The Statistics

99 Days

12 Countries

2 Houses

6 Hostels

4 Courses

1 Birthday

5 Books

2,032 Pictures

27 New Friends

1 AP Test

4 Modes of Public Transport

64 Blog Posts

167 Hours Traveling

All Make For...

One very different Hannah getting off the plane tomorrow.

Meet the Parents.

I got off the plane in the Copenhagen airport and walked as fast as I could without running or looking stupid to the baggage claim. As soon as I walked in there, I spotted a white head. I walked up to it to see Lorin reading on his new iPad and Nanna reading on her kindle. How I missed my parents. I gave them each a big hug. It took about 45 seconds and things were back to normal. Which was strange because in my head things were going to be different. I'm not sure how different, but somehow they were going to be. I was glad they weren't.

After a few hours, Nanna was commenting (she doesn't complain) that her feet hurt. She was wearing white leather addidas sneakers, the ugliest shoes I have ever seen. We went to a shoe store and started trying on shoes. She refused to buy any because they were too expensive. But she also refuesed to put on her ugly sneakers. I told her, "You have to either buy some or put the ugly ones back on. Lorin is done shopping."
"I'd rather go barefoot"
"You can't go barefoot. It's raining"
"Why did I even bring these shoes? I had my comfortable ones packed and put these in instead."
"Well, why don't you buy this pair. They're comfortable AND cute"
"The pair I didn't bring looked just like that. Why did I switch them? Oh Judy."
"I'm sorry you didn't bring that pair. Why don't you decide so we can go?"
"I should have brought that pair. These ones are leather so I thought it'd be good that they were water resistant. I haven't worn them in years. Now I know why. They hurt."
I just started laughing. Then she started laughing. And then we were in a fit of giggles in the middle of the department store shoe section. It was like we'd spent the last 3 months together. It was good.

This morning, we were standing by the canal. Lorin was rummaging in his backpack, and Nanna's sunglasses fell into the water. I was the only one who noticed, but for some reason, I didn't say anything. A few seconds later, Nanna said, "Lorin, I think I'll put on my sunglasses"
I said, "I think they just fell in the water."
Nanna said, "Oh Lorin! This is a disaster. Oh no! Those are m'good sunglasses. I need them."
Lorin said, "´Well, I think they're gone. We'll buy you another pair."
Nanna, looking down said, "If I had a pole I could get them. I need a pole. I could just swipe them over to the side and pick them up." And with that she ran off.
Lorin and I started taking pictures. After 11 snaps of the shutter Lorin said, "look, the sunglasses are floating back. Why don't you go down and get them."
So I clamoured under the railing and onto the edge of the canal. Which is about 10 inches wide. I pressed my back along the wall. I was side stepping over when Nanna came up with a wooden pole 20 feet long.
"Look, I've got a pole" She lowered it into the water and started trying to push the sunglasses toward me. I was afraid she was going to knock me off. So I grabbed onto it "let go, I'll get them". As I looked up, I realized we had attracted a crowd of people.
Nanna said, "No, no, no, it is easier to control the pole from above."
"Just let go. I'll do it" I said. And she let go of the pole. I carefully pulled the glasses toward me. I handed Nanna the pole, reached down, and picked the glasses out of the water.
Nanna was happy, "good job Hannah! I'm going to go put the pole back."
As I side stepped along the small edge, I saw Lorin, camera in hand.
Lorin said, "Well that was worth the whole trip to Europe!"
I climbed over the railing and up the steps. Nanna met us at the top. I handed her the glasses and asked, "So where did you get that pole anyway?"
"Oh, I found it sitting on the dock."

Today, I got to use Lorin's new super gread D300s. The one he bought because he missed me. It was so nice. I love that camera so much. I like the way it feels when you take a picture. It's smooth, almost no vibration. I took several hundred pictures today. So much fun.


ps. Please forgive typos. I'm writing on a Danish keyboard.

Streetcars Home - The Sequal

Tonight was my last night in Vienna. It's been an awful day. Everyone left this morning. So I have been alone in Vienna. I had terrible anxiety. I have never in my life had anxiety. But today, every time I would pass anything remotely meaningful to me, my chest would tighten up and I would gasp for a view breaths. It is so sad to be leaving. It is sad that my study abroad is over. 

The last thing I did in Vienna was get on the "D" streetcar. I sat on it and rode it to the end. Hopefully, you rememeber my first encounter there (the one where I got locked in). I got off the streetcar when I was supposed to and walked over to the spot where they park, the spot where I got locked in. I stared at that streetcar, had an anxiety attack, and then stared some more. I think there was some sort of poetic justice in going there. I could see the change in myself.

Once I was done at the streetcar, I figured out where I was and got home on the S-Bahn. There is also poetic justice in that.

Oh Vienna, how I will miss you.
I get to meet my parents tomorrow in Copenhagen. I'm excited.

Tagging

Today, I was sitting on the steps of a fountain eating my last gelato with the group. Ale said, "I'm going tagging with Jenny and Breanna." To which I respond, "Can I hop on that wagon?" 10 minutes later we are staring at a wall, spray paint in hand. Ale went first, after which we all went for it. Guess what? Tagging is so fun. Seriously, I did not want to stop. I now understand the joy of the tag. Maybe I'll have a new hobby when I get home.

Planning the masterpiece.

Artist at work.

I left my mark. 

See.... I CAN be cute.

I plead the fifth.

Though I HAD just finished my German final. 

I will never write or speak a German word again.

Wish she was here.

The Last Essays

So we had to prepare 3 final essays to turn in for Louise's class. Here are mine:

Streetcars Home

The summer of my sixteenth birthday the Atlantic Ocean separated my parents and me. I was granted permission to go on a college study abroad to Vienna. I had finally achieved the independence and freedom all teenagers covet. I was excited for my new, perfect life. I did not realize, however, that with my newfound freedom came a great responsibility for myself.  Learning that meant I made some big messes.

The first mess was my third night in Vienna. The sun had set but it was not yet dark. I started heading home. I got on the “D” streetcar where I had gotten off that morning. As the scenery flashing by grew unfamiliar, I had a revelation. I was on the right streetcar, but it was going the wrong way. I decided that it was safer to take the streetcar all around the circle rather to get off in an unknown spot. It was going to take longer than I wanted, but I could not afford to get lost.

I was bent on this plan. So when the streetcar crossed the Danube, I stayed in my seat. When the streetcar halted and all the other passengers got off, I stayed in my seat. When the streetcar stopped and the conductor got out, I stayed in my seat. Reasoning that like the tram that runs through the Hilton hotel in Hawaii, my only experience with public transportation, they were switching drivers and would resume the journey shortly. After several minutes the train hadn’t budged. I decided to get out and try to get home another way. I stood up and pushed the door open button. Nothing happened. I pushed it again. Still nothing. I was locked in the streetcar. My face contorted as I started to sob.

I started pacing up and down the streetcar, too literally like a caged animal. I saw the emergency exit bar. I had been told in orientation that when pulled, it was expensive to replace. I wanted to shop for European fashion, not splurge on streetcar emergency exit bars. I looked at the wooden seat I had just occupied. I could sleep there and be just fine. I reached for my phone to call the adult in responsible for me. Don’t worry about me. I am safe, spending the night in a streetcar. My phone was dead

I had my hand on the emergency exit handle, giving up my dreams of European fashion, when I saw a man in walking his bulldog passing my streetcar. I desperately pounded on the window, bruising my knuckles. Tears streamed down my face. After several pounds, he noticed me. He started laughing, and I laughed with him.  We both recognized my pathetic state. He found the conductor who grumbled and turned the streetcar back on. The yellow-gold light lit up and when I pushed it, the door opened.

“Danke” I shouted, rather high pitched, to my knight in shining armor.

I saw two old men with potbellies sitting on a bench. I walked up to them and in a moment of inspiration I used German I didn’t realize I knew, saying, “Sprecken Sie English?” They laughed having just seen my rescue from the streetcar. Of course I was a foreigner. Only a foreigner would get locked in a streetcar. They said “Nein. Deutsch”.

I looked around, utterly lost. The two nearest street signs read “Praha” and “Budapest”. I looked at the various modes of public transportation around me, but near as I could tell, they were going places I didn’t want to go.

I was standing on the curb when I saw a taxi coming. I did what I’d seen done in movies and raised my right hand above my head. Miraculously, he stopped! I hailed my very first taxi. As he slowed I realized it was a blue Volkswagen. I wanted a black Mercedes. My need to get home surpassed my desire for class. I got inside. It smelled like old cigarettes. I habitually told the taxi driver my American address, then, embarrassed, my Viennese one.  

He drove. I was relieved to be on my way home, until he turned onto a street where every sign had a curvy woman and the word sex on it. I grew anxious. I did not want to be sold into the sex trade on my third night in Vienna.

We soon turned another corner. The driver followed his GPS and found my house with no problem. I handed him 20 Euros, not waiting for change, and ran inside. I flopped down on my bed, breathed a sigh of relief, and was asleep within seconds. 

The Sin of a Writer

The cafés of Europe have always been temples for writers. The Café Procope in Paris was where Voltaire, Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin discussed and wrote about ideas that changed the world. CS Lewis and JRR Tolkien had a writing group they named “The Inklings” that met every Tuesday in The Eagle and Child at Oxford. JK Rowling went The Elephant House in Edinburgh to write the absurdly successful Harry Potter series. Café writers such as these from a special breed who, as Anne Morrow Lindbergh put it “must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living.” That is why I, a self-proclaimed café writer, write. I write to force order upon my thoughts and find the mental peace that only comes when my strands of consciousness have been placed in neat rows on the page.

I come to my favorite café in hopes of doing just that. Today the table at which I sit is covered in a crisp, white, ironed tablecloth. The table is small. It can fit two but is really meant for one. The waiter comes and asks if I want an espresso. I tell him yes. I shouldn’t. My parents have taught me to be very selective about what I put in my body: nothing remotely addictive including alcohol, cigarettes, tea and coffee. But I am wary of ordering hot chocolate. Only children ask for hot chocolate. The rest of the world orders a coffee with their personal combination of cream and sugar. The waiter brings me my espresso. It is on a silver tray with a large sugar shaker and a shot glass filled with water. The coffee itself is dark brown with a ring of tan foam around the edge. It sits in a round, porcelain mug that could not hold more than a fourth cup of espresso. I put it next to my journal. Its scent ascends. Coffee smells like heaven.

           Time passes. My thoughts no longer bump around my head like children in a bouncy house. They are now lined up in a constant, isolated stream of words.  I have several sheets of paper filled with dark blue words written in my messy, boyish handwriting. Only time will tell if they are worth anything to anyone besides me. To me they are worth something. They are a small part of my soul.

I am ready to leave. I have done all I will do today. My mind is overheating, grown tired under the effort. My eyes scan the café searching for my waiter. Then I look at my untouched espresso. I am suddenly self-conscious about how stupid it will be if I pay for a full espresso. I would appear uncultured and young. Both of which I am, but I neither of which I am not ready to admit to. I know I can’t drink it. I stare at my muse, wondering how I can destroy it.

         I pick up small glass and fill my mouth. The espresso is cold after sitting. It is also strong. It makes coffee ice cream seem like pure sugar. I nearly spit it out. I stand up, my mouth full of espresso, and I go as quickly as I can to the bathroom. I turn the door handle. I push the door; it doesn’t budge. Some damned person is using the bathroom, probably for a more conventional purpose. I stand in the hall my cheeks full of coffee like a squirrel before winter. I fight back my gag reflex. My stomach contracts. I start counting. I get to twenty-eight before the door is opened by a tall woman. I push my way past her not caring if I offend her but careful not to spurt espresso onto her ivory sweater. I hang my head over the toilet and spit out the coffee in a stream of brown that reminds me of polluted waterfall.

        I go back to my table, relieved to be rid of my burden. I lift up my index finger as a sign to the waiter that I would like my check. The waiter won’t bring it until I summon for it. It is part of the respect for the café writer tradition. I pay two Euros for my espresso, really paying for my seat. I am paying to be a café writer.

Don’t Let Your Luck Spill Out

         The mountains belong to my father. Not all of them, of course. Just a piece. Twelve acres to be exact. He owns twelve acres of the Uintah Mountains. My father has made his twelve acres a classroom where he can instruct me on everything he finds pertinent. He taught me to hike, fish, do the dishes by hand, play in the mud, ride an ATV, crash an ATV, drive a car, hitch up a trailer, mend a fence, divert a stream, start a campfire, identify Indian Paintbrush and Sticky Geraniums, look at the stars, spot a deer, but best of all, he taught me to ride a horse.

          My father loves horses. When I was just a toddler he would put me in front of him on the saddle and we would go for short rides down the drive way and back.  I grew up a little bit and developed enough balance to sit on the horse all by myself. We would go for longer rides, sometimes hours. He would ride in front, holding on to my horse’s lead rope. His grasp on the lead rope loosened over time and I started to ride the horse on my own following behind him. My bravery grew and I rode in front. My younger horse would outpace his. I rode on my own for the first time when I was twelve. I promised not to gallop and went on a ride down the dirt road and back, maybe ten minutes. My father watched me out the kitchen window, and chided me as I galloped up the driveway. I was stubborn and refused to listen. I regretted my stubbornness a week later when I fell off galloping up the driveway. But my father was there, as always, to help me up and give me a boost back on. He gave me confidence and I started saddling up by myself and going on longer rides in the mountains up to rockslides, springs, meadows, and overlooks while my father stayed home nursing a bad knee.

           My father taught me how to feed a horse by hand. He taught me to spread my hand flat, palm up. He taught me that I had to fight back the instinct to curl my fingers.  He taught me to hold my hand out to the horse, offering the treat but not forcing it upon him. He taught me that the horse had to be allowed to choose. That the horse would reach out his neck if it were right. He taught me that the horse would gently but quickly eat off my palm with his lips not his teeth. He taught me how soft a horse’s nuzzle is. He taught me how their whiskers tickle. He taught me and I, in turn, taught others.

       If you walk into my father’s closet you will see a large boutique’s worth of slacks and monogrammed dress shirts.  You will see 12 white shirts and a wall full of leather dress shoes. But if you look past that, you can also spot three cowboy hats lined up in a row. Brim in the air so the “luck doesn’t fall out”. A closer look will reveal the overuse of the first one. Gray and worn, not quite holding it’s shape, “shapeless and bulged because it had served for a while all the various purposes of a cap” (The Grapes of Wrath). This hat belonged to my father’s father, who rode on a silver saddle. The next one is straw. It smells like sweat. That is my father’s, worn in reining competitions. On the last hat you will notice brown rhinestones. That one is mine: a surprise for my fourteenth birthday. If you are perceptive enough, you’ll notice that it has less luck then the rest. A young teenage girl put it down brim first, spilling her luck out. Her father quickly turned it the correct way. He taught her to save her luck, because there would inevitably come a time when she would need it. 

Heaven on Earth

Guys. I've had the best day ever. Seriously. I found paradise.

First, Amelia and I went to the globe museum. The only globe museum in the world. There should be more. I've always had a thing for globes. I think it dates back to watching cartoons as a child. I remember one episode of Recess where they had a globe that opened and had bubble gum in the center. Since then I've had a thing for globes. When my great-grandma died last year, I got my great-grandpa's glob. It sits in my room. It is seriously my most prized possession.

So I walk into the globe museum today. The first thing I saw were a pair of globes. What? Globes in pairs? Yes, you see globes used to come in pairs. One for the earth and one for the heavens. This particular pair of globes each had a 4 foot diameter. They belonged to Louis XIV. My mind flashed to images of him turning his globe, much to Colbert's dismay. Globes are symbols of  power. The world seems so small and manageable. Someday I would like to take a trip to a place chosen by spinning the globe and placing my finger. Someday.

The globe museum was filled with globes from all over the world from all time. The globes all came in pairs. I found myself marveling at humanity. We, as a race, have such drive to understand. The instruments used to measure, the way the globes of the earth and the heavens were made. I was awestruck at the dedication to knowledge so many had.

Once we were done in the museum, Amelia and I went to the national library. As I walked in, it went like this:



This is what it looks like when not animated:

Seriously. I just stood there with my mouth open. Heaven is the Austrian national library. There is no question about that. The wood was goregous. Elegant patterns from the grain and the color that wood ought to be. Everything was gold. It was pretty gold. Not gaudy gold. It was floral themed. Beautiful. But best were the books. A hall, this center room, and another hall of books. Two floors of this. Not paperback books. No. Leather and gold bound books. An unfathomable amount of beautiful books. I have never been happier. I sat down and marveled. And marveled. I kept repeating to myself "I can't believe this exists". It is clearly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I never wanted to leave. I left my heart sitting in the Austrian National Library. I need to find myself a beast to give me one just like it.

Happy Birthday Lorin

Today is Lorin's birthday. In honor of that, here is a list of 25 things I love about him:
1. He lets me grow up and encourages my dreams whether it be dragging me and the horse to Joe's for riding lessons, letting me steal his camera, or sending me to Europe for 3 months. He's always there to me up and help me along.
2. When I was in 4th and 5th grade he was busy learning to be stake president. I started to withdraw from him. So he started giving me notes every day before school. I have an entire box full of 3x5 cards that he wrote me.
3. He will say "Han, we haven't spent time together in a while, let's go do something." And so we go do whatever we want to do. Usually it includes dessert.
4. Two days before I left, he came home with the most beautiful flower arrangement for me. Just because he loves me.
5. He is very adamant we have family prayer. 
6. He has treats in his office at the church and he lets me steal them. Even if it is the last chocolate.
7. He loves to teach me. He will send me articles he finds interesting, or tell me stories I can learn from, or spend an hour trying to help me understand my pre-calculus homework.
8. He tells me he is proud of me. Even when it is little things.
9. He won't let me live anything down. Like when I was 10 and trying to get off the horse and fell off it defending myself by calling it a "grateful discount" OR last year when he took me fishing and I got my hook stuck in the guide's nose.
10. If he thinks I'm wrong, he will tell me. But he won't force me to change.
11. He let me drive his Lexus as soon I got my permit.
12. He let me keep driving his Lexus after I almost crashed it. Several times.
13. He lets me choose the radio station. Usually.
14. When my mom told him to buy a new TV for the basement, he had a 108-inch HD projector with surround sound installed.
15. He asked me if I still had my drivers-ed book in anticipation of his upcoming license renewal. Just to be safe.
16. I have never seen he and my mom fight. Ever.
17. After he had his knee replaced in December, I "had" to drive him everywhere. He said thank you even though we both knew I loved it.
18. He has unbelievable integrity.
19. He has a strong testimony and shares it with me often.
20. He pretends that working and being stake president is a burden. But we all know he is very good at it and loves it.
21. He has always had white hair. It makes him easy to identify in a crowd.
22. He calls me "Hannah Banana Grace Rockhopper Pugh" and "Sweetheart" and "Han".
23. When I ran out of money, he put money in my account as soon as he could.
24. He will be forever making fun of somebody or pulling a prank on them. But he never goes too far. And he has friends that will do it right back.
25. He openly admits that I am his favorite child daughter.

Lorin on trek.                                                                  Lorin with Kate and the horses.

18 days

I have 18 days left in Europe. Then I'm back to the good old US of A. Where I am not a pest because of my nationality. Where they speak the language I know. Where they don't smoke in the streets. Where I will be able to drive a car anywhere I want. Where the price of everything is not automatically 22% more. Where I do not have to take German class. Where fast food is actually fast. Where showers are big and hot water endless. Where I do not need an adapter to plug any cord in. Where I have more clothes sitting in my closet waiting for me. Where there is air conditioning everywhere I go. Where the outdoor and solitude can be found literally right out my back door. Where my family and friends are.

Funny thing is, I'm really going to miss this place.

18 days seems like a long time. I cannot tell you how many trips to Hawaii we've taken for 18 days. Last year I was in Europe for 18 days. I used to think 18 days was 3 weeks. It wasn't until last year that I figured out it wasn't 3 weeks but 2 weeks and 4 days. 18 days always feels so long. 18 days is the perfect time for a trip. You get into "the mode" without missing too much of your real life. Funny thing is, these 18 days are going to fly by. These 18 days aren't going to last long enough. But they will also last too long.

I will see you all in 18 days.

Hardened Criminal

This morning I woke up at 10 and ate breakfast. Then I came upstairs and went back to sleep. Then Amelia, my darling roommate whom I adore, woke me up by hitting me with pillows at 1. I sat up and studied German for 45 minutes. Then I fell asleep. I woke up at 2:!5. I put on a shirt, left my nike running shorts on, threw my German stuff and computer in my bag and ran out the door.

I got on the bus and rode down to the S-bahn station. I got off and walked up the stairs. I stood on the platform waiting for my 14.33 train. My mind was wandering around. More of grazing really. Thinking thoughts I can't remember. Then, my mind thought the thought "You don't have your wallet". I realized my mind was right. I didn't have my wallet. Which is a huge deal because it meant I didn't have my public transport pass. Or money to pay the 65 Euro fine. Crap.

But I had to get to school. Normally I would just skip German. My dedication to that class does not include paying fines to get there. But I had to give my presentation AND take a quiz. So, like 20% of my grade was riding on this class.

My train whoosed up with the wind it makes. It is so hot here and the wind felt good. I opened the door and found a seat. I considered sitting in the bathroom the whole ride. No inspector would find me there. But it smells so bad, and I would probably miss my train. The real reason I didn't do that was that if the ticket inspector realized I was in there I would be cornered. So I found a seat and sat down. It is a 15 minute train ride to Sudbahnof where I catch the U1 to school. It was an intense 15 minutes. I kept searching for the ticket inspector that would inevitably come. I had an escape plan. The second I saw them I would casually but swiftly walk down the isle, to the bathroom for a moment, and into the car from which they had just come. If I couldn't escape them, I had another plan. I would rummage in my bag and then looked shocked and say "someone has stolen my wallet!" The train rolled into Sudbahnof and I literally jumped off. Safe.

I walked down to the U-bahn platform. U-bahns make me uncomfortable. I don't like being underground. Anyway, my subway came whoosing up. I got in the most crowded car I could and stood there. Longest 4 minutes of my life. I was claustrophobic, could hardly breathe, and was stressing about an inspector coming.

I got off the subway and I felt so relieved. I hurried up to German class. It was an average German class. I skyped my friend. Then I had to go home for dinner.

I made it through the U-bahn uneventfully. The first 10 minutes of the S-bahn ride were also uneventful. I'd done this before. I was becoming a practiced criminal. I put my leg up on the empty seat across from me. A relaxed position of authority. Plus my feet don't touch the ground flat-footed so it is more comfortable to just put them up.

I was looking out the window, my mind grazing again. Then there was a man in front of me. He made a motion like he was sweeping my feet of the chair. I put them down. He sat down. A few seconds later, his friend sat next to him. Markus's words during orientation echoed through my head, "the ticket-inspectors are men. They are dressed normally and travel in pairs. They will wait until you are well between stops to ask for your ticket so you can't run away." These two men fit the profile perfectly. My blood pressure rose. Crap. What am I going to say? He already doesn't like me for having my feet on the seat. I was so anxious. When are they going to ask for tickets? Why are they waiting so long? Are they going to ask me first? Maybe they will just skip me. My thoughts ran on for several minutes.

Then, the train started to slow. I looked out the window. I saw the familiar house right before my stop. That platform was safety. I stood up and walked to the door. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. The train stopped. I tried to open the door. It didn't open. the two men sitting across from me were also standing up, talking to a woman across the aisle from us. Open damned doors. Open. I saw the woman reach into her purse for something. She handed it to the men. Why is the door not opening? They nodded and handed whatever it was pack to her. They moved onto the next person. Just then, the door opened. I leaped over the two steps of the train and onto the platform. Safety. I felt like a refugee. I stood and watched as the train drove off, sticking my tongue out in a sneer of victory.

Meine Familie und unser Haustier

Today I gave a presentation in German class. I talked for 5 minutes about my family. I even had a picture.


As you can see my 13 years of art at Waterford didn't help me much.

Unfortunately my family isn't big enough and my German isn't good enough for me to talk about them for 5 minutes. So I talked about the pets too. Pets are part of the family too you know.

Days Until...

On my iPod there is an app called "days until" it tells me how many days today is from a certain date. The events are:

June 26, 1994 - 5869 days
July 29, 1996 - 5105 days
August 2, 1997 - 4736 days
May 3, 2010 - 79 days
June 26, 2010 - 25 days

August 10, 2010 - 20 days
June 3, 2012 - 683 days

Significance of these dates?
The first is the day I was born. That is how many days I've been alive.
The second is the day Sam was born. I love him lots. What a wonderful only sibling he is.
The fourth is the day I left for Vienna. It has been in there since November. I can't believe how quickly this has come and gone.
The fifth is named "I can drive!". It has been in there for about 2 years. I can't believe I'm passed it. It scares me that it has passed. I didn't really ever believe it would ever come.
The sixth is the day I go home. 20 days. Turns out three months isn't such a long time after all.
The last is my graduation day. It seems like it is far off. Unfortunately, I'm quite sure it will fly by as quickly as the rest.

It's been too long

I haven't blogged in five days. Not because I'm busy or tired or because nothing has happened. But because I'm lazy.

Let's start with the weekend. This weekend I went to... BERLIN. Ich finde Berlin interessant. My favorite part was the German History mueseum. Go ahead, call me a nerd. I skipped most of it, just went through about 1800-1945. I would best describe it as my AP Euro class. But rather than powerpoints with pictures, the museum had the real object. They had a lot of things. It wasn't that anything was all that rare. But the quantity of things they had. It made for a very clear picture of whatever they were showing. My two favorite things were 1) a penny farthing and 2) the newspaper with Emile Zola's "Je t'accuse". I gasped when I saw both of them. Besides the museum I went on a tour and saw all the sights. Pretty cool. Berlin is one of my favorite cities because of all the history it has.

On Sunday, Amelia and I started a new tradition known as "Happy Meal Sunday". You see, church is not until 1:30. So we are at a bus station at about 12:45, right when we are getting hungry. So we scamper across the street and get happy meals. We eat them on the bus and then play with the toys during church.

Yesterday was Monday. Amelia and I went to the National Treasury. Nothing like looking at gold, jewels, and crowns to make you feel like a peasant. I'm still trying to comprehend the wealth. I wish I could meat a member of a royal family. Born with such luxury and so many possibilities but also the responsibility for a country. Would you be spoiled and entitled? Or humbled and worried? I get worried about going to college. I can't imagine being 16 and waiting to rule a country.

After that we went to Demels. What is Demels? Why it is the imperial bakery. Yes, I am serious. I had the most amazing things. Basically, I live for moments like that. It is a good thing that I didn't go to Demels earlier in the trip. I would have gained about 10 more pounds.

This morning Amelia and I climbed Stephansdom. It was 334 steps in a circle. Going up my thighs burned and going town I was dizzy. But the view was incredible. I love looking over cities. It makes me feel like a supreme being. But I also marvel at man's ability to create. I always thing "WE BUILT THAT!" I like seeing how crammed in a city is. I love cities. I am a city girl.

Bless this bread

My friends always make fun of me because I have a bit of a compulsive need to pray before I eat. In restaurants, or at school or places besides houses, I'm fine. No prayer reflex there. But when I am sitting at a table in a house, I have a praydar of sorts. It's almost a reflex. It feels wrong to just eat. I need the food to be blessed. This means, of corse, that whenever I eat with my friends, I insist on blessing the food. It's just the way I am.

Every time I ate dinner with Frau, it felt wrong. She would put the food on the table spread her hands and say essen. We would follow the command, but my praydar went off. I needed to bless the food.

Tonight, we ate dinner with Edit and Helmut. Guess what? Before we ate, Edit asked for someone to pray. I was so happy. Jana blessed the food. After which we ate, my praydar content.

Public Transport Gods (PTG)

I generally don't consider myself a heathen (Kat's the heathen), but I do firmly believe in the PTG. These are the beings that control public transport. When it gets where and if it's on time and if there are seats available. Some people might argue that people do that. But they are wrong. It's like in the Grapes of Wrath when Stenbeck describes the bank:
"The bank is something else than men. It happens that every man in a bank hates what the bank does, and yet the bank does it. The bank is something more than men. It's the monster. Men made it, but they can't control it."

Well, lately the PTG have been on my side. It probably has to do with some recent human sacrifices on my part. Or maybe they just like me. But seriously, every time I go near public transport (except the S-bahn, but that doesn't count. It only comes every 20 minutes) the one I want shows up. It was true in Holland too. I haven't had to wait more than a minute for the Uban in about 2 weeks. And every time I get on some form of public transport, there is a seat for me. It practically has my name on it. Having the PTG on your side will make any bad day good.

Holland

Let's see, I went to Holland this weekend with Lloyd and Ale. Lloyd is a young single adult in our ward. He is British and went on his mission to NL. And Ale is just awesome.

It was 19 hour bus ride there Thursday night/Friday morning. 19 hours is a freaking long time.

We got to Amsterdam around 2. We wandered, marveled, and went to the Anne Frank house. It was neat to go there. I have an EPIC page in my journal from that house. I'm surprisingly crafty.

That night we stayed at a friend of Lloyd's house. She was a CRAZY cat lady. And quote, "I share my house with 2 cats". Not I have 2 cats, I share my house with. She talked to them like they were people and took them to bed with her (sound like a certain mother of mine and a dog named Whimzy) There was cat hair everywhere. It was gross.

Saturday morning we went to Delft. We looked a pottery, climbed 375 steps to the tower (I nearly DIED. They were steps in a circle, and I was so dizzy), and went in the church where the dead members House of Orange are buried.

After that we went to the Hague. No, I did not get to see Charles Taylor. Which actually disappointed me a little bit. Yes, there is a part of me that wants to go in the prison and see international criminals guilty of crimes against humanity.

Then we went to the beach! I love the beach. It was perfect and beautiful and I was wearing my yellow sundress. I love it when I can wear clothes at the beach.

After that we went into Rotterdam where we had a new appartment all to ourselves because Lloyd had a friend who was out of town. We were not going to stay with crazy cat lady again.

Sunday afternoon we went to the wardhouse after church ended so Lloyd could see some of his old mission friends. We were trying to find a ride to Kinderdyke. This woman offered to take us to her windmill. She and her husband took us home with her, fed us, and took us INTO their windmill built in 1776. We climbed one of the sails. All the way to the top. Pictures will be on my other blog soon(ish). Going into that windmill was one of the coolest things I've ever done.

One of the people we were with had a bike, so I got to ride on that. In my skirt. Then Lloyd petaled while I rode on the back, the style that women used to ride horses. Both feet on the same side. I looked so graceful (well, as graceful as I get) and so dutch. So epic.

After those adventures we went into Rotterdam for the game. We were standing in the square in front of city hall 2 hours before the game started. So I was standing a total of 5 hours. My feet and back hurt a lot. The game was fun to watch until about the 80th minute. Then I just wanted it to end. When Spain scored, some guy NEXT TO US threw his beer. Then another guy got angry and he and his gang went after him. Pushing quite aggressively past me. They were close to a fight, right next to me. Security showed up and we were safe. It was scary though.

Monday morning we went back into Amsterdam. We went to the Blumen Market and ate pancakes with apples.

We got on our bus. Another 19 hour bus ride. Right when we crossed the NL-German border, the police pulled over our bus. They made everyone show passports and made a few people get off and went through their bags. It was a little scary. After that I took an ambien. I slept but I woke up feeling hung over.

Well, that is a nice summary of my last 96 hours.

Kebap

When I first got here I was a little confused. Actually, if you read back to the earliest blog entries, I was a lot confused (I will never live down getting locked in the D streetcar). One of the many confusing things were the food stands. They all had a horizontal metal spit. On that metal spit was a large amount of meat, probably a 18 inch radius. In the mornings, that meat was raw and rotating, slowly cooking. I was disgusted. I could not imagine eating that. I couldn't imagine anyone who would eat that.

A month later, I was in Salzburg. I was sitting in the train station, an hour before my train would leave. I was cursing the universe for dumping me in this tourist trap while the entire Atlantic ocean poured out of the sky. I was hungry because all I had eaten was a hot chocolate and pastry (apple strudel?) at some overcrowded, smoke-filled cafe while hiding from the rain. I looked for something, somewhere to eat. My two options? Burger king or kebap. A very literal pick your poison. So I walked up to the stand and ordered my kebap. I watched as the man shaved meat off the spit, revealing a much lighter, less cocked meat inside. I paid my 2 Euros and took my first bite. It was so so good.

So guess what I had for lunch today (a month after that). Yep, you guessed it. A kebap.

Letters

If you chance to meet a frown,

Do not let it stay.

Quickly turn it upside down,

And smile that frown away.

Do you know what actually chases away frowny faces? It's not turning your mouth upside down. That would require turning your head upside down which would give you a headache and eventually kill you. Or it would require something like this:

So, do you know what is really great at chasing away frowns? Letters. It is impossible to be sad when you have just gotten a letter in the mail. Unless of corse that letter is a bill. But if you are like me and the letter is not a bill but something handwritten from someone you love, then it is a great day when you get a letter. Today I got 2 letters! In one envelope was a bunch of letters from all the YW in my ward. It was really sweet of them. In the other envelope was a surprise birthday letter from my best friend KAT! The great thing about that letter was that Kat somehow wrote it on the exact same paper as is in my journal. Kat and I are so in sync. Thanks to everyone!

The Wall

I have hit a wall. It is a big brick one. It happened after I moved in on Friday. I smacked my head against it and have yet to regain consciousness. I just don't want to do anything. I'm exhausted. Probably related to my refusal to go to bed before 2. Because I have internet and people I want to talk to. So I'm exhausted. I have that headache. The one I get during school from not sleeping enough. I don't want to go to German. I can't force myself to go to German. I forgot to bring all my German stuff anyway. I think today will be a sick day. I can take a nap in a park. And get some seriously needed retail therapy. I can always go to German tomorrow.

Ps. It is 6 hours later. I didn't go to German. Instead I took a nap in a park, went shopping (because retail therapy IS a real thing), finally went inside St. Stephan's, and am now reading a book. I'm quickly breaking down the wall.

Moving up

Life with Frau is awful. I haven't really told you guys about it because I didn't want you to worry. I was dealing with it. But it has been terrible. First, there are the ants. They are everywhere. All over my bed, in all my clothes, in my computer, everywhere. It is disgusting. Then last Friday, we had dinner with her and there were ants in the food she served us. Second, Frau is awful. She wants things her way. She will come into my room, while I am there, and close the windows and blinds on a hot day (because she is convinced that somehow that will cool down the house). She comes into my room when I am gone and moves things around. She leaves us mean notes about how messy the bathroom is when we don't keep anything in there. Third, food. She doesn't let us in the kitchen. So we eat out every meal. I have no where to keep any food because the ants get to it in my room and that is the only place we could keep food. Breakfast in 3 pieces of stale bread. Life there has gotten worse there since after the 10 day trip. It has become awful, and it really wasn't just me. Amelia and Jana felt the exact same way.

So we talked to Tom. He said we should leave. It was really bad. So we talked to the institute. And they agreed completely. She isn't doing what she is supposed to be. And you really can't get rid of a problem
like ants. This was decided yesterday afternoon.

Yesterday evening, the woman who works at the school came and talked to us and said she had called Frau to tell her we were moving out. Frau was pretty upset. So she promised Frau we would come and talk to her when we came home last night. We spent a few hours at the institute and then headed home to face the beast. We knocked on her door. She came out with an ugly look on her face. She said "they told me you are moving. I don't understand why. Tell me." So, rather than rehash the whole conversation, let me just tell you it was awkward. She really should have left it with Oh, I'm sorry you are moving, bye. But she didn't. She went on and on about how we needed to talk to her not the secretary and her voice cracked a couple of times because she was close to crying. We just said "ja" and "danke" and we got through it.

This morning, the taxi came and we left. The new place we are living is great. The people are so so so nice. They are a couple in their 60s named Edit and Helmut. They sat us down and spent about 20 minutes explaining to us how to get to/from the house with public transport. Mostly in German, speaking perfect English when we needed it. Then they set up the internet for us. Yes, we have internet. This makes skyping a ton easier! Then they sat down with us and said "so tell us about you". So we told them a bit about us and they told us about themselves, again, as much in German as we could manage. Edit said she tries not to speak English when we can understand it in German. Anyway, my favorite line of the whole thing was when they said "use du, we are family". My second favorite line was when Edit walked into our room. We had the window open and we asked if she would prefer that we close it. She responded, "No, it is your room. Have it as you like." So we are all thrilled to be living here.

Lesson learned:

Rather than endure, try to fix it. Yes, it is noble to endure and you grow from it. But there is no need to put yourself through unnecessary pain. Grow a backbone and change it.

Fiends of the Night

[For Louise's Class]

The summer of my sixteenth birthday the Atlantic Ocean separated my parents and me. Somehow, I was granted permission to live in Vienna. I had finally achieved the independence and freedom all teenagers covet and was excited for my new, perfect life. I did not realize, however, that with my newfound freedom came a great responsibility for myself. I had to learn to choose to do what was right instead of what was fun. Learning that meant I made some pretty big messes.

Such a mess was the night I stayed at a café an hour away from my house watching Law and Order on my computer until midnight. I missed the last bus by about 45 minutes. I was walking up my street at 1 in the morning. To say I was jumpy was an understatement; I had the images of the raped and murdered girls of Law and Order running through my head. I was sure I couldn’t make it home alive.

When I heard a dog bark, I jumped. Not the jump where your back stiffens quickly, my feet actually left the ground. When a man and his German shepherd emerged from a front door, I sped up my walk to a near jog. The dog growled at me. He was not on a leash and I was concerned about his sharp teeth and their ability to tear my flesh. I walked ahead of them, looking over my right shoulder every 3 steps.

I suppose the man grew tired of my fearful looks of accusation. He shouted out something in German. My spine stiffened. I planted my feet and turned around.

“Kein Deutsch. English.” I said it as an apology. Americans are pests here.

“He won’t hurt you.” He pointed at the animal. “He is a guard dog. He is just barking and growling because that is what he is trained to do. He is beautiful, yes?”

I looked at the dog that had trotted ahead of us. I felt like Hagrid had just asked me if his giant spider or baby dragon was precious. This dog was a weapon, a machine of terror. It had no beauty. Still, I did not want to anger this potential rapist.

“Ja, he is beautiful. His coat is so shiny. His teeth are so sharp. And he is really muscular. What a beautiful dog. What kind is he?” I felt like red riding hood flattering the wolf to save herself.

“He is a pure bred German shepherd. His parents were in dog shows.”

“Really? That is so cool. He is very beautiful. Was he in any shows?” I was trying to keep the conversation going. I was still two minutes away from my house. Two minutes was enough time for this man to kill me.

“No. He has a spot of fur that is white on his chest. It is like a model having a birthmark. He couldn’t win anything.”

“Well I’m sorry. He looks like he could have won. Why do you need a guard dog anyway? I was told Vienna is pretty safe.”

“Wien is safe. But this street is known for having burglars.” My stomach dropped as he told me that. Now, in addition to this potential rapist and murder and his dog that would surely cripple me for life, I had more criminals that would prevent me from getting home alive to worry about. He continued, “The dog is better than an alarm. It will not only scare burglars, but also attack them.”

“And he is more beautiful” I added in for good measure. I was ready to leave this man and his beautiful weapon. I was scared. I did not want him to know where I lived. So I lied, “It’s been really nice talking to you, ehhhh, I’m sorry I didn’t get your name.”

“Markus.”

“Well Markus, it has been really great talking to you and learning about your beautiful dog. This is my street, and I have to go. But I hope I see you again.”

And with that I walked down the closest side street, waited until Markus was out of sight, sprinted home, and prayed I would never see the fiends again.

Bad Habits

Before I left, everyone was telling me I would come back a different person. Teachers, friends, my bishop, that was the immediate response to learning about my SA (yes, I did just abbreviate study abroad SA). I knew they were right to a certain degree, maybe a little more mature, a little more well rounded, much more traveled. I guess I didn't really know what to expect as far as changes in myself go. I'm still not sure. You'll have to tell me once I come back.

What I did not know was all the bad habits I was going to develop, such as:

-Staying out late. Now, responsible adults don't start freaking out. I am totally safe. Vienna is a safe city and I avoid bad places. But I have developed this habit of not coming home until 10, or 11, or 12, or 1. Which means I don't go to sleep until 12 or 1 or 2. And anyone who knows me knows that I need my sleep. Terribly irresponsible of me.

-Shopping too much. I am constantly surrounded by stores. Since I pretty much walk everywhere, I walk past every store. There is always something that catches my eye. So I walk in to just look. Then it turns out to be better than a though. It would be the perfect present for so and so or go beautifully with my favorite skirt. 20 euros later I emmerge with more stuff. I have too much stuff. Some days I want to blow up all my stuff. And then buy new stuff.

-Eating something sweet after every meal. I really am doing better on this one. I promise. But there are stands and shops and guess what they all offer? Tarts, tortes, cakes, strudels, and other assortments of things I shouldn't eat. But they taste so good.

-Wasting hours online. 1 or 2 hours a day to email, blog, facebook and other such things. Things that connect me with the people I love back home. But I do overdo it. I can really only justify so much time online.

-Listening to my iPod constantly. I like music when I am on public transport, walking on the street, or writing things. I don't think music is evil. I love music. But I think that I may be spending an excessive amount of time tuned out of the world.

-Scratching my many mosquito bites. When summer came so did mosquitos. And then they bit me. Mean mosquitos. I scratch the bites and then the itch more. Or bleed.

-Wearing the same shoes every day. No, this is not a flaw in my personality or terrible decision. But I do have tan lines from my white sandals. And they aren't cute. Nor are they discreet. If you were to look at my foot you would say "Oh hello tan line". They are that bad.

I am sure there are others, but those are the one that have been irritating me lately. Badddddd Hannah.

Sixteenth Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday. Yay! In the US that means I can drive. In Europe it means I can drink. It was a great birthday, including:

-Going to Donau Insel Fest (Europe's largest outdoor music festival) the night before/early morning of and hearing Billy Idol play. For free. It was epic. Especially when he sang "sweet sixteen". That was pretty sweet.

-Going to the Naschmarkt, browsing antiques, and buying a picnic lunch.

-Going to a park to eat said picnic lunch, birthday baklava (way better than any birthday cake, ever), and laying in the sun.

-Going to Prater, going on a roller coaster where you lay down and another freaking sweet ride where you are 200 feet in the air going upside down and spinning in circles.

-Writing in my journal. I love birthday journal writing.

-Back to Donau Insel Fest.

-Free "I (heart) Vienna" shirt.

-Dancing to techno European MTV music.

-Getting shoved, groped, and beer spilled on me.

-Having the sweetest sweet sixteen with Mika and Amelia all day.

The Awful German Language

I have always liked Mark Twain. Ever since I read Tom Sawyer for eighth grade summer reading.

But now, now I think he is a genius.

Because of THIS BRILLIANT ESSAY.

Week Trip

The past week has been just perfect. Spain was beautiful. We shopped, went to the beach, saw some sights, and fell in love with Barcelona. Venice was fun. We shopped more, saw lots of sights, had men fall in love with us, and ate our weight in carbs. Slovenia was epic (see previous blog post). Despite the trauma, it was still incredible. This world is just incredible.


Amelia, Ale & I jumping for joy in Venice.

Ale & I have fun together. Even though sometimes we struggle.

The group Ale, Me, Amelia, Mika.

Me, Amelia, Mika, Ale

Financial Crisis

I have been too lazy to go to an ATM. So currently, I have about a Euro and fifty cents to my name. I was planning on going to an ATM in about an hour. I logged online to check my account to see how much I should pull out. Now imagine my surprise when my account has:

-$595.64

I immediately thought back to my spending. No, I had not spent all the money in my account. I scrolled down to purchase history. There was a charge for $1750. I had not bought anything of that amount. Turns out is was a check Lorin had signed for the US treasury.

I logged onto skype and tried calling my mom (because she doesn't turn her skype offline). She didn't answer. I tried again. Still no answer. So I sent my parents both an email. Then I remember they are going on trek tomorrow. Which means it is either money today or none at all.

I walked into the office and asked Marcus if there was a phone with which I called the US. He said yes. I was so surprised. So I called Lorin. I was definitely choking back tears on the phone. Turns out that evil check was a quarterly tax payment. He promised to refill my account today. Until then though, I am stranded. And stressed.

4 Am

We got off the train in Ljubljana at 2AM to pouring rain. It was real rain, with drops the size of the diamond on my mother's wedding ring. Our fearless leader Amelia was sick to her stomach, trying not to writhe in pain. So it was up to Ale and I to find a way to our hostel 40 minutes away. An older couple from Portland got off the train with us. When they learned where we were trying to go, they were worried. "You can stay in our hotel room if you want". It was really sweet of them. But we weren't scared and were determined to go to our hostel.
We found out that the buses weren't running. So it was either sleep in the bus station or take a taxi. We wandered around the train station until we spotted the little yellow signs that universally mean taxi. The taxis were dark and empty. Next to them I spotted glowing orange circles. The cigarettes the cabbies were smoking. Ale and I walked up to them,
"How much to get to Bled?"
"One euro one kilometer"
"So how much for Bled?"
"ehhhh 65 or 70 Euros"
"No more than 70 Euros?"
"You want fixed price?"
"Yes. Fixed price of 70 Euros."
"ehhh okay."
The cabbies conversed among themselves. The chosen one emerged from the group and led us to his silver Mercedes station wagon. We filled his trunk with out luggage and got in. Ale sat in the front, Mika, Amelia and I in the back. We showed the driver our hostel's address. He nodded and started driving. We were all exhausted but awake. The driver soon made it very clear that he didn't speak English. But he wanted to communicate. I don't know why, it was too early in the morning to be communicating. His greatest effort consisted of:
"Obama gut! Bush nicht gut. Clinton gut!"
We laughed and tried to stay conscious. The signs along the freeway were saying nearby town names. After 25 minutes, Bled appeared. 16 Km away. The driver stopped to get out his "naveegashion" system. While he was out of the car Ale turned around, "Guys I am worried that this is going to be more expensive than we thought. It is already at 89 Euros and we still have 16 KM to go." Before we could reply the taxi driver was back in the car. He continued driving. It was 3 AM by now. I had a headache from being to tired. I hadn't had one of those since school. It wasn't a welcome feeling.Down a dirt road we went. He decided it was wrong and decided to put the address in his GPS.Oh good I thought we'll get there soon. FALSE. He pushed buttons, but he couldn't work his GPS. He pointed to Ale to work it. In Slovenian. Needless to say she couldn't work it either. So we were lost.
The driver decided to turn around and drive down another. He decided that wasn't right so he drove down another. That one wasn't right either. After 15 minutes of being lost and turning around we said "telephone" and communicated that we had the hostel's number. He called the hostel and started speaking. We're going to get there soon I thought again. The driver hung up the phone and drove more. And turned around more. And got lost more.
15 minutes later we had him call the hostel again. He got directions again. He got lost again.
So Ale took his phone and talked to the hostel. Oh wait. The guy on the phone was "f***ing 400 miles away" and had "already given the taxi driver directions twice". He gave Ale the directions again.
So Ale directed our useless driver to the hostel. The taxi meter read 135. Twice the arranged price. We got our bags out and knocked on the door. Nothing. Waited. Nothing. Another door. Nothing. After 5 minutes an old woman stuck her head out the window and pointed to a door. We knocked on that. Nothing. A few minutes later the same old woman opened the door. We were saved. She motioned for us to come in. But we had to pay the taxi driver first. I handed him 75 euros. He was furious. He pulled out a piece of paper and wrote 135 and circled it. We were all furious with him at this point. "No. You got lost. Your fault. We won't pay." He crossed out the 135 and wrote 100. "No. You said 70 Euros." He was not happy. He was yelling in Slovenian.
The old woman motioned for us to come in. She stood in the doorway and talked to the driver. Then a bald man came out. He took over talking to the driver and the woman lead us to our rooms. They were wonderful. And she communicated that we could have breakfast whenever we woke up.
The next day we got up at 11:45. We were downstairs by noon. The old woman had breakfast laid out, and she even made us eggs. I want to move in to that hostel.

Halloh

Ale, Mika, Amelia and I, being the beautiful Amerikanerinnen we are, attract a lot of attention from foreign men everywhere we go.
Today we got to Barcelona and pretty much went straight to the beach. We showed up in our modest one pieces laid out our towels and got ourselves some vitamin D. We looked around and SURPRISE it was a topless beach. Boobs everywhere. Got to love Europe. We had been up since 3 in the morning and we spent about 6 hours laying, reading, tanning and sleeping. It was threatening to rain so we decided it was time to walk back to the hostel. Literally the moment we stood up though, there were Spanish men around us. Two of them ran into the water in front of us shouting "Halloh, Halloh". We got out of there as soon as possible.
We went back to the hostel and decieded to get pretty, something we had not done since arriving on this continent. We all showered, put on pretty clothes, did each others makeup and did our hair so it was the perfect mix of messy, elegant and natural.
Dinner had to be the Hard Rock Cafe for two reasons
1) Ale needed a shirt
2) It has American food. We needed some of that.
We got there after a few mishapped directions, mostly originating from Ale s seriously flawed Spanish. We sat down at our table and ordered burgers. They arrived and we downed them. You would have thought we were some sort of starving children who had been surviving on bread for the past 6 weeks.
Then a live band came on stage. Turned out it was the 39th anniversary of the Hard Rock Cafe Barcelona. WOW! So they had a live band there. Our table happened to be directly to the bands right. They played some brilliant classic rock and we started dancing in our seats and such. The singer noticed us. Mostly he noticed Amelia. There was not a verse of a single song when he didnt glance at our table and make eye contact with someone. He liked us a lot. Then he started to get more forward. He took a drink from his beer bottle and stared at us the whole time, I am pretty sure he winked at Amelia. Like I said he liked her.
The band finished the set and the singer went out for a smoke rather than coming and talking to us. Well you know what buddy, your loss! He was like 40 and not very attractive anyway. We were way out of his league.
After that we went to a huge plaza and took lots of hot pictures. Facebook profilers for sure. We were posing and two men on the bench next to us thought we were trying to seduce them. They started cat calling and whistling. We realized we were probably putting ourselves in a bad situation and headed out of there.
But not before yelling at them,
"Halloh"

Laundry

Frau does laundry on Mondays. "Does Laundry" means that she throws everything we give her in the washing machine. Needless to say I don't have any clothes that are really white anymore. When it's done she pulls it out and puts it in a bucket. It sits in that bucket until we come home that night and hang it up on clotheslines in the attic.

I needed to do laundry today. I'm leaving tomorrow and have a weeks worth of dirty clothes that I need to take with me. I couldn't do it at home for two reasons: 1) asking Frau if I could do a load of laundry would be suicide and 2) it wouldn't be dry in time anyway. So I decided to go to a laundromat.

I arrived at Clean & Green with no idea what I was doing. I walked around the small room with 14 washers/dryers and asked everyone "Sprechen Sie English?" "Nein". Okay great. I walked to the computer where you pay and started fumbling. Finally a group of 3 men came up and took pity on me. The leader of the band communicated that I had to put my clothes in a machine that was apparently a washer. Then another helped me pay on the computer. Then the last one pointed to his box of soap. I don't have laundry soap so I told him "Ich habe nicht". He then opened the washing machine and put some of his in. The leader came back to turn a few knobs and my clothes were being washed.
The leader tried to strike up a conversation.
"Engaland?"
"Me? Oh no. Ich komme aus Amerika."
He pointed to himself and his crew"Macedonia"
"Oh that's really cool! Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"
"Nein"
I laughed very loudly. We really had no way to communicate.

The Macedonians laundry were finished. They headed out the door but before leaving each one kissed me on the hand and said "ciao". Ciao back at you Macedonian men.

My laundry finished and I had to conquer the dryer. This time I was on my own. I put my wet laundry in the dryer. I went to the computer and started pushing buttons. I put some money in. I pushed the power button on the dryer. Nothing. So I went back to the computer and pushed more buttons. I pushed the power button again. The dryer started to rumble. And so I had conquered the laundromat.



ps. I'm headed to Barcelona/Venice/Slovenia tomorrow. So my future lack of posting will not mean I have gotten hit by a car. It simply means I'm exploring Europe and don't have internet. Wish me luck.

Huzzah

Well I just finished my German final. All done with Deutschkurs 101.
I'm going to Bratislava tomorrow afternoon for the opera. You know just few hours in another country and then back to Vienna. I freaking love Europe.
And I'm off to Barcelona on Monday. It is going to be so amazing.
Basically, my life is rockin.

Destruction upon Impact

If I die in Europe, it will not be because I was kidnapped and murdered. It will not be because I fell into the Uban track. It will not be because I slipped and hit my head. It will not be because I was shot by a sniper. It will not be because I was blown up in a terrorist attack. It will not be because I got in trouble with the Viennese mob. It will not be because I got lung cancer from the smoker. It will not be because a volcano exploded in Iceland. It will not be because there was a dangerous political riot. It will not be because I am an American and Europeans hate Americans. It will not be because I spent all my money and starved to death. It will not be because I am vulnerable to European diseases. It will be because I was hit by a car.
I only cross the street when the light is green. But sometimes the light changes when I am in the middle of the street. Cars don't like to wait and I am often running to get out of there way.
Sometimes I step off the curb when the light is green. It changes the moment I do so but I don't notice and I keep walking. It is basically like walking through four lanes of traffic. I can't tell you how many times Amelia has grabbed my backpack to keep me from walking into four lanes of traffic.
Some places don't have a nice light to tell me when to walk. So I go when it looks clear. But cars here drive like 200 mph around the city. And they appear and nearly hit me in a flash.
When I get off the bus I have to cross the street. But I can't see the other lane because of the bus. So I have to say a little prayer and hope it comes out okay. Last night there was a car that I couldn't see. It almost hit me.
I do hope I don't get hit by a car. Wish me luck.

Drinking in Dorfgastein

Then I realized that it had to be about being in the mountains this past weekend. So I wrote this one:

I am allergic to small towns. I sneeze hard, often spraying snot all over. The back of my throat starts itching in the place that I cannot scratch without gagging myself. My eyes start to burn, water, and turn red like a vampire’s. My doctor tells me that I am allergic to the nature that inevitably surrounds the small town, but I know better. I am sure it is the town itself that afflicts me. So when I heard I would be spending a weekend in Dorfgastein, Austria, I wasn’t very thrilled. It is a very small town and I knew my allergies would be kicking in. When I got there I started sneezing and soon realized that it was the smallest town I’d ever been in. It is so small in fact that the entire population of the town knew about our group before we got there. They knew that we were a group of twenty Americans, we were friends of Frau Weissgarber, and we were staying in the Pension Theresia.

After seeing the entire town in seven minutes, I still had a day of miserable allergy attacks ahead of me. Two tissue boxes and a bottle of Claritin later, the sun finally set and I was very happy when the group decided to go to a bar to get ice cream. Ice cream would surely make me feel better. The ice cream came out in an oversized wine glass with whipped cream, chocolate sauce and a stick that had silver confetti spurting out the top. I quickly swallowed enough calories for the next month. There was a free jukebox and a member of our group picked Sweet Home Alabama just to ensure everyone knew that Americans were in the bar.

After we had rocked out to a few songs, the bar tender came out carrying two circular trays with big circumferences. On the trays were small glasses filled with a reddish liquid. He placed a glass in front of each of us, smiled, and proclaimed something in German with his deep voice. We all stared at the glasses of alcohol like deer in the headlights. We are Mormons, alcohol virgins. Into my head flooded the voices of countless concerned adults with slightly furrowed brows that have said to me, “Don’t drink alcohol, don’t do drugs, and don’t have sex.” My Mormon Church leaders also throw in “don’t dress immodestly, don’t drink coffee, and don’t swear.” Until this point I had, with a few exceptions, adhered to those rules.

Those voices continued to run through my head as I picked up the glass and studied it. Upon a closer look I saw that the opaque drink was the color of my favorite nail polish, OPI St. Petersburgundy. I sniffed it. It smelled too much like cherry cough syrup. It should have smelled better than that. It is alcohol. It should have smelled like rebellion, not like the syrup my mother gives me when I don’t feel quite right. There was one ice cube floating on the top bumping against the right edge of the glass. The condensation on the outside of the glass got my hand wet so I held on a little tighter to keep from dropping it.

That was the first time such a forbidden fruit has been placed in front of me. I found that a little ironic. I was in the smallest town I had ever been in and yet that was the moment I had to choose if I would listen to the adults with furrowed brows or not. Above my head was a sign that says “Kein Alkohol unter 16. Wir achten darafu.” I laughed at the foolishness of the bartender. I wouldn’t be sixteen for a few weeks and yet he had just handed me a drink. I held the glass in my hand, unwilling to put it down or lift it up and drink. It stayed at the halfway point between my mouth and the table waiting for me to make my decision.

The Mountains, My Father, and Me

So for my writing class we had to write an essay about being in the mountains. Here's the first one I wrote:

I suppose you could say that I am from the mountains. As far back as my memory goes, I have lived in Sandy, Utah perhaps four minutes from the Wasatch Mountains. The architecture of the school I have gone to since I was three is triangular, made to mirror the mountains that overshadow it. I started driving last year, and on Sundays Lorin and I drive up Little Cottonwood Canyon. That is where I learned how to use different gears. The mountains are the way I tell which direction is which. The Wasatch Range is to the East, and the Oquirrh Range is to the West. Too many times I’ve been away from home and not known the directions because of the flat landscape I found myself in.

My family has a cabin high up in the Uintah Mountains. It is an eighty-five minute drive away from our house. It has been around for two hundred years and is Lorin’s favorite place in the world. At dinner when asked what he did that day, he often responds, “I drove up to the cabin and stayed for a few hours. Man is it beautiful up there.” I learned many things at the cabin. I learned to hike, fish, cook, do the dishes by hand, play in the mud, ride an ATV, crash an ATV, drive a car, hitch up a trailer, unload horses from a trailer, mend a fence, divert a stream, start a campfire, roast marshmallows perfectly, put out a fire, spray weeds, identify Indian Paintbrush and Sticky Geraniums, make mint tea from freshly picked mint leaves, look at the stars, spot a deer, but best of all, I learned to ride a horse.

Lorin loves horses. He has always had horses. He even has a few trophies from reigning. When I was just a toddler he would put me in front of him on the saddle and we would go for short rides down the drive way and back. I grew up a little bit and developed enough balance to sit on the horse all by myself. So we would go for longer rides, sometimes hours. He would ride in front, holding on to the lead rope attached to my horse. His grasp on the lead rope loosened over time and I started to ride the horse on my own, carefully following behind him. Then I got a new horse and started to become independent. I rode in front, and my younger horse started to outpace his. I rode on my own for the first time when I was twelve. I promised not to gallop and went on a ride down the road to the Tillitsons and back, maybe ten minutes. Lorin watched me out the kitchen window. Soon after, Lorin stopped riding because his knee went bad. I started saddling up by myself and going on longer rides in the mountains up to rockslides, springs, meadows, and overlooks leaving notes of whereabouts on the kitchen counter. It was a beautiful form of solitude, but I was mostly just excited to be grown up enough to go on my own. Now I miss Lorin when I ride. I think that makes me more grown up than being able to ride by myself.

I miss Lorin when I am in the mountains without him. I think the mountains belong to Lorin. He is a mountain man. Not the kind that wears coonskin caps, eats meat cooked over a campfire, and carries a riffle. The kind that drives a Lexus, collects minerals, owns his own companies, has a closet full of suits, leather shoes, and dress shirts with his initials embroidered on the front pocket, and is happiest in a pair of old jeans, cowboy boots, and a pair of buckskin gloves mending the fence.

Drinking in Dorfgastein

I spent this weekend in Dorfgastein, Austria. It is a tiny beautiful town situated in the Austria Alps. It is incredibly beautiful. The sun even came out and I wore a skirt. It was a perfect weekend.

On Thursday, it was a Catholic holiday. Which means the people of Dorfgastein drink. When we went out to dinner that night, there were some very drunk people sitting at the table across from us. They had an accordion and they sang and we clapped along with them. One particularly drunk man got on an unoccupied table and started dancing. The waitress flicked her hand at him and yelled something in German. He got off the table and she silently went over and straightened out the tablecloth. He then came over to sit by us. He didn’t speak English very well. But he liked us. Finally, he started feeling Krystal’s bicep at which point we decided it was time to go.

We went to a different pub to get ice cream. We were enjoying out ice cream when the guy in charge brought out two trays with small glasses filled with a red liquid on them. He placed one in front of each of us. We all just stared; no one knew what to do. It was alcohol; we are Mormons. It smelled like cough syrup. Finally Jenny, who speaks German better than any of us, walked up to him. She was telling him that we don’t drink alcohol. He responded, “You’re missing out on a lot in your life.” Then he told the rest of us, “It’s not very strong”. We just stared at it. No one was going to drink it. We sat for a little while, enthralled by the forbidden fruit that had just been placed in front of us. Several pictures were taken, a few videos, and then we left, the glasses full.

Salzburg

Salzburg was the most miserable day ever. It rained and rained and it was cold. I hate Salzburg.

We went on a tour. The tourguide was nice, and he knew a lot. But his accent was so thick. It was really hard to listen too. He liked to talk about how wrong The Sound of Music is. It was a little disheartining. And every time someone would yawn he would get angry and say "That is very rude." The tour lasted two and a half hours. It was all outside. I was so cold I wanted to die.

Then we went to a coffeehouse that has been around since 1705. It was beautiful. We had hot chocolate. The best hot chocolate of my life. It was so warm. It was the best part of my day.

Then we went up to "The fortress". It was a long hike, mostly stairs. My thighs were buring. I had to pay full price because I was a year too old for the child ticket. The fortress itself was a little disappointing. It was so damn cold and rainy that we couldn't even enjoy the views because we didn't want to be outside.

At this point, I (and everyone else) was completely soaked. I could feel puddles in my shoes and my legs were numb. I was wearing my awesome raincoat, so the top half of me was dry but still very cold. So I went to H&M and bought a sweatshirt and flipflops. That made everything much better.

Then we got on the train and went to Dorfgastein. It is beautiful. Google image it. We stayed in a lovely bed and breakfast with hot showers. I am currently wearing a long sleeved shirt, my under armor waffle sweatshirt, my new H&M sweatshirt, my H&M jacket made out of a denim like material and my raincoat. It is warm. Life is better now. But I think I will forever hate Salzburg.

Billa

There is one chain grocery store here. It is called Billa. I have a few problems with Billa.

I can only buy food at Billa. There is a separate chain called Bipa for all bathroom stuff (shampoo, diapers, tampons, nail polish etc.). The Austrians are very proud of the fact that I can’t buy bread and hair spray at the same place. They are snobby about that; they are not Americans with our Walmart and Costco crap. HOWEVER, Billa and Bipa are owned by the same company. And Billa and Bipa are usually next to one another, like Cafe Rio and Panda Express. So they really do have a super grocery store, even though they claim not too.

Billa closes at 6. That is the biggest pain ever. If I want to go grocery shopping, I have to order my whole day around it. It is so inefficient. I have gone to a gas station to get food multiple times because the Billa was closed.

Billa has a stupid system for buying fruit. I pay for the weight of the fruit (like in America, no big deal). But they poorly label how much each fruit weighs. And it is in German. Which wouldn’t be that big a deal except for their payment system. I have to weigh the food, select what kind it is, and then a computer prints off a little barcode, which the cashier scans when I checkout. So I’ve gotten the barcode things mixed up many times and the cashiers aren’t happy about it.

I have to pay for the plastic bags; 35 cents per bag. I feel like if I spend over 10 Euros I am entitled to a free plastic bag, but Billa disagrees. So I end up just filling my backpack with my groceries and something always gets smashed or explodes.

Because there are no free bags, there are no baggers. So the cashier just throws my groceries down the belt where there is a circular dish that my groceries sit in. But the dish isn’t big enough for my groceries and the person behind me in line’s. So I am always scrambling to put my change away and get my groceries in my backpack before the person behind me’s groceries get thrown into the dish. I never succeed and yesterday, while I was hurrying and throwing things into my backpack, I accidently picked up and put in a tiny bottle of some sort of alcohol. (don’t worry, the guy whose it was realized I’d picked it up and got it back).