My life...as of right now

Back to North America

Kathleen — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 18:36:22 +0000

While I was in Vienna, I kept a small diary. This is taken from the day of my return.

“Short break from my escapades to talk about my plane ride home. I’ve successfully made it to Toronto, Canada… I cried, well had an extreme case of watery eyes for most of the trip. So extreme that the person next to me held my hand while we took off.

Random memories from the past months kept popping into my head and it was so damn sad! Don’t get me wrong, it will be nice to get home. But as I sit here waiting for my flight back to my hometown, downing my Jack and Coke, (a drink that was supposed to be 1 shot Jack, the rest Coke, but after me crying when I ordered it was made more like one shot Coke, the rest Jack) I’m wondering if home will be enough to calm my wandering soul until my next adventure.

And how strange will tonight be, knowing that just this morning I woke up in the exact place I was meant to be, then tonight going to bed thousands of miles away in my childhood bed.

It is 10:30 p.m. Vienna time – the city is coming to life on this Saturday night. And I am here, in Toronto’s airport, 4:30 local time, as far away as I could imagine.”

Seeing is Believing

Kathleen — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 18:04:20 +0000

A few weeks ago I went to a concentration camp. And by a few weeks I mean a few months. I never finished this once I started it. So I am now.

I went to the only concentration camp Italy had during World War II. I walked into this huge brick square, unable to see anything around besides brick and green grass. There were memorials now, but I didn’t see them. I saw what was then, and still remains now.

To my left was an area used to house the occupants, about 10 closet sized rooms all in a row. Each closet would hold 15-20 people. In front of me was brick. To my right was brick. And, behind me, was the remains of a large chimney that the Nazis couldn’t destroy. The evidence couldn’t be destroyed.

We were led to a room to watch a historical video of the place. Then we all walked mindlessly back out to the center. Some cried and some just stood. I looked down to see a puddle of fresh rain at my feet. I saw a sad and confused version of myself in the reflection.

Why am I lucky enough to not go through what these people did? Who am I to be walking around, and exploring through the miseries these people faced? And why is this grass so damn green?

A hypnotized generation

Kathleen — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 12:35:07 +0000

Some of my worst experiences in Vienna involve old women yelling at me. They are old, scary, and pissed off. So, my sensitive self has been wondering for over two months, what am I doing to upset these tiny old ladies? The more I tried to be nice and appeal to them, their bitterness would seem to grow.

A major possibility for the almost hostile behavior is because I am American. But that’s not enough of an explanation for me. It wasnt until I had a conversation with my German professor that I began to understand the mystery.

Every old man who I see in Vienna, from Vienna, was involved with WWII. Every old man who I didn’t see, died in WWII. Each old woman I see, is, or was affiliated with one of these two groups of men. When Hitler came into Austria and declared it part of the Third Reich, there was no choice but to go along with it. And if you watch Hitler’s speech at the State Museum in Vienna, you will see he had enthusiastic Austrian followers. This generation of humans had no thoughts to themselves, and if they did, they never voiced them. Whether they thought it was wrong, or they were friends with Jews, they went along with it. Brainwash.

After the war was over and things went back to “normal,” this generation was left permanently disrupted. WWII is something I have learned about in school, I know it happened because both of my grandfathers were in it and there are monuments in Washington D.C. for it. There are movies, books, and t.v. shows about it. But here, on location, there are too modern of buildings sitting next to old ones in an effort to blend buildings that were bombed back into the city architecture. But the most overwhelming factor that connects Vienna to its past are the heartbroken old women.

What will Vienna be like after this generation disappears? Will it lose its connection to a terrifying time in history? I have no idea, but what I once thought of these bitter old ladies has been replaced by respect.

To Freedom

Kathleen — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 15:14:29 +0000

As a college student, I admit toasting to many things; a win, a person, a situation, a funny joke. If I am being honest with myself, I could even say I have toasted to just about everything. But I’ve never toasted to freedom.

In 1961 two Portuguese students raised their glasses to freedom, only to be thrown in jail for the next 7 years. These kids were put in jail for dreaming of something I take for granted every day.

A British lawyer named Peter Beneson helped their story become known to the world by writing an article which later became the basis of an NGO called Amnesty International.

While my life in Vienna mostly seems like some sort of fairy tale, today’s lecture was the best kind of slap in the face. I enjoy the fancy balls, ballets, operas, ice skating, skiing, drinking, dancing. It is all so great, and I’m sure I will never get a chance to live like this again. But it is so important for me to stay grounded and remember the real world where people, today, are not even free.

It is not enough to say I will make my next toast to freedom, but it’s where I will start.

Context

Kathleen — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 11:06:40 +0000

Rika and I recently went to an Austrian Superbowl Party. This was an experience all in itself with the end result of my home team choking. But it was great because Rika and I were the only two non-Austrians there, so we were getting lessons from everyone. While the hour long show that teaches Austrians the concept of football was on, like it is before every superbowl, we were talking about the State Ball held at the opera house to one of the young men. He was explaining how the State Ball is just a charade of people who think they are famous making fools of themselves by being too rich for their own good. Rika and I pondered this for a moment before she said, “So I take it you’re not very fond of balls?” And, I really tried to hold it in, but eyes watering, the immature 12-year-old American schoolgirl won and I burst out in laughter. Rika immediately followed. And, Bastian, realizing why we thought it was funny joined the laughter. And for that moment, we were just 3 kids laughing at balls.

Budapest

Kathleen — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 17:15:55 +0000

Vienna is a great city. Its history and architecture is enough to make anyone fall in love with it. However, personally, I like it in small doses. I always know when I have stuck around Vienna for too long. For example, last night an old, scary lady yelled at me for going inside her shop to look at hats instead of looking from the window. Zing.

My most recent trip out of this hot/cold city was to Budapest, Hungary. My friend Rika and I took a 7 a.m. bus from Vienna to Budapest. I got on the bus, went straight to the back and passed out. When I woke up I had a bottle of water in my lap from the bus driver and was in Budapest!

We found our hostel, Budapest Budget Hostel, where we met Norbert! He is the owner of the hostel and he was one of the highlights of this trip, a very nice man. We dropped off our things and walked all over the Pest side of Budapest. The next day we conquered Buda.

I found the city a little difficult to warm up to. When we first arrived at the bus station there was around a foot of snow on the ground in some areas, but it had been there for a while so it was dirty. There were a lot of homeless walking up asking for money. Everything looked a bit more run down than Vienna, in general. But a strange thing happened after my first Hungarian meal. I’m not sure if it was because of a change in my mind-set or the amazing goulash sent me into a food high, but from this point on I loved everything Budapest.

Rika and I packed A LOT into 2 days. We saw the major buildings, ate amazing Hungarian food, went to a spa, and enjoyed old smokey bars at nights. Sunday morning, while walking back to the train station a new layer of snow was coming down. The city looked so beautiful. Boarding the bus, Rika and I were seriously contemplating saying we got snowed in and had to stay for a few more days.

On the bus trip back I reminisced about the weekend. My favorite memory, was, believe it or not, getting lost. Rika and I took a bus up to Matthius Church on the Buda side. It was, of course, amazing. But the trip back down was an adventure!

First we took a bus that we thought went back down. Negative. We ended up at a bus stop we didn’t recognize so we got back on a bus. Long story short, after becoming friends with a few bus drivers, we found ourselves at Buda Castle! It was beautiful! And we saw our tram stop! But, the tram stop was 100 yards below us and the only way down was to scale down an icy, snowy path. So, we slid, snowball fought with strangers, and fell down the hill. It was great!

Budapest became one of my favorite cities in the world. The people, the food, the architecture, and the snow made me fall in love with this city.

Good Morning

Kathleen — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 23:05:07 +0000

I’ve tried not to take anything for granted while I’m here because I know I will never be here at this stage in my life ever again. I’ve worked hard not to let my life here slip into a routine, but inevitably it has.

I wake up to my 7:30 alarm, ready, excited for the day. No need for snooze, I roll out of bed and blindly use my hands to find the door, as not to wake my sleep talking roommate. I creak down the long hall way, each floor bored making an awkwardly disturbed noise only a floor 200 years old could make.

I hop into my oversized dreamlike shower and ponder what to wear on such a special occasion-another of the best days of my life. I make my way back down the long, dark hall to my room where I silently get ready. I quickly check my computer for any sign of home, throw my books in my bag and head to the kitchen.

My favorite room in this palace I call home, the kitchen is an oversized Tuscan version of what every kitchen should be. I make the most pathetic meal I could make in such a place as this: cereal. I enjoy my Cornflakes with brown sugar and homemade nectarine marmalade on top with a half glass of peach juice also in silence. (Besides one special morning when Opa joined me-story for another time)

I wash my dishes and head out the door, as bundled up as all possible. I walk down two flights of stairs, through a courtyard full of small shops and to the corner of my street to wait for the 1A bus. I stare at Stephans Dom while I wait the 2 to 3 minutes it usually takes. There will never be enough time to stare at its wonders. I climb on the bus which either smells like old man breath or old lady perfume. Guess what age bracket shares this bus with me?

I ride the bus 7 stops, smiling at the old men (the only friendly Viennese) and avoiding eye contact with the old ladies (the scariest Viennese). I get off and head down to the S-Baun (street-car) where I take the 38 all the way to school. While I wait for it, I people watch. The further away from the city center, where I live, the more diverse people become. At this stop I see all kinds of people; Turks, Africans, Italians, Asians. I love the diversity and the languages.

Aboard the 38, I stare out the windows, everyday seeing something new and something old. I make my way up to the doors just in time to get off for school. I have a half block walk to school, which is usually the coldest part of my day. I get in, hang up all my layers and travel up the three flights of stairs to my class.

My walk to school.

It is around this time that I realize my day is just beginning and that I have the power to make it whatever I want it to be. Thank you, Vienna.

lost

Kathleen — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 21:27:51 +0000

Bad news is so selfish. It comes and takes everything away; happiness, innocence, peace, tears, sleep. When it came to visit last night, I did my usual: got lost. I bundled up and set out on a walk around Vienna’s first district. With a numb feeling taking up my brain, my feet took me to St. Stephan’s Cathedral. I stood in the middle of the pews of this huge structure for what could have been minutes or hours. I finally snapped out of my haze and left. The next thing I heard from behind, “Entschuldigung” (excuse me). I turned around to see a small Viennese woman with a mustache or a small Viennese man with a feminine face smile at me and ask if something was wrong. I said yes. ”Are you religious?” “No.” Do you read the Bible?” ”Yes.” After this exchange he/she gave me a religious lesson. I recognized the game and thanked the person and said how much of a help it was. The person left fulfilled, and I left annoyed. I wandered by some old streets until I came across a fancy restaurant where I could watch the cooks through a large kitchen window. Everyone moved in harmony tending to their own pots and pans, cutting, flipping, pouring, tossing, arranging. I became lost in the methodical movements. My mind managed to escape the kitchen to hear a familiar song. Just when I thought the night could not get any more depressing, less than a block away, a man was singing Fire and Rain. Never before had this song taken on so much meaning. I tossed a Euro into his guitar case and walked further down the Graben. I walked along the half crowded street, slowly, studying the people and window shopping. As I approached an old man with a fancy hat and old, dirty shoes I smiled, surprisingly. He stopped to talk to me. Our conversation was a mix of German and English, as each of us hardly spoke the other’s language. He left thinking I was a tennis player from California studying music here. I left knowing he was a godsend. I went to bed that night heart broken, thinking of my new friend I’m not likely to see again, and my dear family back home.

first impressions

Kathleen — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 23:04:08 +0000

After a week here, I feel as though I’m only beginning to learn about Viennese people. My initial impression of the people was formed during my first few days here. Walking along the cold streets of Vienna, I offered a sheepish smile to anyone who was willing to accept it. It turns out the people here seem as cold as their streets. This did a number to my homesick heart. Through out this week I have learned to walk with my eyes fogged, smile depleted, and unapproachable body language-just like the Viennese. It was not until I got into the class room that my view of these pissed off people began to change. In a culture class I learned a key difference between German and Austrian culture is their openness. Directly after WWII, Germany talked about what had happened and dealt with it. The Holocaust monument in Vienna was not constructed until 1988. My host mom described this as being “very Austrian.” No one wanted to talk about what happened, so they pushed it away and “forgot,” unlike Germany who, for the most part, confronted it. While I still have much more to learn, I am starting to see what kind of influence a culture’s history can have on its people. From now on, I will again, be bright-eyed and smile at anyone who dare looks my way, for it is my culture.

Hello Vienna!

Kathleen — Tue, 12 Jan 2010 17:31:24 +0000

After being as lost as possible in JFK, I found Austrian Airlines. I spent the next 11 hours in seat 38D. My neighbor was an Austrian Immigrant going back to see his sick mom. He was a happy old man, who has spent the past 20 years in New York City. We talked about my schooling and Reggie Miller. I slept most of the way, and occasionally woke up only to find I had been leaning against him. Each time I apologized and he genuinely laughed. We said our goodbyes at baggage claim after which I took a taxi and met my host mom. I live in the dead center of Vienna called Stephanzplatz. St. Stephans Cathedral (built in 1230AD) is how I find my way home, because my flat is located right beside it. My flat was built in the 19th century, everything is oversized and wooden with windows stretching up to the high ceilings. The night I arrived my host mom took me on a short tour of District 1, where I am living. We walked down the Graben, one of the main streets, by the Imperial Palace, down Kärntner Straße, and the Opera House. The walk was magical. Christmas lights and decorations were still up, with a heavy snow falling, I had found my own personal heaven.