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.
Friday, September 4, 2009
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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