At First Sight

That is it.  I am completely and totally in love.

The first evening was spent wandering about the city
streets, delightfully lost.  

I have never really had a surprise trip before.  Although I had some suspicions about the destination,  I really did not ultimately know until I was at the gate.  How is this possible in today's modern world of high security air travel?  Let me just say that I did not even have to show one piece of identification from the moment I entered the airport until arriving at the hotel.  Yes, apparently the hotel was more concerned about my identity than airport security, but alas that is a rant and not quite what I am in the mood for today.

So I arrived in Venice (not Venus as auto correct would prefer to have had me doing for some reason) and immediately fell in love.

There was an adorable old book store, absolutely loaded with used books.  Anyone who knows me is well-acquainted with my affinity for old and antique books.  The wonderful staircase of books was hidden in the books store's rear courtyard and lead to a spectacular canal view.  I could have spent hours there.

This little trip was good for me.  As I shared before, the road has been a bit bumpy lately.  I have spent much time worrying about things of which I had no control.  Enjoying a moment had become difficult because I was not in it.  My mind was elsewhere.  

Of course we had to do a tour on the black gondola. I like to call this photo "rush hour in Venice."

To cross or not to cross?  Translated this sign reads "Bridge of the Devil". Guess what I did?

How could I not fall in love with this place when waking to this view each morning of my short stay?

Heading under the famous Rialto bridge in the black gondola.

But then Venice happened.  I found myself living only in the moment.  Absorbing the history, the people, the vibe of the place - I have to admit that I even adore the sound of the language.  No, it is not my first time in Italy, far from it in fact, I seem to have sort of have a thing for this country.

Anyway, to ramble on seems wrong somehow.  I cannot do the affection I have for this place justice - perhaps the photos will instead :)

So true.  I found this at the Peggy Guggenheim Museum and loved the sentiment.

The Kelowna Factor

I have dubbed it the “Kelowna factor”. No matter where I am in the world, if I attend an event I will run into at least one person who has visited Kelowna. I find it absolutely mind-boggling. These people fill me in on tales of visiting Summerhill Estate Winery, fishing, the Kettle Valley Railway, skiing Big White and enjoying Okanagan Lake. For a place that is not so large in size, it has sure made an impression on countless people throughout the world.

Last night was again, no exception. At a Zurich Expat group event I was asked from where I originated. And of course I was once again enlightened on Kelowna travel experiences. What makes this particularly unique is that in my travels I rarely meet other Canadians, only people who have visited Kelowna.

On another note, a fellow and I were speaking last night. As we were introduced to others our host mixed up where we were from. I was introduced as an American and the other gentleman as a Canadian. We were immediate and emphatic about clearing up that misunderstanding. Canadians are known for being a bit goofy, and American’s – well for being American and both nationalities do not wish to be mistaken for the other J

Pride & Innocence

While in Bezau, in Bregenzerwald we stopped for dinner at a very traditional restaurant. Like most things in Europe, there was a story that surrounded the restaurant.

The old building was purchased by a man who was very skilled with wood working and committed to the traditions and history of the Bregenzerwald region. I loved how it was redone. The original beams, flooring and so on were all maintained and resurfaced. Although the updates within maintained the traditional look of the region, a slightly modern feel also exists. As expected the food was as well very traditional (I had to have käsespätzle). I wish I had pictures to share of the building and restaurant – however that will have to wait until the next time I visit.

While flipping thought the restaurants albums that documented the buildings physical transformation, a news clipping which I posted with this blog caught my attention. Directly translated it means “strong cheese year.” It made me giggle to see something like this make headlines. However, properly interpreted, the headline is sharing that the areas cheese sales were great that year. Still kinda cute - and also somewhat indicative of the innocence and pride of this very traditional region.

The Warm Up Period

“We in Vorarlberg, began my friend “are not so easy to get close to. We tend to be closed in nature.”

Okay diplomacy, don't fail me …my friend was indeed speaking the truth. In fact, I would say that if you have a Canadian on one side of a scale, you’ll find some Italians, Spanish and well you get the picture. On the other hand, on the verrry end on the other side of the scale you find Austrians, Swiss, and so on.

We are different. I know I laugh too loud sometimes. I kind of don’t care if people like me or not. I am a bit hyper, restless, and unstructured. I don’t like filing systems that involve binders. I stopped thinking that meeting friends at 9 or 10 at night was normal at about 19. I cook only when I feel like it, and when I do it will likely be hot and spicy. I'm Canadian.

Now imagine the opposite of all that.

Its taken a year – but I get it. And those who know me get me too. Tonight as yelled on my way out of the office that I wanted to be first one out I was quickly greeted by the sound of footsteps running behind me. Or when I embarrassed myself by referring to Austria’s most famous treat, Mozartkugeln, as Mozart Balls it was acknowledged as something I would say. I’ve learned to eat my main meal mid-day and I can say mahlzeit like a pro. I can speak more German than I will ever admit and I even know how to say where I live in dialect.

So, are Austrian’s closed in nature? I don’t think so. We're having a lot of fun now. I like to think that it was more like they - and I - required a bit of a warm up period.

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...

Margin of Error

I call the margin of error, and I am missing it.

You see, here in Austria and particularly Vorarlberg things are pretty locked down and structured. Heck, while I am at, lets extend that line of thought to Switzerland and Germany.

It is all about rules and processes. And, what is most remarkable for an expat like me is the fact that people actually heed them.

Let me paint a scene for you. Imagine for a moment you are listening to your favourite song. The windows are rolled up so you are giving it all you’ve got. Of course you are going the speed limit, however fully engaged in a rock star moment you let your focus waver for just a moment. I mean how long is your favourite song – it can’t be more than 3.25 minutes I am guessing. So the vehicle exceeds, albeit briefly the designated speed limit. But before you know it - BAM! Monster flash goes off. Great would have been if that had been an extension of the rock star moment, but alas, it is not. You’ve been pegged, caught and captured on film going an unpardonable 6 kilometers over the speed limit.

No that was not a typo, I did indeed write 6 kilometers. No margin of error there.

I have come to the conclusion that Canadians are a bit of a laid back sort. We like our margin of error. Six kilometers over the speed limit? That’s not even worth a police officer putting down his Tim Horton’s coffee for, he already understands that the driver likely didn’t mean it. I mean, if you are going to speed – make it worth not finishing a donut for.

And hey – if you are wondering just how much that 6-kilometer over the limit rock star moment is going to cost you - I can tell you exactly how much. In Switzerland it is a 120 Swiss Francs.

The Friday the 13th Diet

“I’m sorry, I can’t let you do that ‘mam. I can tell you are the sort of person who will wake up in the morning and regret that decision.”

Rendered speechless I could only stare up at the man as he continued. “I suggest one of our salads. The grilled salmon is particularly good,” he kindly offered.

I stammered back, “but I think I am hungry enough for the burger.”

“Mam,” he began again, “I will make sure you don’t leave here hungry.”

And with that, off he went.

The most shocking thing for me was that someone would dare say such a thing. But then I was having that sort of day. I won’t bother with details, except that I hope when someone discovers one day that the computer skin they have in their hand is mine, they may consider how potentially complicated they made another person’s day.

Alas, so here I am in Washington DC wanting a burger but instead about to get a salad. However, it is Friday the 13^th and I can’t help but think the whole day is seemingly fitting.

My salad arrived and in all fairness it was great. But I couldn’t help feel some envy as I noticed a fellow at a neighbouring table devour what looked like a really good burger.

The next day I worked up a giant appetite following a long day of taking in many of DC’s famous sites. Still craving a big gourmet style burger I made my way to another neighbouring restaurant. Delighted to find a burger on the menu I knew exactly what I was going to order. Then arrived the waiter. “I am going to have the burger I announced,” with both confidence and determination.

“Mam, did we tell you about the fish of the day yet? It comes highly recommended,” he furthered.

Completely rattled at this point I started to wonder if the whole world could now see exactly how many cookies I had eaten over the holidays. As much as I wanted the burger, I wasn’t about to risk the remorse the waiter had hinted at the day before.

Fish it was.

It is my first trip (albeit completely unanticipated) to Washington DC and I have to admit I like and enjoy the warmth and friendliness of the people here. Strangers have stopped to pay me an unexpected complement; people are quick with a smile, a hello and a helping hand - that in combination with the city’s many sites and history make it a worthwhile place to visit.

However, it is also a good place to go if you are considering a diet.

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.