Yoga and a Finnish Sauna

Nudity.  Yeah I know - here I go again.  But seriously are things ever different here in Europe.  Years later I am still getting used to it.  This past week tested me again.  

Lets start with yoga, and the fellow that walked in and changed rather comfortably right there in the studio.  How awkward I thought as I made a mental note to myself to NEVER plan to change in the yoga studio.  Ever.

The next moment was when I went to see a massage therapist.  Since it was my first visit with her, she wanted the background story that had led me her.  While I got ready for the massage.  Awkward.

I try though.  I try to appear cool about the whole thing.  I really don't know how some cultures can be so uninhibited.  In response to my recent nudity rant, a friend shared a story of when he was living in Finland and having his work performance evaluation recounted by his boss in the sauna.  Nude.  I am sorry, but I know I will never ever get that cool.  However, my friend said that although he initially balked at the idea - it turned out to be a bonding experience.  "We were in an environment where we were equals which made discussion easier and more productive," he told me.  Personally I think I'd have to resign.  But, IF I did manage to summon some courage to do it - I would likely have to starve myself and spend 8 hours per day on a treadmill starting two weeks in advance of the meeting.  And a board meeting?  All that breathing and sweating with a bunch of people I would be happy to live a life and never see naked?  And happy to also have them never see me that way either. I think we all wear clothes to work for a reason - no?  

Okay, I am done.  Well, for today anyway...

(for those doubters on the Finnish sauna thing, here is a CNN story on a board meeting in the sauna, nudity required... http://money.cnn.com/magazines/fortune/fortune_archive/2003/10/06/350393/index.htm )

And now Imagine Dragons, and yes, this one is for you - you know who you are :)

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…”

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…

Water and Mountain People

Canadians are water people. We gravitate towards it on our holidays. Whether the Atlantic or Pacific Ocean or one of the many fresh water lakes you will find us flocking towards it. We swim in it, ski on it, lay around it, look at it, fish in it, dive, snorkel and wind surf. Cabins are built around it for family getaways, and house prices soar if there is a view of it. You get the picture - Canadians love their water.

I have to admit, it took some time for me to adjust to life here in Vorarlberg. Although the Lake of Constance is minutes away, people here simply do not expel the same amount of energy enjoying it as say Canadians would. You see, Vorarlberger’s love their mountains.

Living at the base of a popular hiking area, I spent months marvelling at the number of people heading up the mountain every day when weather permitted – which is virtually all the time. I was invited countless time to “walk” and “hike” and for climbing lessons in the mountains. Beautiful restaurants are nuzzled in remote mountain areas. Spas, festivals, cafes, ski resorts and so on. Life here is in the mountains.

Tough adjustment for a water loving Canadian. I just didn’t get it. You see in Canada we don’t really do a whole bunch in the mountains – some hiking, skiing of course, but for the most part it is best used for access to the less densely populated lakes and rivers. The reasons for this are many, however when I share with friends here in Vorarlberg they do not understand why we refrain from the lifestyle they so enjoy. Although we do some mountain-ish activities, we also respect the fact that within the forest walls reside bears, cougars (the man eating kind), coyotes and all sorts of predatory animals. Trails are less blazed and people are few – it’s simply different.

Having called Vorarlberg home for the past 10 months I can honestly say that I have come to appreciate the lure of heading to the mountains. No matter what sort of physical challenge I am in the mood for, I can find it in there. I can also find the solitude, simplicity and peace not always readily found at home. It’s a grounding experience.

As an expat, I have come to appreciate that our roots, our culture form a fundamental part of who we are. I was naïve to the extent that this actually exists. But I have also learned that although Canadian, I am also a Vorarlberger (albeit a newbie one) and that means something too. Water may be a part of who I am, but this whole mountain thing is now too.

To Dirndl or Not to Dirndl

“You have to wear your dirndl,” says the man to me. Then he pauses and adds, “You know what that is - right?”

“Of course,” I reply. “It’s the cleavage dress.”

I don’t know what it is, but my Vorarlberg experience has taught me that men LOVE the dirndl. We are talking all men – young and old. Initially I could not comprehend what would have women happily running around in a traditional dress that also required an apron. The skirt is long, the sleeves are often ruffled. The whole thing is incredibly girlie and seriously old fashioned. But what the whole get up does allow for is a spectacular showing of cleavage.

Let me stop here as I have a bit of confession to make - I am actually considering buying a dirndl. I know, clearly I have lived here too long for such a thought to even enter my mind and perhaps am in need of some sort of Austrian assimilation intervention. I think in some ways I just want to walk around in one - see what it feels like. Will I feel old school and old fashioned? Maybe a little sexy? Though that seems hard to believe - there is an apron involved after all. What exactly is it that keep women wearing them? Or why men love seeing a woman in one? In many ways, I have to think that for a man the dirndl is like watching a woman in maid uniform, a little bit of dress up fun perhaps? I don’t know what it is, but a woman wearing a dirndl is clearing exciting for a lot of Vorarlberger men.

But –do women find lederhosen hot on men? It’s a good question, because most often when the woman is wearing her dirndl, the man will often accompany her in his lederhosen.

Let me help you with the lederhosen visual. Man in leather knickers with suspenders, shirt embroidered with flowers, knee high socks and hopefully no hat walking towards you.

It’s not happening is it?

Where there are dirndl’s – there are certain to be lederhosen. Its part of the whole thing they have going on here. And the man who invited me to his wife’s 40th party and told me to wear a dirndl – you can rest assured that the men are being told to wear their lederhosen.

I dont know for certain if I will actually one day don a dirndl, but I have to admit; somehow knowing men will be prancing around in their lederhosen makes the whole dirndl thing seem a lot more reasonable. And maybe even a little fun...







Ps. here are a couple links – one for the dirndl and the other lederhosen.

http://www.google.co.uk/search?q=dirndl&hl=en&rlz=1I7ADFA_enAT420&prmd=imvns&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=3JyIToi7K8e4hAfusYHUDA&ved=0CDMQsAQ&biw=1350&bih=651

http://www.google.co.uk/search?hl=en&rlz=1I7ADFA_enAT420&q=lederhosen&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.,cf.osb&biw=1350&bih=610&wrapid=tlif131757768029610&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&tab=wi

The Expensive Princess

As months have gone, it has been an eventful one. Every time I turned around my task list grew. Unexpected bills came my way. Water pipes blew up. And on the last day of August I had one more event that left me both amused and bewildered.

Instead of heading home, I decided to head to downtown Dornbirn and enjoy both a glass of wine and what may have been the last of the warm summer evening - and lucky for me I did not have to do it alone.

My mood was feisty. And over here that also makes me a bit different. The culture is more formal and I am more casual in nature – like most Canadians. Of my two companions I knew one a bit better than the other. The less familiar one seemingly more proper and reserved. However, he too had a day or month that had taken its toll.

One thing I do enjoy about being here is that I can push humour a little more and get away with it. People are just so darn polite – and my being Canadian is a bit of a get-out-of-jail-free-card. One of which I use constantly. Being in a feisty mood only made it worse. However this time my dry humour was being tested and challenged.

It was right about there that I was suddenly called “an expensive princess.”

I have to admit I was shocked. In my nine months of living here I have never had anyone say anything close to such a thing. Maybe from my long-time friend here or from those back home– but not in the circle of my recently acquired Vorarlberg friends. I was used to being treated more “gently”.

The conversation continued for a while longer. The unfiltered sarcasm, barbs and jabs did as well. At one point I noticeably refrained from a response in fear that I would go too far. “Oh go on” said my friend who was quietly watching the evening progress and the conversation digress.

It was my first real evening like that here. Although it is nice being treated gently and with kindness – it felt like a relief to not feel that I had to watch my words and instead just be me - and that it’s not just back home in Kelowna that people will push back.

One thing I have learned is that feeling homesick can manifest itself in different ways. I miss my son more than words can express - my family, friends and home. But what you don’t anticipate is the change that you go through when living elsewhere. As much as I would like to think I have not, I know I have changed a little. I have had to adapt to the unfamiliar structure of society here, and the overall formality. My words are slightly guarded and I am a bit more reserved. But for a few hours I was just me. Unguarded words, loud laugh and pushing the boundaries to see how far I could go…

You Can't Say That Here

“You can’t say that here,” said the fellow in my office.

When I asked why, his reply was simply, “you just can’t.” And with that, he left.

First let me paint the scene. The temperature outside was 30 degrees Celsius. My office was about 35 degrees. My face was covered in perspiration. The clothing I had decided to wear was completely inappropriate for the heat. And, although I can handle soaring temperatures with little problem, this day was a definite exception. With hours left in my work day, I contemplating how I would both make it – and cool down.

That’s about when my visitor walked in and inquired if I was “cranky.” To which I replied, “No, I’m just really hot.”

A few days later while enjoying both a coffee and the blazing sunshine, I was once again feeling the heat. It seemed the perfect moment to ask my friend about my colleague's comment.

“You can’t say that,” was my friend’s quick comment. “Especially at work.”
For the most part, I know that I am forgiven the seeming misuse of statements and phrases. I may go so far as to say that my friends and colleagues are amused when I make them. But it also works both ways. Like the word “toilet.” Here in Austria people often excuse themselves to go to the “toilet.” When I rented my flat I told someone one I had one and a half bathrooms to which they replied “You have one bathroom and a toilet.”

At home we do not say this word in polite conversation. In fact, many would say it is more acceptable to swear, than use the word “toilet.” I literally cringe every time I hear it. To even write it in this blog makes me feel uncomfortable. I keep thinking ‘I sure hope my mother doesn’t read this one.’ I know my discomfort with this word is a source of amusement to those close to me here.

But so it goes. I’m learning. By trial and error. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I am off to the pool. It’s another beautiful 30 degree day and I am, well, you know…

Another 13 Things I Have Learned Living in Austria

1. Most Austrians think they are very similar to Canadians. I think perhaps after a spin on the 401 or attending a Canuck playoff game will cure them of that sentiment.

2. Formality rules. This is a bit of a mind bender for me being a west coast Canadian. I have had to re-evaluate how to write an email. Frau Antle.

3. Ceilings are made of cement. Particularly delightful when drilling holes for light fixtures.

4. Smoke detectors are no big deal here. See above.

5. Austrians don’t care about rhythm when they dance. It’s all about having fun – rhythm just just gets in the way of that. (Okay, that’s not completely true. I was just surprised by those normally reserved tearing it up on the floor. Who knew?)

6. Duck, lamb, rabbit, deer – it will be on the menu.

7. You don’t wait for things in the pharmacy. It’s instantaneous. No four hour prescription waits here.

8. Big brother is watching. I am still getting used to cameras being everywhere.

9. When travelling elsewhere and I tell people I work in Austria they think “Australia.” Seriously.

10. Binders. We don’t do folders and filing cabinets here. It’s all done in binders. I have yet to embrace the concept.

11. People are kind. I like that about living here.

12. Bicycles. It’s not unusual for someone to have three. One used for running errands. Another for street biking and then another for mountain biking.

13. Don’t order a highball.