Navigating Through Da with a Ding

Its German class tonight and I am late. The navigation in my car keeps taking me to a location that is making me doubtful.

A few weeks ago I was treated to a traffic sign information session by some friends. There are round signs everywhere here. Some with X's through them, some with lines, and some with round circles. During this same discussion, they also gave me an abundance of information on everything Austrian. The result was the retention of a few facts, most of them not the slightest bit useful, but fascinating to me nonetheless. Facts such as learning that a reclusive man lives nearby in the mountains and makes boots so cool that he has had to outsource making them in order to keep up with demand.

Not at all helpful, and I am now filled with a nagging hesitation as I stare at a round sign with a line through the middle of it. My cars navigation is telling me to proceed on through and frankly I am not so sure. I find I am really wishing I had paid more attention to the traffic sign talk. The large planter in the middle of the road is also telling me in it’s of so subtle way that this way is likely forbidden. But damn it, the navigation says that in order to get to where I need to go, I must proceed.

Fifteen minutes late for German class. Surely they are already conjugating a whole new set of verbs and I will be clueless in the room full of keeners. Fun.

Slowly I inch towards the planter and consider driving on through the area and pleading ignorance if it is indeed a forbidden route. The problem is that although I believe that rules are meant to be challenged, Austrian society is incredibly respectful of them and this makes me a little bit nervous. I call my Swiss friend who in turn makes me annoyed because he has no idea about the sign I am trying to describe.

“Please proceed to the planned route,” says the navigation.

Twenty minutes late. I consider skipping it.

The problem here is that the road system makes no sense to me. In Canada, most cities with the exception of Vancouver, are built on a grid. Here everything twists and turns and feeds into places you never expect. Normally I love this, but twenty-two minutes late and I can find nothing positive about the situation.

I decide that I do not want to risk losing my license in rule filled Austria and will instead find the location on my own. It worked. And although I showed up 30 minutes late for class I was able to learn important words. Like “da” which means here, and “ding” which means thing. I love these words. I also learned that “nicht” or “not” is often the third word in a sentence. Now I can say things like “was is das ding?” (what is this thing) which is actually a whole of fun to say. Or better yet, “Das ding ist kaput!” which is exactly what I have to say about my navigation.

The Naked Sauna

“This is a nudist area” says the battle axe in front of me. “Strip down.”

Well, one thing is for certain, I took a wrong turn in this fitness club. I can be a bit oblivious at times. Wandering around thinking about this and that, and unless something happens to startle me out of my internal daydream, then I can miss what’s happening around me. Right or wrong, it’s part of my “thing.”

So now I am startled. There are naked people everywhere, and am not only clothed, I have a big huge bathrobe on top too. But this woman is firm. And to be honest, I am a bit stressed about how to get out of the place. She hands me a towel, I strip as discretely as possible and duck into the nearest sauna with the towel wrapped around me. The sauna I selected was about 4000 degrees and had about six naked men sprawled out in it.

I am so far gone out of my comfort zone that I promise myself that I will never daydream a moment more in life. Carefully I make my way to the furthest, highest corner in the sweltering room. (Which also happens to be the hottest of course). Towel wrapped around I pretend that I am in my happy place and hope that no one notices me.

That was until the battle axe returned. She throws open the sauna door and says “English girl, towel is for your feet!”

Seriously? Who ever heard of such a thing! My towel was needed more for my feet than the rest of body. My invisible cloak had entirely crumbled as now people were asking me where I was from and so on. A part inside my mind is pushed so far beyond my comfort zone that I nearly convince myself that this is not happening. It’s all likely a dream that was probably brought on by some nightmare inducing kaesspaetzle eaten the night before. Now I am explaining to what can only be described as nakedness, that I am from Vancouver. Another mistake, they want to talk Olympics now.

I notice with envy everyone is drinking water. Not me. I am not supposed to be here so I am totally unprepared. One moment wandering aimlessly, and the next I am living my worst nightmare. A glance out the sauna window tells me that this is rush hour in nudist town. I vow to stay in my corner. Slowly the men leave, for that sauna was brutally hot. I want to leave too, but I am now filled with fear of getting stuck out in the naked sea of bodies out the window. I’d rather die in the sauna than go out there. Everyone is chatting away like this is normal everyday behaviour. By this time I am so parched I don’t even think I could talk if I wanted.

In the end, I stayed in that 4000 degree sauna until virtually every person had departed and was delirious from the heat and dehydration. But like I said, I was prepared to die in that corner. I’ve never been so happy to see a bathrobe in my life.

That’s one big cultural difference. Nudity. It’s not really a big deal here. I think it’s pretty cool that they can be so open and relaxed about the whole thing. However, at the end of the day, I am a Canadian. We feel really uncomfortable when some guy goes running down the beach in a banana hammock, never mind nudist saunas. Maybe it’s because of our long cold winters and our love of bundling up, I don’t know. What I do know, is that I won’t be venturing into that area again.