Austria Journal 8- Vienna pt 1

St. Stephen's Gothic cathedral

 The day began bright and early with a quick shower and breakfast before boarding the university buses. It was a brisk morning, but at our travel meeting the night before, Mr. Pipp (the jolly student life director) had promised us sunshine for our first overnight trip with the school. The ride was long, a few hours, and we arrived in Vienna well-rested. Or, at least I did. I have the wonderful ability to sleep anywhere and everywhere, both a blessing and a curse really, as this extends but is not limited to class, Mass, on top of my school books, and well, you get the picture.

     Vienna, on first observation (thankfully an observation I slept through) appeared to be filled with somewhat scandalous lingerie adds. This of course, did not set quite the tone for our day that we had been hoping, but the sight of church spires and the opera house somewhat alleviated our initial feelings of distrust. Fortunately, the ads seemed to decrease within the central part of the city. 
     The bus dropped us off by the opera house, and we made our way to a Franciscan church containing the crypt of the entire Hapsburg family. In case you are, as was I, completely ignorant of that which is Hapsburg, they basically are/were the ruling family of the Ostro-Hungarian Empire. It is from this line of royalty that Empress Maria Teresa of Austria comes, as well as her daughter Marie Antoinette (perhaps you’ve heard of her?) This church, the burial spot of kings, also forms the end of the Hapsburg burial procession. There is a nice little tradition connected with it that when the procession arrives at the doors, an old friar will answer the knock and ask who it is. The attendant names the royal dead with all of his or her titles, to which the friar replies, “I don’t know him/her.” This process is repeated until the attendant finally says, “This is so-and-so, a poor sinner in need of God’s mercy.”  I’m paraphrasing. Then the friar replies “Come in and welcome,” and the royal body is placed below in the crypt.

          We had Mass in this tradition-filled spot with the bones of kings resting beneath us. After Mass, we opted not to pay to see the crypt, but I’ve heard the tombs are gorgeous, encrusted with jewels and such. Instead, we joined up with Mr. Pipps walking tour of the city (we had him in Salzburg and really enjoyed his sense of humor and jovial presence amongst all the unfamiliarity of a European city).

          As we learned through the tour and the rest of our stay there, Vienna is known for

Polish King Jan III Sobieski, who saved Vienna in 1683 from invading Muslims and discovered coffee all in the same day

Alex in front of the Hapsburg Palace

its culture, especially music. This was apparent in the many red coat-tailed, be-wigged Mozart men that harangued every poor, impressionable tourist that so much as glanced their way. These imposters, who probably couldn’t carry a tune themselves, waved tickets to classical Viennese concerts, emphasizing to the aforementioned tourists that to not attend such an event would be akin to playing the Viennese waltz in 4/4 timing, thereby causing Mozart to roll over in his grave and bringing shame upon all things cultured and good. Likewise, the architecture was refined and only slightly less overbearing, having to it a sort of dignity, brought about partly by Gothic influence, partly by the touch of time. Our tour made its way down the main shopping drag, past the grounds and buildings of the Hapsburg Palace (their winter residence), near St. Stephen’s Cathedral, a massive gothic structure whose spires have pointed heavenward for centuries.

          Our tour ended at an old pub for lunch. Descending to the basement, a large beer hall, and down another flight to the second basement and a room full of tables, we glimpsed stones even older than St. Stephen's. The cellars date back to the 12^th century, and it was here, beneath arches that had supported the groaning beer hall tables above for nine centuries, that we were served our first real Wiener schnitzel (the mensa had served us something like it, but that doesn’t really count). Along with that, we ate soup, vinegar-soaked potato salad, and delicious apple strudel. Mark didn’t like the Wiener schnitzel (big surprise), but I did.

slightly blurry picture of the ancient
 restaurant basement

          We checked into our hostels after lunch and were then on our own to explore the city for the night. The hostels weren’t as bad as I expected, and Alex and I shared with two of our friends, Mary Grace and Evelyn, so we were at least in good company. Honestly, we hardly stopped there long enough to tell if the place was clean or not before rushing off to discover the Viennese metro system and figure out how to get into the standing room section of the opera. Along the way, we did end up talking to one of the red-coated fellows—several of them in fact—but one in particular chatted with us for a while, somehow managed to compliment everyone except Mark, and got about as close as anyone could have gotten to convincing us to buy concert tickets. We didn’t, however, and soon were in the queue to purchase 4 euro tickets to a legit opera in the opera house in Vienna. Granted, they were standing room spots, so by the end, our backs and feet were killing us, but it was, nonetheless, an opera. La Traviata, to be exact. I had seen this in Dayton a few years back (I mostly just remember that I couldn’t stop coughing and that I sounded more likely to die than the tragic heroine), but the acting in this production far surpassed the other. The set, on the other hand, certainly did not. In fact, it was really weird and lame. Actually, I have yet to see a show with a set that really surpasses those of the Schuster Center.

Inside the Vienna Operhouse 

Alex, Me, and Evelyn after the opera!

          The opera set the tone for the night, in more ways than one. On the one hand, it was exciting and fancy and fun to go out at night, dressed up, to a big opera house and experience such a show; on the other hand, standing in such a constricted space for 2 ½ hours brought misery upon my back for the rest of the night and the following day. That wasn’t enough to ruin a fun night, though. We ate dinner at a little café in St. Stephansplatz, the three of us (Mark, Alex, and me) but met up with some other opera-going friends for a bit after. Later, after walking most of the group back to the hostels, Mark, Katrina, Courtney, Caitlin, and I went out again, but by then most things were closed and we just made a brief stop at McDonald's before dragging ourselves through the maze of metro stops back to our hostels.

          Now, as this is the first recording of overnight stays, it must be made clear that I have a deathly fear of bedbugs. The others make fun of me for it, but I will not sleep in a hostel bed without first examining every inch of it multiple times, including various “surprise checks” throughout the night…just trying to catch the bugs off their guard! That night, about halfway through the night, I dreamt a bedbug was biting my knee. I actually felt the itch! Gasping, I leapt out of bed, and rushed to the light of the bathroom where I discovered no bug, no bite…no, not even an itch. Nevertheless, I still made sure to doubly investigate the scene of the illusory crime. Sure enough, no bugs. Mary Grace enjoyed relating this story the next morning, however, dramatizing my gasp just a bit. I’ll admit, since there was not actually a bedbug involved, it was funny...to be continued.

Austria Journal 7- Book Mountain

The c

One Wednesday afternoon, after cleaning the Mensa after

lunch, Alex hurried me into sporty clothes and down to the Spar where several of our spelunking friends, Katrina, Caitlin, Courtney, Mark, Evelyn, and Rachel were waiting to make the trek up Book Mountain, another one of the mini-mountains that surrounds Gaming. This particular climb actually included a path (as opposed to our spelunking/cliff climbing adventure) and led to a cell tower and a clearing of trees where Franciscan students have carved their names and signed a book for years.

Random uprooted tree. It's absence made a huge bowl in the ground

The path began at a set of metal stairs in some random Gaminginian’s backyard and zigzagged through a series of stations of the cross up to a beautiful scenic overlook where an iron cross perched on a rock jutting out over the picturesque landscape below. We spent a good half hour taking dramatic pictures here, most of which have adorned our facebooks and spurred even mere facebook acquaintances to comment in awe of the sheer natural beauty of it all combined with the powerful symbol of the Cross.

From there we continued on and up through a forest that looked like something straight out of Lord of the Rings. I felt like a hobbit making my way through Fangorn Forest, or Lothlorien, where the trees and terrain made me feel my smallness and insignificance in the face of such long-established parts of creation. We eventually reached a point of some confusion where some of our group decided to climb up the mountainside rather than search for the continuation of the path. I was among the sensible few who preferred to never experience such a climb again, so Mark, Courtney, Caitlin, Rachel, and I backtracked until we discovered a narrow, winding way that climbed steeply upward. This path was even more beautiful than the first and led us through glades of lush green, ethereal beams of sun slanting across the path at perfect angles for really interesting pictures.

 

The last few minutes led us up a quite steep but always climbable way and finally to the clearing where several Franciscan students were employed carving initials and symbols into the already full trees, signing the book, and searching for fellow student’s entries from years gone past. Unfortunately, the book only dated from 2011 because someone had removed the old Franciscan book (Too bad! I would have liked to find Aunt Ali!). We all signed the book and found stones to carve our names into the trees. I carved mine and Andrew’s names into the well-marked bark of one such tree while half of our group went off to find the cell tower that everyone climbs to get a really good view of Gaming.

Mine is the orangeish looking heart

When I finally finished etching my mark into the tree, it was nearing dusk. I ran to the cell tower and climbed about half-way up before being completely overcome by the sheer height of it all. I’m a big wimp. Our more brave friends (Katrina, Mark, and Caitlin) made it all the way to the top and they exclaimed for hours over the beauty of it all. It almost made me wish I had followed their example, but I have yet to overcome this fear of heights enough to embark on such a daring feat.

In our excitement, we lost track of time and soon discovered that it was nearly dark. Not nearly nervous enough, we began the trek down, following the path and praying a rosary along the way. At one point we entered a denser area of the forest and had to depend on someone’s iphone light to find our way. We joined hands and formed a human chain, still praying, until we emerged back at the bottom where the iron cross overlooked the village. Tiny lights sparkled up beneath us and we took a few moments to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over it all before continuing on our way. At this point, someone had the idea of singing (probably me or Courtney) and we all joined in our favorite Les Mis and P&W songs. It turned our fear of the dark into fun and our tentative steps into confident ones and as we neared the bottom, I thought about how God shows us the bigger lessons of life through practical experiences. For instance, when we climbed the mountain to the caves, I learned that you just have to cling to what is concrete in life and keep climbing even through the unstable parts, keeping your eyes on your goal. On this hike, trusting God to guide us through the darkness, became the theme. There were parts of the forest so dark that all we could do was feel the person in front and behind us, but praying and knowing that God was there protecting us helped us to find our way out with the aid of just one tiny light to follow.

We finished off the night with Kebabs from the shop in town. They were so delicious after the exertion of another fun, full day in Gaming.

Austria Journal 6- Salzburg

Mozart's House

After sleeping through the Melk expedition on our first day here, Alex and I were determined not to make the same mistake for the second school outing: Salzburg. The trip was a one day affair, complete with mass, walking tour, and lunch paid for by the school, so we spent significant time the night before planning out all the things we wanted to do while in that ‘Sound of Music’ city.

I had been to Salzburg once before for a brief visit with my family at Christmas time, but the only memories that visit includes are a lot of images of walking through slush, a Native American street band, the lift up the fortress on the hill, and a story about a cow. It’s amazing what the human brain holds on to.

This trip proved distinctly different in that our day there was sunny and warm and much more action-packed. Following our arrival was the school-group portion of events: mass, tour, and lunch, which proved very helpful in getting an idea of the historical and spiritual significance of the city, not to mention helping us appreciate just how tasty German food is (Mark doesn’t really agree, so we’ve decided he has a strictly American palate).

After lunch, which was served in a huge hunting-lodge style hall on the second floor of a restaurant, we started out the self-planned part of our day with the trek up steeply inclined streets to the town fortress. We had learned in our tour that the fortress had never been taken by force and that the only time they had come close was when the defenders were slowly being starved out by an opposing army (I forget who, unfortunately). They were down to their last cow and things were looking desperate until someone devised the plan of promenading it along the battlements, then painting it a different color and repeating the procedure until the attacking soldiers were convinced there was no hope of ever starving out the fortress and gave up (this was the story I remembered from my previous visit).

The fortress

While climbing the hill to the fortress, it was somewhat hard to envision any army having the lung capacity to survive the charge into battle, let alone take the place, which made the stories of its impregnability seem very realistic. The fortress itself was a mish-mash of visitor-accesible spots, but it seemed that there must have been TONS that we weren’t allowed into, because what we saw was somewhat small and the overall structure was huge!

The Dom cathedral's gorgeous architecture and decor

We are the princesses of the castle!

 After ascending stone steps to one tower that was infested with a swarm of large gnat-like insects and where we hurriedly snapped a few squinty-eyed, closed-mouthed shots with the mountainous background, we made our way through a few museum displays on armor, excavations, and medieval torture. At this point, we were all ready to move on to our next planned stop in Salzburg: Nonnburg Abbey.

Maria Elena Von Trapp and Baby Mark Vontrapp
in the Salzburg fortress

Pious Mother Superior Alex turns away small,
petulant child ElenaVon Trapp

It was about this point that I began to discover my somewhat unexpected enjoyment and ease at reading maps. It turns out that my sense of direction isn’t altogether dreadful, either, so I gleefully led Alex and Mark along a stone path on the side of the fortress mountain that led to the abbey rumored to have been the place where the real Maria Von Trapp was a postulant. This rumor was disputed by some travel websites, and we never really found out if it was true, but we did enjoy the peaceful, darkness of the chapel, and after running into a few of our own TOR sisters who told us that the gate to the abbey was the same one where Mother Superior turns away the Von Trapp children in the movie when Maria is “in seclusion,” Alex and I made sure to snap a few pictures there too.

 Asthetic enjoyment at the Mirabell Gardens

Our unicorn went a little crazy...

The rest of the day included stops at the carefully laid out Mirabell gardens by the Mirabell palace, meeting up with some more of our friends, including Fr. Matt (who is just plain awesome, btw), and making our way to the Augustiner beer garden and brewery. This was an especially interesting experience, because not only did the garden seat close to 1000 people (and it was pretty full), nobody appeared to be obnoxiously intoxicated, despite the customary liter sized beer steins easily available for fairly cheap prices. The Europeans just take drinking differently. It truly seems like a cultural practice of fellowship for them, which makes it an enjoyable experience even to those who aren’t drinking (don’t worry, I was).

The Augustine Beer Garden

To order a beer, I had to go up and buy a ticket, then choose a half-liter or liter mug from the shelves and rinse it out in a fountain. Half liter was enough for me, especially when the beer guy generously filled me up, spilling a great deal of foam and beer in the process and thus ensuring that I got my money’s worth. There were several cheap food market stalls where I got sausage and a big pretzel and ta-da, a pretty typical German dinner. Yum.

A bridge full of love

We finished off the night by strolling along the river between tents set up to display a variety of wares (all overpriced) and buying some Mozart kugel: chocolate balls with several different layers of chocolate crème and marzipan inside, an Austrian thing (the Salzburg variety featuring pistachio flavored marzipan). The bus back was quiet as I wrote letters, looked at pictures, and talked about the day, although I heard one bus watched “Taken”…talk about a traumatic introduction to our stay in Europe. Altogether, it was quite the perfect first expedition, helping us look forward to many more to come.

Salzburg, ladies and gentlemen

Austria Journal 5- Man vs. Wild, Spelunking, and Other Misadventures

Thursday, August 29, 2013

The day began innocently enough: A blaring alarm and groggy awakening, a hurried breakfast and flurried few minutes of classroom searching. After my introductory lesson in German phonetics in which the professor taught us a lullaby in round, I walked to the St. Therese room for my first class with the Dr. Newton. Though Aquinas is not exactly the lightest reading, Dr. Newton’s classic British accent somehow makes me feel as if I’m in a Pride and Prejudice movie rather than thumbing through pages upon pages of the Summa, so even that more challenging class added very little stress to the day. Mass and lunch were likewise enjoyable and as I ascended the three stone staircases to my room, I contemplated going for a hike to round out another peaceful day in Gaming. But it was not to be.

Our expeditionary force

DYT meets Austrian Alps

          Halfway up the steps I ran into Alex who, upon hearing my plan also suggested we join a group of girls who wanted to explore some well-known, nearby caves. Two-thirds of the way up the stairs, we came upon said girls, who were already dressed in athletic apparel and obviously prepared for a fun, active afternoon. Spurred on by the promise of wine and chocolate which we planned to have when we arrived, Alex and I ran upstairs to change and then spent the next hour waiting for various members of an our group with slowly grew into a large expeditionary force. Once about fifteen or so people were assembled, we began walking through Gaming. We all knew the general direction and one girl even knew that it was supposed to be about a 45 minute hike, but otherwise, we were largely unprepared, simply enjoying the freedom and sunshine of the afternoon. Thankfully, before hitting the line of trees that marks the end of town and beginning of foothill/mini-mountains, we ran into another student who was just returning from the caves and agreed to show us the way. It was somewhat providential (or not) that he did, because the way there turned out to be one of the most difficult, terrifying experiences I have ever endured. No. I’m not being dramatic.

          Mickey (our guide) led us through some trails which led into the woods and quickly began climbing upwards. As people began to breathe heavily, he laughed and said that we weren’t even a third of the way there yet. At this point, he also asked if we wanted to take the more direct route straight up the mountain or the winding path that took an hour and a half. We all chose the more direct path, believing it would take only 45 minutes. That was our first mistake.

          The second was to disbelieve Mickey’s dire warnings and mutterings, which as we continued to climb up increasingly steep hiking trails, seemed not only to multiply in number but also absurdity. In the superior tone of one who has undergone much and wants you to know it, he kept saying things like, “You think this bad? Just wait. We aren’t even close to the hard parts yet.”  At one point, while scrambling over a large pile of sticks on a 45degree incline, I finally snapped, “Oh come on, how much harder could it get?”  I questioned sarcastically. Whether that was the third mistake or merely an ironic prelude to what was yet to come, I’m not entirely sure, but in retrospect, I’m impressed that Mickey didn’t turn on me then and there and wring my ignorant neck for such a foolish question. The first third of the hike was just that, a hike. A rigorous hike with slippery stones and a bit of a drop next to the path, but compared with what came next, it honestly comes close to catching butterflies in a sunny pasture.

My fear of heights shows as we scale the mountain

          Then came the cliffs. When I say cliffs, I don’t mean exactly like the cliffs of Mohr or Dover or anything quiet that impressive. The main differences between those and these lay in the fact that these cliffs did not go below a 90degree angle and that somehow, miraculously, they had substantial amounts of dirt, loam, trees, and rocks lining their floor. The word floor, doesn’t quite cut it, however, as these cliffs were really more like walls that Mickey expected us to scale as easily as a fly, and that’s really what I felt like: a fly, on the wall, fearing for my life as a fly might fear a human with a flyswatter. Except, we humans were the ones at the mercy of the bugs, which we quickly discovered were quite plentiful. Spiders, ticks, fire ants, grasshoppers, and miscellaneous unnamed crawling things, all could be seen scuttling off into the grass and tree roots as we dug our nails into their mossy homes. We couldn’t just let go if a large spider appeared quite suddenly in front of an outstretched hand either, not unless we wanted to fall backwards down the side of a miniature alp, anyway. Trying to ignore the lower forms of life surrounding us, I focused instead on the spiritual and metaphorical significance of the climb. Somehow the thought that this was just like one’s life on a grand scale: an ascent to the glory of the peaks, through trial and muck and filth, up dangerous incline, was comforting only until I registered that at any moment both metaphorical and literal ascent could be cut short in a dramatic but definite tumble downwards. At that point, I stopped thinking of lofty matters and reverted to every part of me that felt even remotely like a mountain goat.

          Unfortunately, I share little with these hardy creatures, and at this inconvenient time, made the discovery that I am completely terrified of heights. As we crawled higher and higher up what now seemed to be sheer cliff, all I could do was pray and test footholds, grasp roots with shaking hands and thank God for fingernails to dig into the earth. After about an hour and a half, we finally reached our destination: a hole disappearing into the earth between two large boulders. Gone was the dream of cheerfully sipping wine and eating milka in a spacious underground cavern. No, this was spelunking. Legit spelunking.

Entering into the abyss

          Still, after enduring the climb of a lifetime, I was not about to chicken out of what could be my one chance to do something this adventurous. I pulled out my tiny green flashlight (providentially stolen from Mei Mei’s backback zipper the day I left home) and entered the abyss. At first it was merely a steep climb downwards between rocks. Alex quickly decided to go back up to the sunlight, a decision I somewhat envied as we descended deeper and deeper into the blackness. After about 5 minutes of this, we all began to slide uncontrollably down the slope of loose rock shards, dislodging some along the way. One such stone bounced down from above and slammed into my lower back, causing me to shout angrily over my shoulder (don’t worry, I apologized later and we all laugh about it now). We continued down until we reached the point where you have to go headfirst on your chest in order to fit. The space between the “ceiling” and the cave bottom was less than a foot and the slope down into the darkness appeared nothing less than terrifying. At this point, I was all for making the 10 people behind me climb back up so I could get out, but Mark promised that the space immediately widened, convincing me to cautiously inch forward on my stomach into the tight space.

The cavern!

          Sure enough, after a few moments of feeling like I was trying to hide under my childhood bed in the dark, I emerged into the cavern below. It too sloped downward, but the ceiling was vaulted and graffiti of past adventurers lined the walls. We explored the room, finding two tiny passages that didn’t seem particularly safe and then decided it was time to begin the trek back. Pushing through the tight spot against gravity was a little harder than the way down, but the promise of light ahead aided our efforts and soon we were emerging, muddy, numb, and half blind into the fading sunlight. We decided to take the actual path downwards, a wise choice which only took about 45 minutes anyway (apparently Mickey mixed up the times?), but the adventure couldn’t end too abruptly, and being covered in mud anyway, we decided to do the traditional Franciscan creek jump across the road from the Kartause. The water was frigid and refreshing and the jump exhilarating (though I don’t think I would do it again.)Finally, the evening ended with Dunkel beer and Kartause burgers in the Keller (the hotel restaurant): a perfect ending to a slightly traumatic, mostly fabulous adventure of a lifetime.

Creek jumping finishes off a day of adventures

          

Austria Journal 3 and 4- Milka and Singing, oh how I love thee.

Tuesday and Wednesday, August 28-29

Two days filled with orientation meetings hardly make good blogging material. I could write for pages and pages about the University policies on alcohol, traveling, laundry...you name it, but unfortunately the administration has already done that in something called the University Handbook. Not only have I read the handbook, but I've also spent most of the past two days listening to it be read aloud and explained in great detail.The highlights of these past few days, however, can be found in a few key events and adventures and moments that were unplanned but certainly set the tone for this dreamlike state of being I'll refer to from now on as The Gaming Haze.

       The Gaming Haze: The dreamlike state of being each Franciscan Student experiences upon arrival at the Kartause in Gaming, Austria. Side effects may include: excessive chocolate consumption, sudden uncontrolled bursts of laughter, silly grins, and commonly heard mutterings of, "This can't be real life" and "ahhhh."

In the interest of keeping this post on topic, structured, and succinct (because I have to wake up for classes in less than 8 hours), I have decided to organize the occurrences of the past few days into 5 bullet points, ranging from 5=fabulous to 1=dropdeadfantabulousx25. You will excuse my cliche terms as such are the units of measurement in the Gaming Haze. 

5. Milka chocolate, the Mensa (Austrian Caf) donuts, the bakery pastries and all sweet things of great goodness that warm my heart gladden my stomach. The first two days we were here, the Mensa did not have anything sweet. Even the yogurt was sour (or so I heard), so by day 3, I was pretty desperate for something, anything to contrast the copious amounts of salty type foods we had been eating. I broke down and asked Alex and Mark to accompany me to the nearby SPAR (local grocery store), where I quickly discovered a buy 2 Milka bars get one free deal, and .40 bars of cheap chocolate with Hazelnuts, which incidentally, I almost prefer to the namebrand stuff. I bought 5 bars of chocolate for under $5, and we're talking REALLY good chocolate here. Unfortunately, since that time and the discovery of the bakery and Mensa donuts, I have consumed more sweets than I care to reveal and have since begun to question the goodness of Milka chocolate for moral and physical health reasons, particularly in the area of gluttony. For the above reasons, I felt that Milka, donuts, and pastries deserved a spot on the list but ranked them a mere 5 for the unfortunate toll they are likely to have on my physique. 

4. Making friends, particularly international ones. Everyone here, being under aforesaid Gaming Haze is of the attitude that you can talk to pretty much anyone and introduce yourself to everyone. This means that people you would often see on main campus but never meet just walk up to you and say hi and somehow it's not awkward. I think this is due to the spirit of camaraderie stimulated by the fact that we all traveled halfway across the globe to reach this place, that we are all Franciscan students in a foreign place so we need to band together, and that there are less than 200 of us total, which minimizes the choices for friendships. The song "We're all in This Together" from High School Musical would be an appropriate theme song if you could somehow add in lederhosen, yodeling, and if we weren't all in college and beyond such trivial things as "High School Musical". But I digress. One especially important aspect of this friendship making fest is the LCI students. LCI stands for Language and Catechetical Institute, a program in place for students from other European (and asian!) countries to join us here to learn English and Catholicism in a wonderful environment. 

Two of the LCI students I met today are Chung (probably totally misspelled) from China and Martin from Slovakia. Chung was at the other end of the table at dinner tonight, but Martin sat next to me, and it was fascinating talking with him for a short time (he was really quiet and didn't volunteer any information beyond what I asked) about Slovakia. 3 of my Mom's grandparents are Slovakian, which makes me 3/8 Slovakian, a fact I'm pretty proud of, because Slovaks are just cool. It turns out Martin knew of Haluski and perogies  and told me about the terrain and capital city, and his own hometown, which is the 2nd biggest city in Slovakia. Unfortunately, I couldn't understand what he called it, partly because it's loud in the Mensa, partly because he's 100% Slovak and I'm not. Also, he looked like a mix between my great grandpa, my grandpa, and my uncle. Altogether a cool experience.

3. The stations of the cross trail up the foothills that is slightly dangerous and majorly beautiful. The paintings could practically be in an art museum and instead they're under little roofed shelters in the open air on the side of a cliff. The "path" is criss-crossed by slippery rockbeds and gnarled tree roots which make things just scary enough to be thrilling. Alex, Mark, and I explored the first 3 stations but had to make our way back because it was getting dark and we all had meetings for ministry stuff, but we plan to go back asap. More on this to come in our Vlog if we ever figure out the video software to edit the stuff we've filmed. If someone wants to send me a mac complete with imovie, it would be greatly appreciated. I'll pay you back in laughs (from the videos) and prayers (said in a monastery from the 1200s!).

2. The opportunities available here. Two major mission trip options to Lourdes and a Romanian orphanage, Poland, Rome, and Assisi pilgrimages, learning pretty much any language you want, tons of local ministries, mass every day,adoration all the time, praise and worship weekly, and audience with the pope, 3 day weekends and two huge breaks to travel all over europe, swop jobs to pay for some of it, beauty surrounding me EVERYWHERE, and the food. Oh yes. The food. Excuse me while I wipe a bit of drool of my keyboard. I think you get the picture. From edible to historical to spiritual, the opportunities to experience and grow are mind blowing. I'm praying I have the time to manage everything I want to do while I'm here. :)

1. MUSIC MINISTRY!!!

Having auditioned my freshman fall semester on main campus and not made it in, I was reluctant to try out again, but something about this place made me want to do it. Maybe it was the smaller numbers and consequent lower level competition, maybe it was confidence from the voice lessons I took over the summer, maybe it was really just God stirring something special in my heart-- a calling to minister in a way for which I was not ready my freshman year (not that I feel much more ready now). Whatever the reason, I decided, somewhat nervously, to audition yesterday night. It went fairly well, but I worried far into the night about it (auditions in general mess with my head). I tried to place it in God's hands. I tried to feel like it would be the best for me whatever He chose, but it's hard to feel that way, when you care about something. Well, anyway, this time God blessed me with far beyond what I'd been dreaming (actually, doesn't He always seem to do that in the end?) When I checked the list this morning, I discovered, to my complete surprise, that I had been selected music lead of the acapella group to sing for Thursday's mass. I was humbled, honestly I was, but it wasn't until Sister Sarah Rose (in charge of music) explained all the duties involved and the sheer responsibility of choosing music and organizing the team and singing lead itself that I was struck by just what a huge honor this was. I honestly don't know where to start, but apparently God has some great plans for this adventure. I put this as number one not only because it was the biggest way in which I felt His love these past few days, but also because I feel like it best characterizes the kinds of incredible things that are happening in my life right now in Gaming Austria.

And with that being said and this post keeping me far past my bedtime, I will bid you Guten Abend. Goodnight :) One of the only words I know...I'm sure that will be helpful in my 8am Elementary German class tomorrow.

Austria Journal #2-Gaming and Settling In

Monday, August 26, 2013

The Kartause from the street

      Having been strictly warned last night to be punctual for the buses to Melk (the nearby Benedictine Monastary) this morning, Alex and I set an early alarm in order to have plenty of time to ready ourselves for our first European excursion. At 5:45am, I awoke and anxiously checked the time on my computer (life is hard without a phone) only to realize that we had nearly 2 more hours of sleep. When Alex groggily awakened me later on, however, we realized that we had accidentally forgotten to switch our clock to Austrian time and therefore set the alarm for 6 hours later than planned. Since we had already missed the bus, we went back to bed for another hour or so and woke up in time to go to noon mass with the Kartause families (the families of the Kartause professors). This was fairly awkward, since we were the only students there, but we got to see the quaint little adoration chapel off the main church and enjoyed a small reverent mass . Afterwards we decided to explore the town and find a grocery store. It didn’t take us long in such a little village to locate SPAR where we found fresh bread, cheese, liverwurst, fruit, and wine for very reasonable prices (for example, the wine was only 3.49).

A pretty village house

The Kartause from behind the wall 

          Since we had been cheated out of our tour of Melk, we meandered through the streets until we reached Gaming’s only church. Inside we discovered that even small village churches in Austria are more gorgeous and ornate than 95% of American churches. I wanted to take pictures but felt irreverent, so I don’t have visible proof of the exquisite architecture. I’ll have to work up the courage to discreetly snap a few shots from the back some day. As we made our way back through Gaming to the Kartause, Alex and I stumbled across a wooded path that leads up the mountains to a field where we ate our European lunch near a large stone wall just above the Kartause. The view was incredible and gray skies did little to dampen the breathtaking beauty of rolling green and dark tree-covered hillsides. The romance of the experience sort of fulfilled a dream of mine and left a slight ache. Too much beauty always does that to me; My mortal existence can’t handle it, I guess.

The hillside where we ate lunch

          

Alex enjoying our picturesque lunch

That afternoon, when the rest of the students returned, we had our rooms blessed, ate dinner, went running, and attended an informational session on alcohol and ministry to mom’s, a babysitting ministry for the Kartause families. Alex and I also started an Austrian Vlog (video blog), so more on that to come!

Experimentation with my new camera

          

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.