Cold and Not Canadian

People have been suggesting that Austria must be as cold as Kelowna now. Nope. It's colder.

Fasching Season

Around this time last year I received a text from a friend asking me to pick him up on my way home from the office and drop him off at his house.

As I waited outside in my car at the agreed upon meeting place my mind wandered. My reverie was quickly interrupted when a man in head-to-toe gold Lamé climbed into the passenger seat. He looked like an adult Aladdin right down to the pointed, curly-toed shoes.

“I must look a bit strange to you,” uttered my friend.

Strange didn’t even begin to capture what was running through my mind. I was still trying to get used to the lederhosen and dirndl and now here I was trying to cope with the fact that I had a human Aladdin in my car. I think I can still hear the awkward laugh that escaped from me in reply.

A few days later a bus painted in wild colours passed by with all sorts of colourfully dressed people within. When I say people, I am referring to adults.

“Carnival season,” said my friend.

This weekend while in the Dornbirn Marktplatz, lets say I was a bit more prepared when I heard the sound of trumpets and whistles blasting and turned to see a parade of adults and children all dressed in orange heading for a snow bank.

As I write this I struggle to find some sort of Canadian or North American equivalent for comparison – but I cannot. It is truly a unique experience, and one that has a rich history. Not just a one-day event, carnival is referred to as more of a “season.” More common in Catholic and, to a lesser extent, Easter Orthodox societies, Carnival Season, or Fasching as it called here in Austria, begins six weeks before Lent – so when it actually begins is connected with when Easter falls of that particular year.

I don’t even know if I fully understand the motivation behind it - but I am intrigued. So this year, I’m in. I don’t know if I am prepared to don the wild attire that so many of the people do here – but as they say “when in Rome…”

An Anniversary of Sorts

Well, it has been one year since I began calling Dornbirn home. And wow what a year.

I have to be honest; it wasn’t easy - in fact at times it as down right brutal. My first few months were filled with unanticipated solitude and disappointment. I quickly discovered that my Austrian BFF was a bust. My search for a flat was as difficult as my hotel room was small. I missed my son, family and friends. The dialect spoken here was a challenge for me. The few belongings I had fit on one luggage trolley.

I was seriously tested. My normally positive outlook was replaced by a series of emotions that lead me on the wildest emotional roller coaster of my life. I can’t imagine that I was much fun to be around.

But I hung in. If you ask me why I made the decision to stay, I would have to say it was only because I didn't want to give up. Or maybe it was my friends and family that encouraged me not to give up. At least that was how it was in the beginning anyway. Because, thankfully, before long things started to change. Acquaintances and even adversaries transformed into trusted friends. I found a flat. My son, mother and friends came to visit me. People started to better understand my fragmented German. I made not one, but a few new Austrian BFF’s. I actually had people I could text and texted me.

So, I am happy to say that one year later my life does not near resemble the one that began last January. And, I do not know if I would change any part of this experience. I was forced to discover things about myself that would have evaded me otherwise...and the people, the places, the countless new experiences - I kind of think that there is some truth to the adage that we should "do what scares us the most." The biggest risks indeed result in the greatest gain.

Plus there is the incredible satisfaction of not wondering "what if?"

Who knows how this journey of mine will twist and turn. Though there is one thing that I do know, no matter what I do or where I happen to be I will continue to be inspired by the remarkable people that make up such an important part of my life - here, there and everywhere...

Cold and Canadian

My friend in Austria texted me this afternoon asking me what I was doing. At that particular moment I was wandering around Home Depot, Starbucks in hand in my most comfortable well-worn pair of jeans and a t-shirt. In Kelowna.

The question made me give pause. I would never wander around my Vorarlberg home like that. First thing to note was that I was dressed inappropriately for the weather. But being Canadian, we often don’t bother with such formalities. We can usually be found dashing from our vehicle to whatever our destination happened to be in clothing that is anything but warm. When I first arrived back in Kelowna I was wandering around with my big scarf, warm jacket and a hat close at hand. Its now 10 days later and I have already resumed my Canadian ways. Its ironic really, the country most noted for its harsh climate and we seem committed to defying the reality of it all.

I must admit however, even though I am not a fan of the deep cold winters – I feel home in them. Just yesterday when the chairlift I was on came to a screeching halt we had a few moments to enjoy the fierce wind that blew the snow so hard it felt like little pin pricks on any exposed skin. As I pulled my neck warner over my face and shared comments of displeasure with my lift mates I couldn’t help but smile. This is the winter I know, not just the weather itself, but the common bond fellow Canadians share over it. We are too cold, too hot, and too humid – we are a country of extremes and we like it – even though we would never admit it.

That same day I skied into the resort village. A large inflated beaver anchored in the snow was inviting people to come celebrate. Only in Canada would we have a vicious, bucktooth reclusive animal as our countries mascot. The sight of the massive beaver made me laugh and in some odd way also feel proud. Generally speaking, Canadians don't take themselves too seriously.

I have indeed adapted to my European life. But one thing I did realize in that Home Depot moment – you can take the girl of out of Canada, but you cannot take the Canadian out of the girl…

Greener Pastures & Inspiring Moments

My mother and I were chatting away at the main street light in downtown Dornbirn at about 4pm on a beautiful Saturday afternoon when the man on his bike beside us suddenly gave a holler.

Of course we glanced over, but it was what we saw that will forever remain imprinted in our minds. Waiting patiently behind the man was his heard of sheep. Once he gave his okay to cross the road the sheep literally began to gallop after the man as he pedalled his way home. And not only that, they pretty much stayed on the sidewalk.

Later we learned that the sheep belonged to the owner of a popular bakery and café (Cafe Stadelmann) in town. I had previously heard about the owner Marcus. Passionate about his craft, his actions often provide fodder for a few conversations, but the respect for the end result, is high. You see, Marcus frequently takes his sheep for a “walk” so that they can enjoy greener pastures elsewhere.

I love the fact that Marcus the Baker walks his sheep so they can enjoy greener pastures. I love even more the fact that they follow him. There is something about a person who lives life on the own terms that both inspires and scares us. To venture out of one’s comfort zone and abandon the innate desire to conform requires courage and commitment. We all want as much as we can possibly squeeze out of life but often we are so busy colouring within the lines that our truly extraordinary life passes us by.

I have to admit, I was a bit inspired - so I am taking this moment I experienced as a gentle reminder to live life with as much passion and abandon as I can possible muster.