While my Webster University students were doing "Man on the Street" interviews at the Donauinsel, I was snapping pics on the bridge.While Remi and I were walking this morning, we met up with Rupert the Farmer and his Jack Russell, Keeley. We walked along the path, while the dogs ran along beside us in the fields. After a few minutes, a bicycle came up the dirt path toward us, carrying Rupert's brother. The three of us made our way back toward Rupert's house, the two men debating everything from business to banks to politics to girls. I told them they were typical brothers. Rupert agreed. "We think the same way," he said. "But since he's my little brother, I'm always obliged to be the one who is right."
This is a fickle bovine. Some days I see him in the front yard, like this, but some days I don't see her at all. Wonder where she goes.
Sometimes I walk Remi on a path just outside of Kittsee, on the Austria/Slovakia border. A few of these signs are posted, which in Slovak read: "WARNING state border." I'm assuming they're left over from the Soviets, since they warn rather than welcome. I'm told the fields here were riddled with mines about 30 years ago, but now hold apricot orchards; and farmers tend crops of corn and wheat.
My journalism students at Webster University have to keep blogs as part of the class, so I guess it's only fair that I start keeping up mine again, too.
This class is made up of a small but scrappy group of journalists who will be starting and running Vienna Voice--what I believe to be Vienna's first English-language online journal--news and features for the ex-pat community.
Stories are busily being reported now--a feature on a new type of co-op work space, one on a controversial new gambling law, a quirky piece on the village of Tamsweg, and one on "Balkanstrasse;' another is about Lower Austria's expansive Roman exhibit, and finally, a look at what it takes to make it as a musician in Vienna.
Vienna Voice will also offer video, photo essays, audio clips, twitter feeds, free trips to Mars....
We'll be up and running shortly and I can't wait to post a link.
A few of those blogs, however, can be found now:
Abylay Akbayev, Gretchen Gatzke, Josipa Palac, Melinda Perez and Mina Nacheva
En route back from Munich, a friend of mine just called me from Branau, a pretty Austrian town near the border with Germany. He reported that he was standing outside of Hitler's birthplace, which is located right next door to a Thai Take-out.
Poetic justice.
The frozen pond outside a restaurant near Hainburg. The youngest kid appears to be about three, the oldest in his fifties. (FB viewers click "View Original Post" to see video)
A little known but delightful New Year's Eve tradition in Austria (as well as Germany) is to watch "Dinner For One," a brilliant but barely known British comedy sketch. As I recall, ORF (Austrian broadcasting company) plays it just before midnight. It has a place in the Guinness Book of World Records as being the most frequently repeated tv show of all time. Here it is, in English, with a brief introduction in German. Please enjoy. And Happy New Year.
The first time I went to Vietnam, it was to Hanoi, the north of the country and the Communist stronghold during the war. I was there during the 30th anniversary of the end of the "American War." CNN and BBC had extensive coverage, which was 100 percent blocked inside the country. Long periods of dead air.
On this most recent trip I was in Saigon. I was downtown one night and hopped on a "moto" (motorbike) taxi to take me back to my hotel. The driver asked where I was from, and I told him. He reached back and patted his hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry here," he said. "Americans are our friends."
.
He talked a lot during the ten minute ride. He said there was corruption everywhere in his government, and that the people were too afraid to do anything about it. He talked about China, and how he is worried about its power, and had hope that the US would remain a strong superpower.
I'm home again, having been hurtled at 36,000 feet for 14 hours, from Ho Chi Minh City to Vienna.
Whew.
One of the first things I did was go for a hike with Remi in the village of Hundsheim (Dog's Home).
Lots of hiking paths, pretty vistas and large meadows, where parachuters and gliders like to land.
And ... just in case you need to toss out an old pizza box or other paper goods while out awanderin' in the woods and fields, the Austrians strive to take care of all your recycling needs, wherever you are.
My handy interpreter/fixer/assistant, Nhan, who also is my "left arm" (she corrected me when I called her my right arm, noting that I'm left-handed, and therefore to refer to her as my right arm would be calling her useless), informed me of the following:
The Vietnamese believe in numbers. Each number is assigned a positive property--1 might be Love. 2 is Prosperity, 3 might be wisdom, etc. (Note that I'm assigning random properties--I don't know what each number represents).
So Nhan told me that when she got her cell phone number, she held out for a good one (apparently, 9s are very good).
The downside of this is that strangers randomly call her, checking to see if the cell phone number is assigned. And when they find out it is, they ask if she's willing to sell it to them.
The Rex Hotel is in the center of Ho Chi Minh City. It sits on the same block as the Park Hyatt, the Intercontinental and the Caravelle.
During the war, its rooftop garden was the gathering place each afternoon at five o'clock, when the military media men would give updates to reporters. The reporters would hear how most everything was going according to plan and the war was being won. The reporters came to call this spin show the Five O'Clock Follies.
Fast forward 30+years. The Rex is getting a much-needed facelift and apparently has hired a PR campaign to promote itself in any possible way. When I'm in Saigon--which is, on average, once a year for a few weeks at a time--I go to the Rex rooftop to relax poolside (the pool is open to the public). But this time, I walked into a gorgeously redone lobby. It looks beautiful--no longer the shabby Rex I had come to know. But in the elevator? An ad campaign that tells me Five O'Clock Folly has been reduced to a footnote:
On a menu at the Ganh restaurant in Ho Chi Minh City:
Oyster Porridge
Jellyfish Salad
Fish Head Soup
A few nights a week we've been having spectacular thunderstorms. Fat raindrops slamming down on the roof, wind banging on the windows, angry thunder. Soul-cleansing thunderstorms for me, major trauma for Remi.
Last night we had another one and Remi couldn't find any corner dark enough to hide in. She sat at the door of the garage and shook. I opened the door and she hustled to the car and shook. I opened the car door and she jumped in the back seat and buried herself under a coat I keep in there.
I left the car door and garage house door open (just in case) and went back upstairs to putz around.
But then, I mean, what the hell.
Why not.
I fetched my macbook, some breadsticks, and a half-full bottle of wine and went back down to the garage. I put the macbook on the dash, tuned it to Hulu, and climbed in the back next to covered up Remi, who trembled herself to sleep while I helped myself to wine and old Mary Tyler Moore shows.
So, to confirm, yes. I did spend Saturday night in the back seat of a car.
The race, such as it was, took place today. Teams of around 20 in each boat competed in 250 meter sprints throughout the day and some participants decked themselves out in full costumes. My plan was to go and take pics, maybe drink some beer and sit in the sun. But I got roped into paddling in the Danube.
Most people were pretty toned down, but some went all out...
Last Friday I went to meet friends at a wine tavern in Vienna. You have to park your car at the bottom of a pretty steep hill and then walk up. So I did this--was running late so I scurried up the hill, puffing and panting and sweating. When I got there, I didn't see any sign of my friends.
I called one of them, whose name is Uta. After some discussion as to where I was -- the Weingut Reisenberg-- and where she was--on a bicycle getting ready for a ride, it became clear that I had the wrong night for the soiree.
I ended up hanging out with two other friends, and together we ran into a mass of cyclists, including Uta. Every Friday night in the summer, Vienna hosts a night ride, which starts at 9:30 and ends at midnight.
Here's a quick video I took:
