Things That Do Not Mean The Same Thing

There has been lots going on lately-- mostly getting ready to travel to France and Spain during our break that begins Saturday-- but no big noteworthy stories.  (All seems pale in comparison to the ball!)  Not wanting to abandon my loyal readers, of course, I thought I would present you with the first few entries in an ever-growing list.

Things That Do Not Mean The Same Thing

Breaking the Language Barrier, One Pepperoncini At A Time

1. "Pfefferoni" does not mean the same thing as "Pepperoni."

Nope.  Nope nope nope, it doesn't mean "pepperoni" even a little bit.  We learned this the hard way, naturally.  Terribly famished and equally thrilled to find a very cheap, very close pizzeria right down the street from our apartment, one night we decided to order a giant pepperoni and mushroom pizza.  We got a great kick out of sounding like we had both a speech impediment (just try saying "pfefferoni!") and an affinity for old pizza (the mushroom pizza is called "Pizza Funghi!").  Imagine our great surprise when instead of this: 

we got a pizza full of these:

Mmmmmm, pepperoncinis.  It was a taste explosion.  And by taste explosion, I mean that I suffered a little bit.  But it was a good laugh, and now we know better.  We've also discovered that one must order a Pizza Salami to get pepperoni and a Pizza Paprika to get bell peppers.  Furthermore, when the waiter says "Do you want me to take care of that?" he doesn't mean "Do you want me to wrap that up for you?", rather, "Do you want me to feed that to the kitchen workers?"

2. "Ich bin heiß"does not mean the same thing as "Mir ist heiß."

I mean, technically they do.  "Ich bin heiß" means "I am hot."  "Mir ist heiß" means "It's hot to me."  Same thing, right?  Unfortunately, "Ich bin heiß" is pretty taboo in normal conversations.  Far from indicating body temperature, it doesn't even mean "I think I'm a sexy mama."  Nope. It's reserved from those very special times at which you want to let someone know that you're feeling exceptionally frisky (!).

I don't really know what's up with these temperature-related words, though.  You can't say "Ich bin warm" either, even if you're feeling warm... unless you feel like hitting on another person of the same gender.  And if you say "Ich mache dich kalt" ("I'll make you cold") you're threatening to murder someone!

3. "I love dogs" does not mean the same thing as "I love other furry animals."

Let me elaborate.  Dogs are welcomed guests in many cafes, bakeries, shops, train stations, et cetera.  The Viennese are very fond of this canine companionship and take their pups pretty much everywhere.

However, due to the weather, the Viennese also stay pretty bundled up during the winter.  For some, this means a cozy fleece or a giant hand-knit scarf or one of those puffy jackets.  For others, however, it means a couple of good old-fashioned skinned animals.  Mmmmm.  

Seriously, though, floor-length fur coats and matching hats are pretty much the uniform for any rich Wiener over the age of forty.  It doesn't really bother me that much, but it does kind of look funny when someone dressed head-to-toe in fur is toting around her little chihuahua in her purse.  

It's an interesting paradox.  One, I've found, best mulled over when viewing the following picture:

Hehehe.

I'm Actually A Princess

Disclaimer: Times New Roman is not even close to capable of expressing the amount of joy that is still seeping from every pore in my body, despite that I got fewer than three hours of sleep last night/had to take a German test today that would make even Lawrence Welk cry/think I have contracted consumption.  I will try my very best to describe the singular most fabulous thing that has ever happened to me, but I don't know how successful I will be.  Especially because I'm already exhibiting great linguistic ridiculousness, and I'm only in the first paragraph of this post.  Like the phrase "a test that would make even Lawrence Welk cry."  What does that even mean?  I am obviously still a little addled in the brain from so much excitement.

I digress.  Anyway, as a point of reference, January and February are the months for "ball season" in Vienna.  There are lots and lots of balls open to the public, from fancy balls like the Opera Ball (which is broadcasted live cause it's so darn fancy and where, we just found out, a private box costs 17,000 € !) to balls hosted by local charities or organizations.  Seeing as balls involve (1) dresses, (2) dancing, (3) attractive European men in tailcoats, my heart was of course set on attending at least one during the semester.

It just so happens that my charming roommates felt the same way, so we asked around and decided to buy tickets to the the Ball der Wiener Philharmoniker.  (That's the Vienna Philharmonic Ball for all you English-sprechers out there.  You know I just like typing "Wiener.")  It's a little more expensive than some, but the Wiener Philharmonik is stinking playing, and plus we'd heard that the dance hall was beautiful, so we thought it would probably be worth it.  So we got ready and, in our gowns and heels, oh-so-inconspicuously hopped on the trusty U-Bahn like the poor college students that we are.  

Several blocks, one Straßenbahn stop, two U-Bahn stations, and several more blocks later, we had finally arrived.  So it turns out I would have paid TWO GAZILLION EUROS to go.  

The Musikverein, which is where the ball took place, is old and gold and carved and sparkling and marbled and red-carpeted and chandeliered, and it has angels painted on the ceiling and little cherubim heads sticking out of all sorts of nooks and crannies in the most charming way.  I guess they thought this wasn't fabulous enough for the ball, so they decided to make hundreds of bouquets of giant pink lilies,  and then drape every balcony with long green garlands just absolutely dripping with yellow and pink roses.  I have never seen anything more majestic in my entire life.  

In the very middle of the hall is the dance floor, with a raised stage on one side that housed the Wiener Philharmonik as well as a wonderful jazz band, and also a line of chairs for Very Important Wieners like the Vice Chancellor and the Minister of Something and so on and so forth.  Around that is a raised section of tables where people can sip wine and comment on the copious amounts of lime-green ostrich feathers on Secretary Umlaut's wife's ballgown.  Above that are two more balconies that allow for a great birds-eye view of all the waltzers down below.  

Just being able to look at the dresses was well worth the ticket price.  If there is one thing European women don't know how to do, it's how to be inconspicuous.  The fake eyelashes abounded.  The updos defied gravity.  (So did the old-lady cleavage, but that's a story for another day.  Yikes!)  The diamonds and pearls and jewels weighed down earlobes and wrapped around necks eighty times and covered every finger and wrist.  There were slits up to here and hoop skirts out to there and dresses in every color of the rainbow (and definitely a few colors not found in nature).  Ostrich feathers, rhinestones, tulle, sequins, flowers, and the occasional dead animal were fair game for dresses, shoes, hairdos, and purses.  In-cred-i-ble.  

For the first hour or so of the ball, we just sat up on one of the balconies, totally transfixed by the beautiful, graceful waltzers below.  Apparently the Viennese exit the womb knowing how to waltz, so they've had much more practice than we have and just look absolutely stunning doing it in large groups.  See for yourself:

The orchestra was great and played all sorts of waltzes and cha-chas and foxtrots and polkas and tangos.  And somehow, everyone was good at dancing all of these.  We were totally in awe.  All of a sudden, the conductor made an unintelligible (but certainly enthusiastic) announcement in German, and the crowd went wild.  The pandemonium that followed I can really only describe as the Cha Cha Slide, Vienna-Waltz-Style:

And then, just when we thought things couldn't get any crazier, everyone started inexplicably run-dancing in a giant circle around the dance floor.  

At this point, we obviously couldn't let the Wieners have any more fun without us, so we found our way to the dance floor and into the arms of various charming dancers all night long.  I would love to tell you that I simply melted into the tender but sure grip embrace of a charming Austrian prince, but, truth be told, about 85% of the people I danced with at least twice my age, and about 40% were probably closer to three times it.  Not that I'm complaining.  You know how I feel about older men.  

The five of us made friends with Johannes and Matthew, who, besides being excellent dancers, are bona fide young Austrians and therefore have no choice but to be our best friends for the rest of the semester.  I also danced with a wonderful man who works for the opera and sang along to the songs and taught me how to polka.  And then I danced with a charming (but kind of sweating a lot) man who spun me in so many circles I though I was going to ralph.  And then I danced with an adorable man who, as the music started, said "I sink dees is a tango.  I don't know how to tango.  Ve shall improfise."  And improfise we did, as I smiled apologetically to the several dozen couples we plowed down in our attempt to make our way across the dance floor.   

But the very best dance partner of all was Franz, who is a very kindred spirit and probably the love of my life.  Before you get excited, let me first say that Franz is at least seventy years old and has grandchildren.  But Franz is also a charmer and a stellar dancer.  When my friends and I had finally made our way downstairs and I was standing at the edge of the dance floor watching, I moved aside to let an old man in his military dress uniform walk by.  But instead of going up the stairs, he held out his hand and said, "Möchten Sie tanzen?"  Um, YES I want to tanzen!  

Once I had recovered from the pure thrill of, oh, you know, WALTZING at a BALL in VIENNA with a MILITARY MAN with the VIENNA PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA playing the BLUE DANUBE, I tried to make conversation with Franz.  "I speak terrible German," I said in terrible German.  "I speak terrible English," he said in terrible English.  And then we laughed and continued waltzing and it was absolutely nothing less than wunderbar.  

I really think that it was probably the best night/morning (the ball lasted until 5-- of course we stayed the whole time) of my entire life.  There are so many more little things that I want to talk about, like the fact that everyone had really nice shoes, and that this really cute boy danced with his mom all night, and that there was a jazz singer, and that even old people lasted until 5 a.m., and that I have never seen such a concentration of white-tie-wearing, fabulous-European-cologne-wearing, suave European men anywhere, and that the orchestra played an arrangement of the YMCA and Franz didn't know what it was.  But I suppose I've already said an awful lot, and if you stuck with it till the end, you're a real trooper.  

Socially Responsible Blogging

Why hello there, friends and family. Last night, I experienced Barack Obama's inauguration from abroad! It was very interesting! Pro-American sentiment seems to be on the rise with this new change in leadership! I wonder if the new President can live up to the high expectations Europeans have for him!

 

Now that I've fulfilled my requirement as a young responsible American voter abroad, I would like to tell you the rest of the story. Not only was I in Vienna when I watched Obama take the oath of office, I was actually on a OBAMAMANIA PARTY BOAT in the Danube when I watched such an event. An Obamamania Party Boat full of American hippies. Who were, generally, rather drunk. (On a school night!) And eager to dance. And sing. And shout creative variations on "Obamaaaaaaa!" and "Yes we CAN!" sporadically throughout the night.

I was obviously right at home.

And just when I thought things couldn't get any better, this singer from Oklahoma (!) takes the stage and starts clapping his hands to the beat. I casually FREAKED OUT when I realized that he was about to perform Michael Jackson's "Man in the Mirror," which, as some of you may know, can be accurately described as my jam. Needless to say, the frenzied joy that followed was made manifest in a giant boat-wide sing-along/dance-party-palooza.

The following video is cinematically mediocre at best, but it's hard to film with a steady hand when you are bursting with pure, unbridled bliss.

Stephansdom

I went to Mass here this morning! I am not really sure what else one is supposed to say about going to church in a very old cathedral. It was solemn and majestic and a little cold and everything was very, very old and beautiful.

I am really lucky because I get off the U-Bahn at Stephansplatz every morning for school, so I get to walk by the cathedral almost every day. It's under construction right now, but there are still always a million people there craning their necks up and taking pictures of it.

Since it is such a tourist spot, there are always street performers and people selling things there. There are also these wonderful/ridiculous Mozart impersonators who hand out concert fliers every day. They are weird, though mostly harmless; nevertheless, we have been warned to avoid eye contact and not to answer any of their questions. I had been doing such a good job...

This is when my story takes a quick detour. Maybe everyone already knows this because they know Vienna is a big city, and maybe I am just displaying my (charming) Midwestern naivete, but I was really disappointed to find that no one smiles here. No one! In fact, we were told not to smile at large gaggles of young, adorable men at the risk of presenting ourselves as a little too interesting in... "making friends." Needless to say, for the girl who will say hi to just about anyone and even apologizes when she bumps into trash cans, this anti-smiling thing has been quite the exercise in restraint.

Anyway, I had been making great strides in perfecting my icy-cool and oh-so-bored Euro Stare this week. In fact, I even had the please-move-your-picture-taking-touristy-self-so-I-can-continue-to-strut-my-skinny-jeaned-and-leather-booted-self-to-school-like-a-pro down pat. You would have been impressed.

But back to my story. I was so good at this new 'tude (okay, fine. I was actually so very late to class, but that's not important) that I found myself totally able to brush past the Mozart impersonators without so much as a flinch on Friday morning. I kept my eyes fixed and kept strutting as Mozart #8 tried out his various languages. "Sprechen Sie Deutsch? What language do you speak? Are you from England, or U.S.A.? S'il vous plaît? Oh, you're not going to talk, are you?" He made giant puppydog eyes and stretched out his hands.

And then I cracked. I had to smile! An old man with tights, a cape, and a powdered wig was trying--desperately-- to guilt me into taking his dumb flier in the middle of Stephansplatz, Vienna, Austria. I don't care who you are, that's funny. "Sorry!" I said. "I'm going to be late!"

I pretty much forgot about the incident until I was on my way home much later that evening. As I was crossing Stephansplatz again, dodging Asian tourists and those terrifying "painted statues" right and left, I heard a familiar voice. "You again!" It was, of course, Mozart #8.

Now a normal person would probably just keep walking, and maybe even an exceptionally nice normal person would give a small smile or say "Hello there" and go on his or her merry way. You may not have realized this yet (ha), but I am not a normal person, or even an exceptionally nice normal person. Rather, I seem to be affected by an unhealthy amount of social guilt and an inordinate desire to be friends with people.

Therefore, I decided I needed to not only (1) say hello, but also to (2) approach Mozart #8, (3) apologize for being so aloof that morning, (4) ask him how his day was going, (5) discuss the deliciousness of hazelnut spread, and (6) exchange life stories. Seriously. Turns out he's been to Kansas, likes Midwesterners, and likes his job because he gets to go to free concerts and be outside a lot. Who knew?

I really wanted to end this post with a great quote or something really insightful on the nature of city life or the mysteriousness of human connection, but I'm drawing a blank. Sorry. How about one last look at Stephansplatz?

Meine Wohnung

I live in an apartment with eleven other girls.  In the red-light district.  In Vienna.

Never thought I'd say any of those.  But now they're all true!  I live in the most wonderful apartment building in the fifteenth district, right off of Mariahilferstraße, for all you Wieners out there.  While it's true that we have quite the collection of ladies of the night, it's actually one of the safer parts of Vienna.  So don't worry, Mom.

  

To get up to my apartment, there is a whole obstacle course that involves keys and buzzers and latches and trap doors and, Gott in HIMMEL, four flights of magical winding stairs.  I always feel very accomplished (read: I am usually wheezing) when I finally get home.

It's much easier for you guys to look than it is for me to describe, so here's a video of the upstairs part of the apartment, which I share with Sue, Nikki, and Ellen.

There's a downstairs of our apartment, too, which is where Nina (our adorable German R.A.) and Emily live, plus six other girls from our program.  It's a huuuuge place with plenty of room, so it's not as crazy as I thought it might be to live with so many other people.

My roommates are really wonderful, though.  Here they are: Nikki, Emily, Sue, and Ellen.

Sue and Ellen go to Penn State and Emily goes to Whitman, and all of them love to dance, sing loudly, tell really cheesey jokes, giggle about Helmut, and eat Nutella to excess.  

On Monday night, Nikki said, "Hey!  We should have a chocolate-and-wine night sometime."  We all agreed wholeheartedly, finished up our German homework, and went to bed.  The next day after classes were over, every single one of us, independently, returned to the apartment with a bottle of wine in one hand and copious amounts of European chocolate in the other.  

Due to these overlapping interests, we are quite compatible; however, seeing that we only enable/encourage one another's inevitable spiral towards obesity (or at least terrible cavities), we're probably a little bit bad for each other.  But what can you do?  I'm stuck.  

I leave you with a parting shot of a typical Viennese Tuesday night.  I spy, with my little eye...

1. Four dancing girls

2. A 2€ bottle of wine from Penny-Markt

3. An opened jar of Nutella

4. At least three different kinds of chocolate

5. One computer, probably playing the "All My Single Ladies" music video

6. Abandoned German homework

Quick Helmut Update Not That I Am Obsessed Because That Would Be Ridiculous

So the other day, we were really excited to discover Penny-Markt, a quite cheap alternative to other grocery stores.  Penny-Markt sells 2€ bottles of wine, 69-cent loaves of bread, and knock-off Nutella that is like 3€ cheaper than the normal stuff.  (Side note: please still love me when I come home to you 200 pounds heavier.  Thanks)

Apparently, Penny-Markt also sells this ginger-ale-y stuff called Tiroler Alm.  

Apparently, Tiroler Alm is one of Helmut's clients.  Please see pictoral evidence below.

AAAAAAAAH

Don't Go Anywhere Without Your Helmut

WARNING: On a scale of 1 to ridiculous, this post is about to be a 58.  I'm just sayin.  The Euro-cool attitude remains unadopted.    

So.  IES has a great staff full of people whose job it is to help us get settled here in Vienna.  They do a great job.  Like Helmut, for example.  Who exactly is Helmut?  

Let's ask the IES Web site: 

Helmut Summersberger, Student Services Coordinator/ Sportcoordinator, Austrian citizen, native Viennese (ein echter Wiener), will be there to help you find your way while studying and living in Vienna. During summers he is Co-director at an International Summerschool teaching German, English and French for teens from all around the world. Helmut is the central contact at the center for matters related to extracurricular activities, sports, student life, health and safety. His main goal: To get students connected with locals!

Okay.  Fair enough.  Let's ask Whitney on her first day of orientation:

"Yeah, he's pretty dang cute."

Let's ask Whitney + roommates on the three days that follow:

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Helmuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut!"

Needless to say, we were all waiting for our first Austrian crush, and he was practically delivered at our feet.  Helmut has blonde tousled surfer-hair, tan skin, a chiseled jawline (um okay and chiseled abs), an adorable accent, and a collection of really adorable sweaters.  

He is also a wee bit older than me.  As in, he's turning 37 on Monday.  But really, who's counting?

Just kidding again, Mom.  

Anyway.  So we all have a mutual crush on said IES employee, no big deal, we just giggle a little bit every time we see him, end of story, right?  Well, as it turns out, Helmut's position as Student Services Coordinator is not the only job on his resumé.  

That's right.  We just happened upon his online portfolio (not that we were stalking him, because that would be creepy.  Or something like that) and discovered that the one and only Helmut used to be A MALE MODEL AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

It is obviously in everyone's best interest to direct you to his portfolio here.  You're welcome.  

And yes, you can visit for Spring Break.  

An Actual Blog Post for my Loyal Readers

(Sorry the last two were so crummy.  You deserve better.)

I'll spare you all of the gruesome details of getting from Tulsa to my hostel in Vienna, but rest assured it's a grrrreat story.  One highlight involves falling asleep during every possible meal on three different flights (granted, airline food isn't gourmet, but a girl needs to eat!). I just gnawed on my neighbor's arm for a little while until I could buy some bizarre cream-cheese-and-weird sandwich in London.  

TU Joe and I got to Vienna on the same night, so it was good to be able to buddy up in our wild goose chase for the hostel.  I'm sure we looked totally cool and Euro as we stopped on the street with our seven collective bags (mine, of course, being neon orange) (and, yes, Joe packed more than me) (way more) every five minutes to catch our breath and unfold our 6' x 6' map of Vienna to make sure we were on the right track.  We finally found it, though, and TU Nikki and TU Hugh were already there.  We celebrated with kebaps and beers and it was all very good and Viennese.  

The next day, we met the rest of the IES group (the huge, starry-eyed group of over-packed kiddos) in the train station and left for orientation in Deutschlandsberg, north of Vienna.  It was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.  I instantly made friends with the large pack of North-Face-and-moccasin-wearing students who expressed their appreciation for the beauty of the lower Alps by drinking copious amounts of beer and playing loud and obscene drinking games.  Just kidding, Mom.  

Here's my room at orientation.  See that skylight?...

THIS is what I saw out of it.  Woo hoo, Deutschlandsberg!

Needless to say, there are people of all kinds on this program.  I have been very blessed to fall into the good graces of some wonderful, curly-headed kindred spirits named Sue and Ellen who go to Penn State as well as another wonderful girl named Emily (although I have had to warn her that she can only be, at best, the second-most-wonderful Emily I know.  She took this well.).  They are very sweet, like to sing loudly and make very, very cheesy jokes, and are now my roommates in the most wonderful apartment in Vienna (much more on this later).

We just got back from orientation and moved in tonight, and I am honestly quite pooped.  I will take some pictures of the apartment and give y'all the full run-down ASAP.  (Side note-- almost everyone here is from bizarre schools on the coast, so Nikki and I have to represent the South/Midwest as well as we can.  We're all about preserving the "y'all.")  I already miss everyone, of course, and I wish you guys could be here with me.  It's incredible.  

(One more peek at Deutschlandsberg)

I'm Here!

Hooray!  I have had a kebab.  And a beer.  So, pretty much, all is well.