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.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
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!
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!
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, September 4, 2009
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.
"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.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
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.
... 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.
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.
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