that ain't always the case when I'm storytelling!

"And then we went to Akikiko and had sushi," I said.
"Hum," my husband, as usual, replied.
"It was great. Her husband is Nigerian and works in a popular 'fake Mexican bar,' as she calls it," I said.
(Long pause)
"So, is she stalking you?" he asked.
"No."
"Okay. Sounds interesting." And then he took a sip of his Wieselburger beer and turned his attention to the soccer game.

Alison
10:05 p.m.

So, everyone speaks English, huh? NOT!

When people heard that I was moving to Vienna, one of the things they were fond of saying is, "Everyone speaks English there, so you'll be okay." Oh, the arrogance of the Americans -- and the British. The reality is that everyone DOES NOT speak English. In fact, I would venture to say that outside of business dealings, most people don't speak English. And I think that's true in most of the world.

Take my experience today, for example.

After leaving work, I stopped into Billa, a local grocery store chain to buy a bottle of wine (which, by the way, averages in cost from 1,50 euros for a really good bottle to upwards of 12 euros). I dutifully took the bottle to the register, placed it on the conveyor belt and waited for the price to show up on the register screen.

Let me back up a bit.

The woman at the register greeted me in German and I replied in German. Maybe that was where I went wrong. She then proceeded to say something to me in German. I shrugged my shoulders and indicated with a somewhat stupid look on my face that I had no clue what she was saying. She took a big sigh and fell quiet. I looked at the woman standing freakishly close to me (that's what many people overseas do -- no concept of personal space) in an attempt to get her help. She just looked at me with a blank stare. I turned back to the woman at the register and said:

"I don't understand. Receipt?," thinking that maybe she was asking if I wanted a receipt.

"Non. Non receipt," she replied and handed me my change and a receipt.

I took the change, packaged my wine, put it in my work bag (you must take your own bag to the grocery) and walked away. I thought, "She could have been telling me that the wine had worms at the bottom or something." But the point is, I had no clue. Non.

So, when people tell you when you travel overseas that everyone speaks English, smile and say, "Okay," and then head to the nearest Borders Bookstore for a German, Spanish, Portuguese or whatever primer. Oh! And let me say that I didn't come here expecting not to have to learn German. My classes start Oct. 5!

Alison
9:33 p.m.

Hallo?

My husband says he's going to stop saying hello (hallo in German) to the people he passes on the street since no one will return the welcome. (laugh) Well, the bus driver says hello when you greet him (actually, when you say 'gross gott' he will respond with 'gross gott') and many times middle-aged black people will also say hello when you pass, but by and large, it's just a European thing. People don't just randomly greet people.

(Before I go further, the photo to the right is of Nick and fellow journalist Tim Spence, who is on his way to Ghana and who showed us around when we first arrived.)

My new hairdresser -- her name is Baby (yes, b-a-b-y) -- says people just don't speak in Austria. She says she remembers when she first arrived in Vienna some 13 years or so ago and every time black people would see each other they would run to meet each other. When they were on the train (called the U-bahn here), other passengers would look at them like they were crazy. "We would be asking, 'Where are you from?' " That was then. Now, she says, the problem is that there has been a lot of talk about black men selling drugs in the streets and other blacks want to distance themselves from that stereotype, so they are not as friendly.

I say, "Rubbish."

Anyway, I took Nicholai to Prosi, the ethnic grocery store in the 7th district today and we headed straight for the shelf with the Guinness because I knew he'd be most impressed by that, and he was. Do I know my husband or what?

"Did you think the store was impressive," I later asked him.
"Uh huh."
"So, what was most impressive?"
"Well, hum, just seeing all the stuff from the different islands and stuff," he said, adding, "The Guinness was good."

On another note, we went to the Immigration office, or whatever it's called here, with my Canadian colleague who speaks German and Spanish (I HAVE GOT TO LEARN A FOREIGN LANGUAGE). When our number was finally called and we entered a small room with two women whose desks were piled high with faded red folders, the elder of the two told Nicholai that they rarely get Bahamians coming to Austria. Usually, she said in German, Austrians are trying to get to The Bahamas!

So, today the temperature was 58-degrees and by evening it felt closer to about 45. Nicholai was excited. I say give him a month. He ain't seen NOTHIN' yet. But at least he has a couple of coats, a hat and a couple of very nice long-sleeved shirts, courtesy of my mom and brother-in-law. One thing he seems to be coming around on, though, is that he is going to need to use lotion or he'll be white as a ghost, and if you've seen my husband, that's no small feat.

Alison
7:38 p.m., Saturday, 29 August

Wow

I'm sitting in my office just before 6 p.m. with my two new colleagues when suddenly a wave of classical music enters the room. On the pedestrian promenade down below, two musicians - one on violin and the other on cello - are serenading us (and, of course, all of the people walking below). How blessed we are and wonderful it is to have a live concert happening somewhere every day. If you are not a classical music fan, you surely will become one by the time your leave Vienna! Oh, that I could let you hear it!

Alison
27 August 2009
6:10 p.m.

Damn that smells good!

Let me tell you. Vienna is no place to diet. At every turn there are sausages (cheese wieners, spicy wieners, big and small wieners) and all types of pastries. It's maddening. People walk around with bread in their hands, no napkin, no bag -- just eating. My husband has taken a liking to the sausages and I think he's probably tried every kind already! He just goes up to the stall and points. Two minutes later his lips are wrapped around a foot-and-a-half long sausage stuffed in a bun that looks like a half a loaf of French bread. I'm going to have to keep him from the strudel or before you know it, he'll be addicted!

Austrians also have some strange eating habits. Like ... they are generally not fond of spicy food, so to get something hot, you need to say, "I want it spicy, like Turkish" because apparently the Turks like to eat really spicy things. Also, most Austrians are not fond of mixing their meat with their seafood. For example, if you order combination stir fry there would be no shrimp or anything in it because Austrians don't seem to like that. But they do like pork - and LOTS of it. I have never seen so much pork in my life. They seem to have ever kind of pork dish. Oh, but they don't have pork rinds as far as I can see. I did find them at the ethnic food store, though. You know I can find pork rinds anywhere! (laugh)

Alison
27 August 2009
10:54 a.m.

p.s. Check out the photos below

In the Game

Sometimes sports is a whole lot of politics. And sometimes politics is a lot of sport. Such was the case on Sunday when Nicholai, my husband, joined the Knights softball team, many of whom work at Vienna International School, to play in the end-of-season tournament at Prater, a huge park slash amusement area once reserved for the royal court and aristocrats.

First up to challenge the Knights was "the Dominican team," as they were described to me. After the game, in which Nicholai did a bang-up job, including hitting four home runs and several RBIs, a member of "the Dominican team" approached him to ask his name and to compliment him on his skill around the field. He then told Nico, as the Knights had taken to calling my husband, that Nicholai (the only black person on his team) is clearly playing for the wrong team. (laugh) Later in the afternoon, during game two, the same player and one of his teammates (they would eventually tell me that they were of Cuban and Venezuelan heritage, respectively (I thought: That doesn't equal Dominican...) ) sat next to be on a bench I had perched behind home plate. Immediately the began to ask me a few questions about my husband. How long had he been playing? Where was he from? How did he come to join that team? Of course, earlier the sister of the Venezuelan, Karla, had already come to talk to me about joining her team. My husband, they all agreed is quite the player.

In the end, the common language, camaraderie and potential networking with the Knights proved far more important to Nicholai. I agreed.

But talk about recruiting! Some players take their game seriously, boy! How funny I thought it all was.

But the scene at the park was even funnier. It was like the United Nations with players from China, America, Canada, Jamaica, Cuba, Dominican Republic, Venezuela and who knows where else! I didn't know whether to say hola, ni hao, hello, gross gott or what! But what a beautiful setting in which to be confused. The day was glorious - and fun!

At around 4, we headed back to the 22 district where we are living for the moment and from there headed to Ha Kai Chinese restaurant. I must admit that aside from sausages, we have yet to sample a traditional Viennese dish. But soon.

The city of Vienna is divided into 23 districts, or neighborhoods, and tonight we go to check out an apartment in the 6th district, very near the city centre where I work. Speaking of where I work, my office is right outside of the famed Stephansdom (St. Stephen's Cathedral), a centerpiece of Vienna tourism. It is the mother church of the Archdiocese of Vienna and the seat of the Archbishop of Vienna and is also celebrated for its architecture (it is built of limestone).

Back to the apartment ...

One very discouraging fact about Vienna is that when renting an apartment, one must not only pay first month's rent and a security deposit equivalent to that (known as a 'bond'), but typically you must also pay a realtor's "finders fee,' if you will, of two to three months of the total rent cost! It's highway robbery and a topic of heated discussion among my colleagues and I. Particularly pissed about it is my very British colleague who calls it extortion! He may be right! So we'll see what happens with this apartment tonight.

Alison
25 Aug. 2009
1:38 p.m.

p.s. Nicholai has been harrassing me all week to correct my blog concerning the number of homeruns he hit. So, over the course of two days and playing five games, he hit EIGHT homeruns. Good grief. (Alison, 27 August, 11:24 a.m.)

The Wink

Today I took three trains and walked six blocks to find a woman named Baby, owner of Baby's Beauty Salon. A Ghanaian, she has been in Vienna quite awhile, I think. But, like in Ghana, the bulk of her work is putting fake hair into people's heads, whether it's in the form of braids or flowing weave. One customer just beginning her four-hour journey from naps to waist-length braids warned me several times that the cold will ruin my hair. What? She also informed me over and over that black American women have "different" hair, not like Africans. It's because, chimed in Baby, of all the "mixture." (sigh) Okay. How about it could be because we don't put braids and weave in all of our lives.

After that conversation, it was time to move on. Next stop, Prosi, an "ethic"grocery store in the same neighborhood (District 7) as Baby's salon. (By the way, Baby's is a couple of short blocks from The Hip Hop Store, which houses Slam Dunk, where Nicholai got his hair cut by a Nigerian earlier this week.)

Prosi: AMAZING! There was kimchi and fufu and banku and kenkey and pork rinds; Guinness, Red Stripe and Star beers; Vita Malt ... The store, owned by Lebanese, has put a thorn in the side of some African businessmen who have opened a similar store with products from Africa. And they make it no secret on their web site that they think we should shop at a store owned by Africans. Nonetheless, the 7th district seems to have a lot going on culturally.

In another part of the city, my husband played softball on the Prater -- an enormous nature park once reserved for the royal court and aristocracy -- with a bunch of teachers from Vienna International School. Seems they became fumbling, bumbling players, especially my husband, when I arrived, so I left them to their ball grabbing, beer drinking, shit talking and headed to Naschmarkt, known for its spices, fresh vegetables, fish and numerous restaurants that line the periphery of the market. After wading through markets in Africa, Naschmarkt (yeah, that's how it's spelled) was organized and lovely. It's similar to Eastern Market in Washington, D.C., but not as gritty or fabulous as Eastern Market in Detroit . I'll post pictures.

A hefty bag of fruit and vegetables later, I headed home to enjoy the fruits of my labour! But before I could get to my door, I had to deal with more stares. Sometimes it's funny. I couldn't resist when one young man got caught staring at me and I gave him a wink. Embarrassed, he turn away.

Alison
23 August 2009
11:15 p.m.

Notes From Austria

I used to always marvel at how foreigners in America could just pick up their lives and arrive at our shores without knowing the system or the culture or even the language. 'What brave souls,' I thought. Well, I still think that. Even more so tonight as I sit in a two-room flat on the fourth floor of a building located near the banks of the Danube river listening to the gentle snoring of my husband and German voices rising above clinking glasses at the outdoor cafe below.

I've been in Austria 10 days and I must confess that despite the language barrier (they speak German; I do not), it's an easy city and a lovely city. It's like a cross between Washington, D.C., with its monuments and outdoor festivals, and Boston, with it's old charm and lots and lots of white people. Yeah. Lots and lots of white people. Viennese are generally cordial, although no where near as polite as Ghanaians and Bahamians, for example. It's rare to hear someone of the tram, bus or subway say excuse me and certainly not hello.

There are some stares, but nothing to really write home about. I mean, there is even a real possibility that they are staring at me because I'm beautiful, regardless of my skin color. (laugh) ... Okay, let's think on that for a minute ... (smile) ... Alright -- enough.

Today was my third day on my new post as Deputy Director of the International Press Institute (http://www.freemedia.at/) and I know that people always love their job when they first start, but really I like this job. And for the first time since my first few and last few months in West Africa, I feel like I really have the opportunity to make a difference for my colleagues. It's invigorating.

Bruce Blake told me yesterday that reaction in Boston has been mixed about my move to Vienna. I told him for those who ask why I would do such a thing, to keep his response simple because they might be simple people. I told him to mention a few phrases to people, like 'jobs, jobs, jobs, free health care, free health care, free health care, jobs, no journalism jobs in the U.S., jobs in Europe, great job at IPI ..." I mean, does one really need to say more than that? Plus there is the added benefit of coming into the Vienna job with 28 days vacation -- and that doesn't count the 15 or so holidays that the country and employers dish out each year. You see, the Europeans don't believe in working themselves to death. We could definitely learn something from that in the U.S.

Well, it's the end of the day and I just finished a wonderful burrito dinner prepared by my husband. I also watched a little CNN and heard the story of a woman track star who looks, talks and walks like a man try to prove that she isn't and the story of a Tonga man living in New Zealand who decided to barbecue his dog for dinner after the dog got fleas. He said that where he's from people always eat their pet; it's a delicacy. Hum. It's a good thing my burritos had already digested when the segment hit the airwaves. Talk about news of the weird.

Anyway, I digress, there is so much to say and so little time. I started this blog to share some of my thoughts on Vienna and my experiences as a black woman here. And also so I won't have to write so many individual emails to tell people how Nicholai and I are doing. There is so much to tell!

I hope you'll stick along for the ride. And I hope you like what you see and read!

Auf Wiederschauen!

Alison
9:50 p.m.. 20 August 2009