Chugga Chugga Shoe Choo!

If you gave Sylvia a rail pass, a map, and a schedule...she could rule the world.  She looks at these color coded spaghetti graphs for a minute and says things like, "in four minutes the number 22 will take us to the banhof where we'll have three minutes to get to the A2 toward Jägerndorf...it'll be close but we can make it."   I could study those Spirograph inspired instruments of torture for three days, with the aid of a slide rule, a sextant, and a Sherpa...and it still would look like a diagram of the endocrine system.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again...without Sylvia, I would still be hopelessly circling the freeways of Chicago.  

Being on this trip, in Europe, affords us many opportunities to use public transportation.  The fact that we rented an RV that is considerably bigger than an average American monster truck in a place where parking cars that are slightly larger than the size of a deck of cards is difficult, also makes public transit much more desirable.  I have been on more trains, planes, and busses in the last two weeks than I have been on in the last twenty years.  I'm not complaining, in fact Europe does a fairly good job of handling this sort of thing.  But it does remind me of something that I would like to tell you about now.  (Another story!?  Great, now you've got something to complain about). 

When I was a wee lad of, I haven't got the foggiest idea, my parents took the clan on a train ride.  During the summers we lived in our camper (eery coincidence isnt it?) and, on occasion,  we would do something besides slap mosquitoes and peel sunburned skin off our ears.  This particular time we traveled to one end of the rail line...then chug... chug.... chugg... chugggg...we slowly made our way back to where the camper was parked.  The whole trip probably lasted about two hours but it could have impacted my whole life!  Dun Dun DUNNNNNNNNN!

As I said before, I don't know how old I was.  I can guess that I was about ten.  I was at the age where I still had to be near my parents but didn't have to be watched all the time.   I also was at the age where something terrible was avoided and I didn't feel the need to tell my parents.  If someone is near my mom, could you crack a window...she might need some air for this one  

I'm am very fuzzy on the details of why we would have been on this old fashioned train, but I could paint several pictures of what happened on (or rather between) the cars.  Dun... Dun... Oh you get the idea.

My dad and I were coming back from the bathroom on the train, and it was moving.  Since memory tends to paint an idealized picture, I peed through a hole in the last car that watered the tracks as we sped along.  Truly, it was probably as modern a bathroom as ever and it had its own car to not spoil the old west illusion.  The point is, we had to go from one car at the back of the train toward the front.  My dad walked first, he was an old pro.  Spent time on trains.  Was even born in a boxcar (true story).  He stepped, like a railway expert, from the front of one car, over the coupling, to the back of the other car...and kept moving forward. I was not so lucky.  

I stepped to cross from one car to the next, right over the coupler.  The coupler (I'm sure that's not the real name) is like two giant steel spring-loaded hands, both cupped the opposite way of each other.  When the conductor wants to add a car to the back of the train, he backs into it, the "hands" hit, spring away from each other, then snap together to form a very strong grasp on each other.   Since trains don't travel n a straight line, the couplers need to wiggle.  Some might say they shake.  There's even a contingency in Bethelridge, Kentucky who claim that they shimmy...but let's not quibble.  As long as the cars are pulling forward, there isn't a gap.  If the cars in front slow down, the cars in back come forward and there is a gap in the coupler.  When I stepped between the cars, the train slowed, a gap opened up, I lost my footing, and stepped right into the gap! Up to my ankle!   My size seven and a half  Ked was a perfect fit!

I knew enough about trains to know that this wasn't good.  In a split second I did the math.  A few hundred tons of train ahead of me, a couple hundred tons behind me, the train accelerating, the space between the gap about to get smaller...crap.  (Don't go thinking that  by using the word "crap" my blog has slipped into some sort of potty mouth abomination...I happen to know that Pastor Matt at our church has said that word in a sermon!...if he says it, so can I)  but I digress...So there I am, literally doing a "if a train left Chicago" word problem in my head as my foot is in grave danger.  

As you may have guessed, I am quite the cartoon aficionado.  I know about injuries.  Had the gap closed on my foot, when I pulled it out, it would have looked like a perfectly shaped foot only three times bigger and it would have flapped like a rubber pancake.   As opposed to if only my big toe had gotten trapped, where it would have swollen to ten times its shape and glowed bright red.  (Had I fallen all the way off the train but landed on my feet, my legs would have had many folds in them and when I walked,  each step would have sounded like an accordion.). Even though it would have been cool to be the only kid in school with a pancake foot (knowing full well that I could make it pop back to the original shape by sticking my thumb in my mouth and blowing) I decided to fix the situation.  No panic, no yelling, perfectly calm,,,I simply lifted my foot out of the gap. It came out as simply as it went in.  

Here's the part that should have made me scream, faint, or at least tell someone.  Just as the bottom of my foot cleared the top of the coupler, the train pulled, the cars lurched, and the gap closed with a deafening clang!  I stepped up onto the next car and caught up with my dad who was none the wiser.  As I stepped into the forward car, I noticed two teenage workers on the small platforms on the ends of each of the cars.  The one yelled over the noise of the train, "Did you see that kid!?!"

So here I am.  "That kid", with an un-pancake-like foot.  Riding trains with no fear, stepping between cars willy nilly like there was possibility of getting my foot caught in the couplers (because there isn't...now) with no lasting ill effect whatsoever.  I've always known that God had sent a guardian angel to watch over me.  I have suspicions as to why...I may write about one day, but not yet.  I'm pretty sure it is probably not so I could write a story that takes four thousand times longer to read than the actual event.  I know there are some people who might say that it wasn't true, possibly because I tend to get injured/sick more often than the average Hollywood stuntman...but I like to instead think, how much more likely I would be to fall down if I didn't have someone watching over me...especially with a pancake foot.   

And don't worry...I will definitely probably write more about our European vacation next time.

Gerd

Today I met Gerd.  It's pronounced in a half a breath and one syllable.  G-air-t.  His name is spelled Gerhard.  His wife calls him Gerhard.  I think everyone calls him Gerhard...except for Ruth.  She calls him Gerd.  Ruth does things like that.  

Gerd is a big strong sturdy man.  His hands, from years of being a medical masseuse, are large and grasp mine tightly in a friendly greeting.  I didn't get an immediate read on Gerd at first.  He looked like he could just as easily gone on safari as he could go down to the vet and pet premature kittens who needed human contact.   He looked as though he might be someone to be reckoned with if he was to be crossed...but I watched as he teared up when Ruth walked over slowly to give him a hug.  

As is the custom with all the people we've visited...we were rushed over and offered drinks as if our life depended on them.  The kids, fully understanding the way things work, whispered, "Drink slow...he'll just open more if you finish."  In Gerd's case, we walked through their yard, past the long unused hand-pump that was most definitely used as the source of water at some point, into what I can only call a drinking hut.  Traditional German decorations, many marksman/hunting plaques, a table and chairs, a cabinet that held far more glasses than the amount of people who would fit into this medium sized cabin.  There was a fully stocked refrigerator, enough memorabilia to fill any German restaurant back home...and a stack of pictures about two inches thick.   There wasn't any doubt who they were for as Ruth scooted over to sit right in front of them.

She started going through this stack and, speaking German,  held out a few to show the kids and me.  There was one thick papered picture, whose black portions appeared blue in certain light, that made Ruth stop and explain to us (in English) that these were their great grandparents...their REAL great grandparents.  They were a nice looking couple.  Him with uniquely shaped sideburns that would rival any of the twenty something hipsters who think they are being original, and wearing a military uniform.  She was thin, wearing a dress, and had striking eyes that reminded me of that Time magazine cover of just the woman's face.   Sylvia then said that Gerd and Ruth were real cousins...emphasis on the real.  I know a little of Ruth's story but didn't quite understand this.   Ruth has called many people her cousins, but there are only a precious few who are related by blood.  

Ruth's mom and Gerd's mom were sisters.  They were both wonderful women by all accounts.  They both had children.  They both died at a very young age.  Both Ruth and Gerd's dads remarried but the connection between these two "real" cousins is very strong.  

We continued to look through the pictures and even saw one that had to be an eighth of an inch thick.  When this one was delivered in the mail, instead of "photos, do not bend" this one said, "photos, I dare you to try and bend them!"  Eventually we packed up and headed off to a restaurant where we could talk more, and more, and more...(and more.)

In the beer garden we sat down, Ruth across from Gerd, and ordered.  The whole time we sat they sparred with each other.  Judging from the expressions on Ruth's face and the playful jabs in the ribs from Ula's elbow, I'd say they had plenty to tease each other about.  I couldn't stand it.  I grabbed my phone and started to take notes.  It wasn't difficult because they were speaking German...I only jotted down the times that they translated for us.  

There was the time that Gerd and his brother got into an egg fight, with about a hundred eggs.  They laughed and Gerd spread his flat hands wide saying that there was egg everywhere!  The subjects bounced around.  Gerd told about his new car, a Mercedes, that was originally a dealer's car.  It only had a few thousand miles on it so he got a great deal.  Ruth said, "Why did you buy a new car?  You're going to die soon."  Without batting an eye Gerd said, "Then I will see you again soon."  When Gerd started to name the real cousins who were left, he said, "There's me, there's Ruth, oh wait that's you, then Rolf (Ruth's brother)..."  She said something in German that was probably like what you can't come up with them all?  And he said, "It's ok, you and I are related."  Ruth said, "Yeah too bad."  Ruth, in the noisy outdoor beer-garden, kept saying, "huh?" whenever she didn't hear something.  Gerd kept teasing, "I already told you...we say the more formal wie bitte."  (Pardon me?)

There was laughter, and jabs, and unmistakable snide comments...but every once Ina while it got quiet.  When Gerd gets solemn he looks as if he has seen a lot of hardships in his life.  But when he laughs and smiles, you can see that the lines of happiness have been carved deeply around his eyes.  He is one of those people who I say, smiles with his entire face.  

When the meal was done and it looked like we might be heading to our next destination, Gerd ordered ice cream for everyone.  It wasn't a question of would you like ice cream or not.  The only question was, do you want whipped cream or not...on the ice cream that is coming to the table no matter what.   When the ice cream was finished, he ordered schnapps.  We were in the restaurant for more than two hours talking and laughing and watching them reminisce.  

At the cars we didn't really say goodbye.  It was more of a we'll try to get together again before you fly home.  I hope so.  I want to get some more tips on how to tease Ruth!

Do I Smell Garlic?

Ate pizza, swam in the Adriatic, ate lasagna, took a ferry to Venice, ate spaghetti, saw ancient cathedrals, ate carbonara, found out that "Prego!" is not a brand of sauce, found out that "The Merchant of Venice" sells hats, t-shirts, and calendars,  watched boccia ball being played, ate gelato, saw a whole bunch of people who remind me of my aunts, turned down multiple offers to try espresso, and rode my rented bike in the mornings before most people got up...to the bakery for fresh rolls, bread, and pastries.  And that was only part of it.  I think only my scale and my doctor might have a problem with this trip.  And now we have said "Arrivederci!" to Italy.   

Yes, Italy is behind us, literally, and we are now camping, without European family, for the first time in our trip.  Being American, I make several European mistakes a day.  The ones I made on this day were, the assumption that all stores take credit cards, and restaurants stay open late.  We drove past a group of restaurants and pulled into our campsite on the Chiemsee (keem-say...the lake named Chiem) got set up, and walked over to find out that the restaurant here was only open until eight, it was 8:40, and the restaurants that were a half hour walk from here were only open until 9.  Hmmm?  The camp store had a small (infinitesimal ) amount of food, but only took cash...and we were a little behind on our exchanging.  It's funny how American money works as well as Monopoly money when you are in a foreign land.  

Sylvia and I bought sausages, some balsamic vinegar, and applesauce...Kristiana went back and thankfully bought corn for us when she decided we didn't get enough...I set to work making a feast with the food in the camper and our newfound bounty.    In the camper we had noodles, a head of lettuce, seasoning, and a set of cooking utensils that look remarkably similar to the set I give my kindergarteners in their play kitchen.  Not exactly like we wanted to spend one of the very few nights we actually camp on our own, but we made it work.

By the time we cleaned up it was time for bed so we began setting up the table to sleep on...again for the first time.  Here's a travel tip.  When you travel eighteen hours, fly fourteen, and only sleep two...VIDEOTAPE the guy demonstrating the Rubik's cube European table into bed portion...you will not remember it two weeks later when you don't have time to set up the extra sleeping quarter tent you've been relying on.  We got it mostly figured out and, I haven't verified it yet but, I think we all survived the night.  

Now the good news...picture growing up in San Francisco and never riding a cable car until you start dating someone in your late twenties.  I can picture it perfectly...I did that (Sylvia took me on my first cable car ride that I remember... according to my sister, I rode as a baby but that doesn't count).  Now we are camping next to a beautiful, enormous lake that has an island that holds one of crazy King Ludwig's wonderful castles.  Sylvia essentially grew up in this area but has never camped here before.  Why would she?  It's a half hour from her uncle's house.  It was a cool place to drive by as you got to where you were going.  It was a landmark that said, "You're almost there!"  Now, because we just left her uncle in Italy, and her cousin is unavailable due to surgery, we are getting to do something she's never done before...which is tough to do on a teacher's salary.  

So now, after our one night camping solo and one impromptu meal, we get ready to trade in our extra large camper (ha) for a medium sized one since this was not available for the whole time we were here.  (Kind of ironic that we have to go to a smaller sized camper after I have super-sized my eating for a week...don't you think?). Yes, from tomorrow on, for the next three weeks, we will be exactly one meter closer to each other  

From here on out we are staying in Germany for the most part, with the exception of going to one of my favorite cities in the world, Salzburg...(which is also a half hour from her uncle's house).  We will get to show the kids the city where Ruth grew up (Augsburg), the Cinderella castle (Neuschwanstein), and another cousin in Herzengoaurach (near Neurenburg).  I am certain these memories will last a lifetime.  

And, in case you were concerned, Jacob just rolled over...it's official!   We all survived the night!

The Two Venices

Yesterday the whole family went to Venice.  Venezia, if you want to get away from the one true perfect thing in the world, the English language.  I will pause while everyone stops clutching their sides and wiping their eyes from laughter.  Of course I could have written, "eye" will "paws" "wile" every "won" stops clutching "they're sighed(s)" and wiping "there" "ayes" from laughter.  America! What a country!!

As I said before, we all traveled to Venezia via shuttle boat yesterday.  Much like most of Europe that I have seen, there is an elaborate transportation system here and we, once again, took advantage of it.  There are a plethora of choices as far as how you wish to travel, which way you wish to travel, and how long you wish to travel.  The difference between going one way (not an option) 12 hours, and 24 hours was nothing to sneeze at.  We decided, if we couldn't see it in 12 hours, we didn't need to see it.  Not really... but we do not own a donkey that poops money, (a new expression we learned over here) so we went a little economical.  

The way to the ferry was relatively long but manageable by bicycle.  We had enough seats in a car to get most of us to the terminal, but two people had to go by bike.  The plan was, when Ruth got tired, one of us would ferry back with her, Dieter (Sylvia's cousin) would take her remaining ticket after waiting in a coffee shop by the terminal and go with whoever brought her back to Venezia.  Technically not what we should do with the ticket but "everyone does it."  How does the saying go, when in Venezia do as the Venusians do?  Or something like that.  I'm not going to breath ammonia chloride though...that's just out!  

We had our plan, we crossed the sea, we were met with a wall of humanity that rivaled anything Disneyland could imagine!  We soon learned that the many bridges and stairs would be a challenge Ruth and her walker (which she "absolutely does not need" but allows us to take because it has a chair)   It seems that the charity people feel making them step aside while someone with a walker, wheelchair, or baby stroller, quickly dissipates when there are so many people.  I told Jake, "don't fall down, you'll be crushed to death."  

After the agreed upon time we checked in with Ruth.  "I'm ok."  We pressed on.  We got lost in the walkways.  "I'm ok."  We walked down to the cellar of a cathedral to see ancient tombs, priceless mosaics, and famous paintings...all near the rise and fall of the tides.  "I'm ok."  We rode a gondola around the canals.  "im ok.". When we finally went through the most famous, and most crowded cathedral in Venezia...I think that was enough.  Additionally, Kristiana and Sylvia were scandalously dressed by having exposed shoulders and knees so web had to pay a euro for a paper drape to be worn to show respect.  Apparently the modesty checkers were overworked and didn't know English because I saw at least two people wearing shirts proclaiming the "f" word in big bold letters, and another woman who looked like she may have been working in the door next to Susanna (from an earlier blog)   We sat and ate the lunch we brought, black bread and weiners, and she finally said, "ok, I can be done."  We called Dieter to let him know we were all on our way back...and thus began the largest real life word problem I have ever been part of.  

You see, Dieter rode one of the two bikes back to the campsite after it was apparent that Ruth was a trooper...after three hours!  He rode back to the terminal in his father's car.  One bike at the terminal.  We were seven people with a car that holds five and one bike.  It wouldn't be fair, in my opinion, to make Dieter ride back alone again, especially since he wanted to see Venezia by night.  I couldn't see asking his dad to bring us again and then pick us up...way past his bedtime...so that was out.   The car to pick us up was pulled slightly to the side of the rode while busses and frazzled people tried to squeeze by.  I got light headed and started having visions of trains leaving Chicago at 120 miles per hour.  We were approaching gridlock.  I made a decision (something I am not terribly adept at) and we piled everyone but Dieter in the car and drove away with the thought that Sylvia and I would come back with two other bikes that we could all ride back to camp when we arrived back from the ferry.  Dieter's face as we drove off was something like, not again...but I swore we would return.  (By the way, if you were keeping score you would have noticed that we squished one extra person in the car so I don't get to pass sixth grade math, but I did get a gold star for creativity.)

Sylvia and I jumped on bikes, traveled back tot he terminal (while I hummed the theme Wizard of Oz bike riding theme song of course...and your little dog Toto too), and we made it back to the ferry with enough time to sample a fine Italian beer before we jumped on and traveled to Venezia again.  (Just so envy one knows, I'm going to go around saying I've been to Venice twice...it counts)

Dieter who lives in Europe and vacations here often, had been telling us of the wrong time to go to Venezia.  When we went was the exact wrong time.  He was so right.  When we left the ferry I spread my arms and spun around like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. (We are near Austria after all). The number of people had decreased by at least a billion and we were free to walk around looking at sites that we didn't even notice before.  It was a completely different feel and a completely different Venice.  We wandered around and saw things that tourists just don't see.  We rode on a water bus around the whole island and got to see parts of it that I would guess only a small portion of visitors even knew about.  It was a great time and we got hungry just about the time that it started to rain.  Luckily there were many restaurants with umbrellas where we could sit and relax and eat dinner, just the three of us.  Sylvia, me, and Dieter (our capable guide).  

Just about when the main dish was supposed to be there we checked the time and tried to calculate just how far we were from the dock, how often the ferry traveled, and when our tickets expired...crap, another word problem.  The rain stopped, we ate, we settled the bill, and made it back to the ferry with literally zero minutes to spare.  

If you are ever lucky enough to travel to Italy and would like to go to Venezia, I would suggest that you travel as we did and see both Venices.  The crowded but open to the public Venice where cathedrals and priceless artifacts are everywhere and you have to pay money to use the bathroom.  But then also visit the other Venice, the one by night, where the crowds have disappeared and it is lit up, and romantic, and wonderful.  If you would like a guide, I can ask Dieter if he is available.

Aaaaaaaaah.......

Aaaaaaaaah.........

We have had a day where the only things on the agenda were, sit on beach, stay hydrated, play in the water, repeat.  I'm proud to announce, we have accomplished our goals!  

Of course we managed to squeeze in things like, ride bikes, shop, cook on ridiculously small grills, and (my personal favorite) eat.  It feels good to not have to write about a situation that only happens to our family for a change.  Tracking a bear while getting lost on a thirty minute bike ride...that's us.  Discovering that a child's toy could have a suggestive humorous meaning...oh yeah.  Noticing that someone had placed a sign (a sign? Really?) pointing to a place where visually impaired people should go...perhaps three times a week.  Having a day where nothing quirky happens...unheard of!

Well, there was that one thing...

It's nothing really, but I suppose I should write about something...

While sitting equidistant between our camper and the Adriatic Sea, we were privy to some atypical sights.  I considered writing that there must have been a sale on swimwear, everything was half off.  But that wouldn't be the truth.  Sylvia warned the family that we may encounter people unashamed of their body.  So far, the most we've noticed is that men who didn't bring a suit are perfectly happy walking to and fro in their underwear...at least it seems that way.  Also, I cannot read Italian but I suspect the fashion magazines must have on the cover, "How to have a bikini body!  Step one: Put one on...you're done."  (I actually saw that as a friend's Facebook status a while back...it fits here.)  Bravo Italy.  Shame on you America.  But I don't have nearly enough knowledge for this to sink to being a fashion blog.  

No, the thing I wanted to write about are the beach vendors.  The one you notice first, for obvious reasons, is the kite salesman.  Now remember, I cannot put pictures so you'll have to imagine.  There is a man walking up (and down) the beach, with a single string, flying three stories high, with about a dozen different kites, tied about three feet apart.  In a gale force wind I can manage to keep one kite aloft for a little while before it starts to spiral out of control and crash land on the earth.  This guy has twelve doing exactly what he wants, while carrying a bundle of rolled up kites for sale...in a slight breeze.  Charlie Brown would just punch this guy right in the mouth.  

The next vendors I noticed had very little overheard so they could keep their prices low.  If you have a four by four sheet of cardboard, you have the makings of a thriving business!  The most curious of these was the guy selling row after row of cell phone cases.  I am not in the habit of replacing my cell phone case unless it breaks, which it doesn't, so I don't.  But I don't think I would ever choose to take my case off on the beach.  Or is it just me?  One thing I know about the business of sales is that if you don't sell anything, you have no business.  This guy had a business so I guess he sold something sometime.

I saw people selling bracelets, necklaces, keychains, trinkets, and sunglasses (our clan bought three pair for the price he quoted for one) but the winner has to be the guy selling "thailandese" massages.  Now my uncle lives in Thailand and he has told me a story about what some people expect from a Thailand massage...that is not what was happening here.  This person had a cardboard plaque (go figure) that had detailed drawings of feet.  Next to them were Asian characters (not Thai) and lines that pointed to different parts of the foot.  I have seen medical looking drawings like these before but never glued to cardboard.  I'm not sure but I'm sure that the foot labels noted things like heart kidney, and spleen.  If you ask me, the labels that pointed to the toes denoted things like, "went to market,"  "roast beef," and "wee wee wee all the way home" but that might just be me.  

Apparently Sylvia's aunt has taken advantage of the thailandese massage so we allowed him to haggle, persist, and write notes in the sand until we agreed on ten Euros for half an hour.  This was quite a sight since our group had fluent German, English, and French and more than a rudimentary knowledge of Italian and Spanish...this guy understood none of that.  We managed anyway.   

One of the members of our clan has had issues with swollen feet since the plane for a while and we all thought that this might help.  This guy set to work and massaged, and squeezed, and patted, and rubbed for a little longer than half an hour then pantomimed that he was going to wash his hands (walk down to the sea and rub his hands together in the water) and we all had to agree, the swelling had ebbed...and has been better ever since.  

I don't want to tell you which one of us was the recipient of the massage (or which people followed suit) but I will tell you that it wasn't me.  I have a "thing" with my feet.  They always hurt, they are extremely ticklish, and lately they have been to the doctor more often than any other part of my body.  Usually the first doctor will call others in to stand around and scratch their heads and take pictures.  I didn't want to risk causing some unknown problem to jump start this far away from my doctor(s).  Besides, I have a sneaking suspicion that my spleen is hanging on by a thread...I don't think I want anyone tickling my spleen spot!

I'll Take The Girl

I'll take the girl, I have a house full of boys.

Tonight/Today I want to write about something very special.  A relationship that dates back to before the Second World War...nearly three quarters of century.

My mother in law, Ruth, was one of the children that Hitler sent out of Germany before the start of the war to try to preserve the race.  If you have ever seen the movie, The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, where the kids were sent to the middle of nowhere during the war and all they had was a bag and a tag on their clothes that told them where they were supposed to go.  Ruth experienced that.  She says that when the kids all showed up at the station the farmers were all asking for boys since they wanted strong helpers in the fields.  Ruth was the only one left.  When the Oma (grandmother) from the Zohrer family came she said that fateful sentence, "I'll take the girl, I have a house full of boys."

When Ruth first got to the Steirmark, Austria she couldn't understand what they were saying.  She spoke German as it was written and they spoke with a thick Austrian accent.  This didn't keep the spoiling from beginning though.  As the first girl in a household full of boys, Ruth had special privileges.   When the meal was served all of these farmer folk would sit around a square table, grab their fork or spoon out of the special drawer in their space, and then dig into the single bowl or dish on the table.  Ruth just sat there.   Oma asked why Ruth wasn't eating.  Ruth replied, "I don't like eating out of the same bowl."    Her separate dish was always on the table from then on.  When dinner was being prepared she would ask what was being cooked.  If she explained that she didn't really like that, they would make whatever she wanted.  (This was a luxury that didn't continue at home.)

The people of the Steirmark thought Ruth was such a great kid, they invited her back every year after the war had ended.  She was part of the family.  

This family of farmers took her into their small home, they welcomed her back when they added a second home to the property, and she watched as yet another house was added to the farm.  As the many many years went by, Ruth cried as the people she grew to love grew older and passed on.  She celebrated as new members of the family were born.  One of those members was Roserl, the grandaughter of the woman on the platform who would "take a girl."

Ruth left Germany to see the world but before she left she visited the Steirmark.  She noticed that Roserl only had brown shoes.  She wanted her to have something special.  They looked all over the bigger towns in the area and found a pair of red shoes.  A luxury that Roserl had never had before.   When Roserl was getting ready to go to her confirmation, Ruth sent a satin white dress for her to wear.  This type of dress had never been seen in this rural community, Roserl was thrilled.  Roserl still talks about those shoes and that dress to this day.  I think the deep sense of gratitude for being made to feel very special by Ruth, plus her natural generous nature, make Roserl treat Ruth like an honored guest in her home.  (I am more than willing to ride on Ruth's coattails and accept her hospitality!)

The farm went from modest beginnings to more elaborate.  The land and the operations have been passed down from generation to generation.  There were different crops, and different objectives.  They have gone from selling fruits and vegetables and schnapps to focusing on one crop and doing it well.  They, and most of the other farmers around them, have found their niche in growing and selling apples by the truckload.  While we were outside playing with the great-great-grand kids of the woman on the platform, two tour buses full of tourists drove by to see the heart of the apple country in Austria.  (Down the road a piece they will stop and buy a bottle of schnapps to take home...the Zohrers have decided that they want to focus mostly on growing and harvesting apples.  (If a batch or two of schnapps happens to make its way into the cellar for personal consumption, so be it!)  Ruth was there to see it grow.

If you search on the Internet for any kind of a familial connection between these two families, you will be disappointed.  There are no Bibles in the town church that have the Gasteiger branch listed as part of the Zohrer tree (apple tree) but from what I have seen, they are as much a part of the family as any other person related by blood.  I am glad that I was able to be part of this reunion.

Vienna...Check!

So I'll have to step up my game a little bit today...I have a new possible reader from the Orrock family.  Their father Ray was one of my favorite daily reads and I have just joined a Facebook page devoted to reading (or re-reading) his old articles.  I mentioned that I like to write and, well, I don't want to get ahead of myself, but this new contact could very well take me to the fame and fortune I have been desiring since I began writing in my little corner of the web.  Just kidding.  It does my heart good to see, "Ray Orrock likes your post" on Facebook whenever one of the administrators clicks on something I've written...I know it's not him, but I can pretend.  

Enough of that, I, we, all of us, are in Europe for crying out loud!  If I can't come up with something worthy of writing about in Europe I should just give up my blog.  Hmmm...ummm...we saw stuff today.  

Well that's the end.  That was easier than I thought.  I'm going to bed now.

Ok, you got me, I'm not done.  

We did see stuff today, but it was a little more than that.  Just a little.  We were in Vienna for the past couple of days.   If you haven't been, I would highly suggest it!  Of course I would also highly suggest being married into a wonderful family that has outposts all over Europe who feel compelled to feed you and cater to your eery whim whenever you stop by.  (To be fair, we do the same for relatives who want to visit America...but I think the Europeans would win if it were a contest.)

In Vienna (Wein if you are here, from here or any place other than America) you have some of the most beautiful architecture in the world.  St. Stephansdom (Stephan's cathedral) is a sight to behold. We were there with about three thousand of our closest friends.  It was a small gathering, candles being lit.  Books being sold.  Music being practiced.  And the kids wondering if the alters with Latin writing were really crypts that held the remains of the people whose images were on their plaques.  I used my extensive training in Latin, and my apprentisship in BS'ery to unequivocally state, "No! There is no one buried here."  Not sure exactly, but I think the odds of the kids actually reading one of the travel books Sylvia purchased lies somewhere between getting hit by lightning while riding a unicorn...and getting your pet pterodactyl from a traveling salesman who enjoys playing with his time machine...so I'm safe.

We met with Sue Sonne (Sylvia's cousin's daughter) in Wein, after she got off work.  

Let me just take a moment to personally praise Europe.  We were driving a camper so we didn't wish to try to drive through historic arches, park in underground garages, or be involved in a chase scene with Jason Bourne...so we used public transportation.  (Although Mr. Bourne's would-be assassin  did use me as human shield at one point).   Aside from that, we were able to park at the campsite, walk to the train station, and travel to anywhere in the city for about thirty euros.  We got passes that worked for every form of transportation for 72 hours and we used the heck out of them.  Give Sylvia a map, a pass, and a destination...and she could rule the world.  We got to say things like Donauplatzstrasse and Schwedenberg while zipping through tunnels and having little kids look at us like, "mom, aren't those people a bit old to be talking gibberish?"  We made it to our destinations easily and when it was time to meet Susanna, we found her relatively quickly.  It would have been completely quickly but when we got out at the station by her apartment we zigged when we should have zagged...but that isn't Vienna's fault.

Sonne took us to the biggest store we had been to on this trip (judging purely by the selection of cereal...most places have three choices, this one had twenty) and we bought fresh bread, cheese, drinks, some sweets, and pickles.  She apologized, as we walked to her quaint little apartment, for living in the poor part of town.  The section that had the least green.  We assured her that it was great and not to worry.  Then we found her door nestled between two (ahem) businesses for (ahem) working ladies.  Things are different in Europe.  She and her "half fiancé" live in a flat that they have fixed up quite nicely.  Then they showed us the picture of what it looked like before and we were amazed.  SiouxSonnay is an architect and enjoys using her creative side.  

We, as we are growing accustomed, laughed and talked and ate and laughed and we all learned a new expression that made us laugh and laugh and laugh...but I don't think I can say it here.  Then we all rode the train over to the Prater.  It's a carnival where we were able to ride a Ferris wheel that had cabins the size of cable cars to see Wein by night...and several stories in the air.  After we walked around in this place  we bid them adieu and wished that it wasn't so expensive to travel to visit each other.  That is by far the worst part of a trip like this.  Saying goodbye to people who you will not be able to easily see for a long time.

The next day we traveled back to the city and got a tour bus that showed us the highlights in the main circle.  We bought wurst from a street vendor and had an impromptu picnic in the very large park.  We walked along the river, talked to someone who seemed by glad to hear English, and ended the day by eating ice cream (eis) at a famous eatery.  It was a lot of fun and we could have spent days and days there, but we needed to come back to Rosel and Hermann's house because there will be a family gathering here on Sunday.  Besides, you know what they say about stray cats...feed them and they always come back. The way Rosel fed us, we may never leave!  

I got a little more of the story about why this place is so important to my mother in law.  I would like to take a thoughtful look at that in a posting that is dedicated only to them.  But I will not do that today.

So finally, I come a close.  I hope that you are enjoying my silly little travelogue. I had mentioned that I had read through some of Ray Orrock's columns before writing here.  I noticed that his articles were a little longer than mine usually are.  I will now add some bonus writing to show prospective newspaper editors that I can write with the big boys and have a lengthy article too.

Vienna was very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very nice!

  (Helloooooooo Pulitzer!)