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).