Austria Journal #1-Journey Across the Pond

Saturday, 24 August-Sunday, 25 August 2013

          The sun had barely peeped above the horizon when my mom shook me gently awake. I groaned with the grogginess of a 45 minute slumber but knew that rolling over was pointless, I had left myself so little time as it was. Besides, I still needed to remove things from my suitcase in order to avoid extra airport fees; that was the last thing I needed right before embarking on a journey to Europe with insufficient funds. Climbing wearily down from my top bunk, I began methodically going over in my head the things left to do: shower, get dressed, adjust luggage…there wasn't much, but in my weary state, it was about as much as I could manage.

          Half an hour later saw me rushing around frantically as my dad called for me to get in the van. I checked my room one last time. Not perfectly clean, but it would have to do. I clambered into the van, clutching my makeup pouch in one hand, backpack in the other. The drive to pick up Mark and Alex was uneventful. My parents mostly ignored my silent application of makeup in the back seat and instead discussed the plans for their weekend anniversary trip to Indianapolis after dropping us at the airport. Things didn't change after picking up Alex and Mark as the three of us quickly dozed off in the back seat and slept most of the 4 ½ hour drive. It wasn't until downtown Chicago that we woke up in time to enjoy 45 minutes of stop and go traffic to the airport.

          We pulled up to the Swiss Air drop-off and unloaded our bulging suitcases. Mine in particular bulged in an unseemly manner and you could even see a spot of bright red skirt through a rip in my carry-on luggage, a point upon which the Swiss Air lady’s eyes seemed to fixate as I approached the check in desk. “The carry-on limit is 8 kilo,” she said with pursed lips, and “Let’s see if you are under the limit,” she added, in a tone that implied she sincerely doubted it. Sure enough, the carry-on luggage was almost twice the approved weight (I've never had someone weigh my carry-on luggage before and had accordingly stuffed the most heavy items in that bag), but my suitcase was just under the limit, so I quickly proceeded to a less crowded space to transfer items from one bag to the other. Thanks to Mark’s light packing habits (or a masculine lack of fashion obsession in general), I was able to stuff a few things into his bag and once again approach the front desk, this time weighing in at just over 8 kilo. “Since you are just above the limit, I can check the carry-on bag for free,” the Swiss Air lady offered, showing more kindness than I had dared hope for after her first reaction.

Waiting for our plane

          Bags safely sent down the conveyor belt, we said goodbye to my parents, who seemed surprisingly calm. My dad offered a few tips for avoiding scams and pickpockets, and we left them for our first trip through security. The lines were long and smelly (apparently it isn't the custom to wear deodorant when traveling), but we finally made it through with no mishaps and located our gate with two hours to spare. We spent the time talking and writing letters until it was time to board our flight to Zurich. That 8-10 hour flight (I still can’t remember how long it was supposed to be) dragged on despite frequent naps and the option of individual movie screens, but we finally landed in Switzerland.

          The moment we stepped off the plane, the atmosphere felt different. Hundreds of memories that I’d forgotten from our time living in Europe flooded back, particularly the fact that Europeans don’t generally smile to strangers as they pass and the feeling that everything is more subtle, private, and quiet. This became apparent as we walked through the airport and people wordlessly filed past, barely making eye contact. I had very little time to consider this, however, because we had barely 50 minutes to make our way to the other side of the airport via an underground transport and customs. 50 minutes can seem an eternity when you’re waiting to get off the clock at Bob Evans or have to go to the bathroom, but when the American customs line is dragging on and on as the European line moves steadily past, and the clock hand creeps steadily forward, 50 minutes can seem like 5. As 6:57 am and then 7:00am rolled around and we still weren't through for our 7:10 flight, it seemed unlikely that we would make it, especially since we didn't even know exactly where our gate was. I was the first one through customs, dancing anxiously between the doorway through which I had emerged and the stairs that led to my momentarily departing aircraft. Alex finally came through, but as the seconds ticked by, Mark did not follow. Apparently he had gotten cut by a large family and was still waiting to get through. Frustrated by his politeness in a moment like this, I mentally began preparing for the best way to contact the Franciscan pickup in Vienna. “Why don’t you run ahead,” Alex suggested, “Try to get them to hold the plane.”  Not sure how I was supposed to do that but needing to do something, I sprinted off and up the immediate flight of stairs, skipping every other step and hoping I wouldn't trip in my slightly too-big boots.

          I arrived breathless and sweating (from the winter coat of course) at the gate, gasping “No, we have to wait for my friends!” to an anxious flight attendant with braids wrapped around her head. “Where are your friends?” She questioned following my vague hand motion over my back with her eyes. No one. Alex and Mark were still not there. I gasped out that we had gone straight through customs but that the line moved too slowly. “We didn't even stop to use the bathroom!” I exclaimed, using the first excuse that seemed prevalent at the moment in my sleep-deprived state. Fortunately, after about a minute of nervous waiting, Alex and Mark came jogging up and we boarded the hour flight to Vienna with no further mishaps.

The misty foothills of Gaming

          Vienna was gray and rainy, but our spirits lifted when we spotted familiar faces and Baron green t-shirts by the baggage claim. We followed a TOR sister to the bus and began our 2 hour drive to Gaming. The scenery was a mix of greens and grays, interspersed with the occasional village, but mostly, as Alex put it, “it looked like we were still in Ohio.” Ohio became the last though on our minds, however, when we reached the outskirts of Gaming. A patchy gray mist cloaked the increasingly majestic foothills as the road wound into the tiny Austrian village. Tastefully painted houses with bright accent flower window boxes lined the road and up ahead we could see the spire of the Kirche Maria Thron (the Kartause Church). A flurry of excitement passed through the occupants of the bus as we glimpsed several children in dirndls and lederhosen preparing to greet us with yellow roses. Their older brothers and the RA staff made short work of our suitcases and helped distribute our International Franciscan IDs and room keys. Alex and I were paired in a cozy little room at the very top of the Kartause with a tiny tower-like window overlooking the courtyard. We oohed and ahhed over the wardrobe, elaborate door, and curving stone staircase outside before collapsing on our beds.

           That night we attended and tried desperately to stay awake through a beautiful mass and welcoming session, but managed to perk up briefly for an opening night social where we drank beer (from a special keg) and wine for the first time legally. As we made our way back along stone terraces and breathed deeply of the fresh mountain air, I realized what a wonderful semester lay ahead of us. This marked the end of our trip across the ocean but only the beginning of our semester in Europe.