HOW TO USE TAXIS IN CUBA/HAVANA! Cubataxi, Maquinas and American Cars

With no underground or metro system and buses that make you weak at the knees, taxis are probably the best way to get around in Havana. We have a volatile relationship with the taxi drivers. We love taxis. We hate taxi drivers.We hate taxis. We love taxi drivers. It's a fickle thing!

I would say there are three types of taxis,. each with their own special quirks.

1. Huge, beautiful American Cars

These big cars park outside hotels and are very shiny. A friendly Cuban will drive you open-top around the city, and he will charge you through the teeth for the privilege! This can be fun for the novelty but its not worth it unless you get lucky, and a fancy taxi driver gives you a good deal! No Cubans use these, unless they're getting married (to a foreigner) and are - in the words of our Cuban neighbour - 'ostentatious'.

2. Cubataxi

Cuba taxis are yellow and usually Ladas. They charge in tourist dollars but they're not too expensive, though you should still haggle with them. They're probably the safest, cheap option at night but nevertheless I used them rarely. 

When my parents were visiting, there was no other option for me to get from their accommodation to my house than to use Cuba taxi. On one particularly typical night, I had to talk to three taxi drivers before somebody agreed to my limit of $4 for a taxi. Climbing in, the driver began revving the engine but nothing happened. The car was old and decrepit, and needed a push-off. In a characteristic wave of Cuban comradery, all nearby taxi drivers (including those who had grossly overcharged me and I'd just rejected) surrounded the car and push it halfway down the road, running behind and beside it, so it could get enough speed to start the engine. Taxi drivers mince tourists as much as humanly possible, but they're nice to each other.

3. Maquinas/Collectivos

I love Maquinas because they are one element of Cuban life I feel I really understood and could manage as well as a Cuban. They're basically cars that are owned by the driver (unlike Cubataxis) that do a set route, for example from Vedado to Havana Vieja and back again. They are collective taxis, so like a bus, they stop for people who stick their hand out until they're full. It was difficult to explain to my sisters and parents how you could tell which cars were maquinas. They were usually old, rusty American cars that weren't fancy enough to be tourist taxis, they'd have a 'taxi' sticker in the window and.... they just looked like maquinas!
To catch a maquina you wait on the pavement on one of the routes- make sure you stand where its legal for them to stop! We would wait on Calle B y 23 for maquinas to go to Capitolio, which was basically the centre of Old Town. Passing maquina drivers will stick their fingers out their window showing how many spaces they had, and then you'd wave them down and tell them where you wanted to go. All journeys cost $10 or $20 Cuban pesos. Its so much cheaper than other taxis and really convenient.
You can get maquinas home from town from Calle Neptuno (walk to Hotel Telegrapho then go left).

Remember that things always change in Cuba so if you need help ask a friendly Cuban. Casa Paticular owners will always be helpful but they may well try and get you to use one of their mate's cars. Our Casa Paticular owner in Vinyales arranged our trip home with The Cat:

We fit 10 people in this (not-so) roomy taxi

Getting to and from the airport

There is a bus that goes to and from the airport but I'll be honest, it doesn't actually stop anywhere near the airport and its a big hassle, even if it does only cost about 3p. The best option is to suck it up and pay the $20/25 to get home in an official taxi. If somebody approaches you and offers cheaper then its probably illegal, but if you want the cheap price make sure you agree and don't let them wander off with another customer! If you're living in Havana and picking someone up, you might be able to agree a good price with a taxi driver to take you there and wait for you. Alternatively take the bus.

As with everything in Cuba, make sure you agree the price of a taxi with the driver before you get in. In my experience Cubans won't try and cheat you if you agree a price with them, but if you don't then they'll obviously seize the opportunity to make an extra few dollars!

And you've got to get the bus at least once while you're there.

More info on Cuba:
Food in Cuba
Toilets in Cubs
Cuba highlights

May Day Parade in Havana: "TODAS A LA PLAZA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Today is a hugely important day in Cuba because it is MAY DAY, DAY OF THE WORKERS!!!! Obviously workers are a big deal in this Socialist State, however confusingly they celebrate day of the workers by giving everyone the day off work (!!??!?!?). People have been preparing for the celebrations all week, and lots of shops and businesses etc etc have put up signs declaring their support for ‘primer de mayo’ followed by the popular slogan “TODOS A LA PLAZA”, which my dictionary reliably informs me means “Everyone to the town square!”.

Being an easily influenced sort of girl, I followed these enthusiastic instructions and Calle B and I set off at a bone-tingly early 7.10am (it was meant to be 7.00am but SOMEBODY was late) (that ‘somebody’ was me.) Off we marched!!!! Fortunately for us we live a small walking distance to La Plaza de la Revolucion, but others had travelled from far and wide to attend and I was woken 4am by a rather irate Bajan housemate exclaiming “CHEESE ON BREAD!!!” at revelers outside our window. At 5.45am I was again roused from a dream-riddled snooze by some eery, spage-age techno music echoing through the streets and lots of whooping from Cubans who had arrived early and were getting excited. People came in their work uniforms with big banners and papier mache models of Fidel and also crocodiles (relevance of which remains elusive to me) declaring their support for the revolution. Although it was still very early, a huge parade of workers was marching proudly alone, and we snuck round the people watching the march and GOT INVOLVED! Unfortunately I didn’t have a 10 foot flag, a “Viva la revolucion!” banner or a red t shirt that said “#yosoychavez” on the back, so I didn’t look like many of the other people there, but I did have an enthusiastic and revolutionary attitude which I believe my fellow marchers appreciated a lot.

At one point the march came to a stop. Our group had got a bit split up and I was left with Bajan roommate and a certain J McGuigan, who is yet to make a name for herself in Manchester but has a strong fan base in Nottingham who call themselves the ‘McGuiglets’. We heard one or two words from an old man who I have convinced myself was Raul and/or Fidel, then they played the national anthem and chanted “Viva la revolucion! Viva Fidel! Viva Raul!” and everyone waved their flags like CRAZY! This seemed to really enthuse the crowd, as the march took up quite a pace after that and people positively stormed passed the memorial of Jose Marti, which lies at the centre of the Plaza de la Revolucion. In fact, they were moving so fast that it was very difficult for me, Bajan housemate and McGuigan to manoeuvre ourselves to get in a good position to see the people on the podium. Thankfully, through some extremely skilled side-stepping, we did manage to get to the podium-side of the forceful river of people, and only trod on one or two or three people/children on the way, and THAT’S when I managed to get my top notch photo of Raul HIMSELF!!! Admittedly, at that exact moment in time, I can’t say that I was 100% certain which of the several men on the podium was Raul, or if he was even there at all. Rumours were flying left right and centre about whether he was in green, pink or white, so I took photos of all the men and on returning home we singled him out. He (Raul) was looking pretty happy and waving cheerfully at all the workers. Standing below there were also some representatives from all over the world of people who solodaridise with Cuba. Today was dedicated to Hugo frickin Chavez who is continuing to remain very popular with the poplace.

We not only got in touch with our patriotic, socialist roots this week, but also got one on one with nature on Saturday, as we went for a cheeky trip to Las Terrazas. Las Terrazes in an eco-community that is a day-trip away from Havana. At first our plans were nearly foiled as the bus there was full and we couldn’t find any six-seater taxis, which made the whole thing incredible economically unviable. However, by a stroke of luck, we stumbled on a very shiny, red car owned by a nice man called Carlos who agreed to drive us there for a very reasonable price. Once we got to the eco-community it became clear it was an incredibly large kind of place, but luckily Carlos drove us around the little roads so we could get where we wanted. You’d think riding around in a taxi inside an eco-community would be frowned upon, but it wasn’t. We went swimming in some natural pools. Everything was very GREEN and disconcertingly slimy, especially in the pool. Regular fans will no doubt be impressed, amazed and proud to hear I actually jumped into the pool from a nearby rock (more slipped than jumped, really, but the point remains). Hashtag overcoming my fear of water 2k13! Of the evening we returned to our New Favourite Club, El Morro in the fort, but I decided not to make a repeat performance of my Rapping, as – and i’ll admit this without any shame or embarrassment – i was a bit nervous it was a one-off thing and I wouldn’t be able to repeat my roaring success. However, on Monday I was introduced to a group of hip-hoppers from the US of A as ‘the rapper’, and joined in their hiphop bodypopping dancing style (lots of twisty-wrist going down), so you’ll be no doubt glad to hear that I am continuing to represent the UK hip hop scene here, “across the pond (and south a bit)”.

I’ll end on some sobering news. The more sensitive souls among you might be troubled to hear that both my laptop and my mp3 player have come into contact with a serious amount of liquid this week, and neither seem to have come off too well from the meeting. Both have failed to respond well to my fiddling with them, despite gentle coaxing and frustrated bursts of anger. Additionally, the laptop has acquired a vaguely unpleasant smell of gone-off-chocolate-milk. Thankfully Bajan roommate keeps leaving her laptop unattended and, through some serious sleuthing, I know her password and so have been hacking it.

Lots of love, Sarah x

Scuba Diving in the Bay of Pigs

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I wrote this particular entry on Sunday avfter an Extremely Traumatic Experience. Obviously the best way to deal with an Extremely Traumatic Experience is to talk about it extensively so it’s a teensy bit long. Enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes life in Cuba can be more similar to life back home than you expect. This morning, for example, I woke up heavily bruised, with a pounding headache, back-brushed hair skewing in various directions, some barely explained grazes on my knees and vivid memories of spending several hours the previous day hanging on for dear life to a giant of a man aged about 45. In England, I would associate this combination of symptoms with a night at Bop or perhaps even Erasmus (the 45 year old man being my old friend, Michael, the bouncer. Obvs.). Obviously Erasmus doesn’t exist here so the causes were quite different: YESTERDAY I went on a SCUBA DIVE!!!!!!!!!!

BACKGROUND INFORMATION: It may surprise you to know that I am actually NOT the world’s most proficient swimmer. I did successfully obtain my 50 metre swimming badge aged approximately 10 years old, though I could only do this by swimming on my back, as I couldn’t swim on my front because putting my face in the water freaks me out. However, despite this fact - and despite the fact that any fool could tell you that scuba diving most definitely involves putting your head under the water - as we were cruising toward our diving spot of choice, this was the narrative going through my mind: “I’ve never done scuba diving before. Maybe I’ll have natural talent for it, which I’ve never known about!” I pondered. “I love fish. I love aquariums. I can already tell that this is the sport for me. Maybe I’ll keep it up in Britain. I could get certified. I could become a trainer; that would be a great summer job. Maybe I’ll even find some buried treasure on a shipwreck and become a millionaire!” The prospects were very exciting.

We arrived at a small bay in Playa Giron, a beach in the infamous Bay of Pigs in southern Cuba. The sea was so clear it looked like liquid cling film, the sun was shining and the view was breath-takingly beautiful. We chose to dive because it’s one of Birthday Boy’s passions. Bajan Housemate and he are very experienced, so they split off to go on some kind of intrepid adventure, involving a sunken American warship, and which I imagine to have been rather like the opening scenes of Titanic. The rest of us were left with several cheerful, portly Cubans who cheerfully showed us what we were meant to do and cheerfully helped us do up our wet suits. It was all going ‘swimmingly’ (if you’ll pardon the pun), and I thoroughly enjoyed both the wet suit and the goggles. This was the high point of the morning. In many ways, as soon as I had to enter the water, things began to go dramatically downhill.

First of all, I had to put on this huge jacket with a tank full of oxygen, as this is vital for you to be able to breath whilst under the water (as there is no air underwater).  I did not ask exactly how heavy this tank was ( I shall estimate that it weighed approximately 100 kilograms) but I can tell you that once it was on I couldn’t stand up without assistance, and one of the portly gentlemen had to assist me into the sea, where I promptly toppled backwards due to the weight. The portly gentleman hastily filled my jacket with air so that I floated on top of the water, bobbing up and down on my back (or, in his words, with “my inside-up”). At this point I was encouraged to put on my flippers. I tried to bend forwards to reach my feet but what with the puffy air filed jacket and the 300 kilo oxygen tank on my back, it was remarkably difficult to move, and being unable to reach my feet put me into a fit of giggles which made all movements COMPLETELY impossible. Portly Gentleman had to put on my flippers for me, while I flapped around and rolled over, and I no longer knew if I was laughing from amusement or embarrassment. I was surprised to note that nearly every other member of the group successfully walked into the ocean and put on their flippers without any assistance.

Anyway, we all bobbed around for a bit and I got carried away by the current because I was bobbing too much, and had to swim back and got all tired, and then we had to spit in our goggles(!) and put them on and we saw some fish and got excited and all these sorts of things. Then, one by one, my companions had their jackets deflated by a portly gentleman and ducked under the water.

What then happened is a bit of a blur to me, but I’ve tried to piece it together for your reading pleasure: When it was my turn, I went under, mouth tightly clamped around the mouthpiece, and accidentally breathed through my nose, which caused my goggled to steam up, which surprised me, so I opened my mouth to express my shock and breathed in water and panicked and had to be resurfaced. Portly Gentleman cheerfully reminded me that when I went underwater, I had to breathe. I thanked him, put the horrible thing back in my mouth and bobbed around for a while, hoping he would leave me there. However, he obviously was very keen to see the fishes again as he went back underwater, grabbed my hand, and took me with him!

I imagine he was hoping that once we were under the surface again I would realise that it wasn’t so bad after all, and that as long as I breathed through my mouth and kept my mouth shut, I would be okay, and I would be able to let go of his hand and swim off and enjoy the coral. But I did not let go. I held on to that man. He pointed at fish, I nodded enthusiastically, and kept hold of him. He pointed at my companions, who mainly seemed to be taking to diving like ducks to water (if you’ll pardon the pun), and I observed and nodded and waved at them and kept hold of the man. He repeatedly asked me if I was okay and I replied (using the scuba diving special signal) that I was – and I reinforced my tight hold of his arm.  I held onto that man extremely tightly, as if my life depended on it, and stayed with him for the complete duration of the dive. I think three times I considered letting go, when I was distracted enough by the fish and the coral to calm down a bit – or just after he accidentally dragged me along two feet of coral and I cut my knees - but the thought of it gave me mild heart palpitations and made me breathe faster which made lots more bubbles come out of my mouthpiece that hit me in the face, which alarmed me (and the fish) and then I just held on tighter. At one point I contemplated letting go and swimming to the surface, where it was safe, and waiting there until everyone was finished, but I had an inkling he wasn’t about to let that happen. Then I no longer knew if I was holding him or he was holding me – it was very confusing.

Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime, he tapped me on the head and pointed upwards, and I stood up out of the water, only very nearly avoiding toppling onto my back again. I was shaking and wobbly, and made my way slowly out of the sea and, with the help of a portly gentleman, climbed back up onto the rock where the coach was and took off my jacket. Then I saw Bajan Roommate and I had a little cry because I’d been so scared but I’d had to be so clam for so long to avoid panicking and drowning. Then I had a little wee because I’d needed one in the water but hadn’t wanted to wee on Portly Gentleman and also I find it difficult to sea-wee.

There were two others who had found it a little perplexing, and had also made use of some hand holding (though only I had kept a grip of my man for the entire trip), and we all took a bit of time out to regather our Selves. Some of the group were sorry to get out, and had loved every minute. I find that very suspicious. I haven’t felt that close to death since the Great JLS Riot of 2009.

However, in conclusion, I did manage to see a sting ray floating along on the seabed. I recognised it because I have seen them in Birmingham Sea Life Centre, which I can enter for free with my Blue Peter Badge. I love a good sea life centre and plan to do all future sealife viewing at this venue, and NOT whilst scuba diving. J

Kisses from the Caribean,

Sarah

Going to the beach and going crazy

UPDATE FROM THE CARIBANIA:

HEY GUYS!

As I hear it has been snowing the UK/Austria this week I am sure you will be able to extend some sympathy to my situation in Havana, as we're suffering a bit of a cold spell. Yesterday it was one of the  boy's birthdays so we went to the beach, but we were the only people there, as there was a bit of a cool breeze and several clouds in the sky. I was only wearing shorts and a t shirt, and at one point I had to put a towel over my shoulders to keep warm!!!!!!!!!!!! I still managed to get a spot of sun burn on my left tricep though.

Spirits were high at the beach as we were all enjoying the birthday cheer, and I felt like I was in Cornwall  what with all the wind and sporadic sun, so we listened to a lot of Brit Pop to keep us in the mood. Festivities carried on into the night and we braved a local club, which is confusingly called 'Bertold Brecht' and boasts some BIG NAMES in the Cuban prog rock scene. Things were going well and I even made some Cuban friends, but then one unruly character grabbed a chunk of my (admittedly irresistibly luscious) hair as I was walking into the toilet. On my way out (of the toilet) he grinned at me and I politely told him to not touch my hair. He did not seem to comprehend fully however as he then touched my hair again and said "I've met your parents! I know you!" I disregarded this immediately as my parents would have definitely informed me of any Cuban friends they had, so I said "no you don't. Don't touch my hair." To my utter HORROR, in response he then GRABBED MY CHEEKS (!) and shouted, drool and spit flying all over the shop, "YOU'RE IN CUBA NOW!!!!!!!" then touched my hair again (!!). Thankfully (for him) he then decided to leave, cackling like a little gnome. Those surrounding me had to HOLD ME BACK to stop me from giving him a Piece Of My Mind. I'm still angry at him and hope not to bump into him again. Most Cuban people do not act like this, which is a blessing. You'll be glad to hear that despite this interlude the night was still a success, and I got a HUGE sandwich to snack on in the club, and it came with BREE in it!! (as in, the cheese!) It was so exciting!

We were all hoping to have a few days off uni due to the national mourning taking place for President Chavez of Venezuela. This turned out to be far from the case and our teached pointedly rang our homes to make sure we knew that we had to go to class. However, we did go down to the Plaza de la Revolucion, where about 500,000 people were queuing up to pay respects to him at a little memorial. Cuban people are very patient and very, very good at queuing, far better than English people I AM AFRAID TO TELL YOU. I hope that doesn't destroy your sense of national identity. English people queue better than Austrians (not hard) but Cubans win hands down. Every time they join a queue they say "who's last?" to make sure they're not pushing in. Then they just watch that person, instead of the whole queue. They don't even need to queue in a straight line this way! It's SO efficient!

In the last week Bajan Housemate and I have been competing to come up with one adjective that adequately described Cuba. So far we have been squabbling over "confusing", "interesting", "chaotic" and "complicated". My word of choice was 'confusing' because I spend at least 95% of my day with a complete lack of comprehension of what is happening around me. This is caused partly by the language barrier but mainly by the culture barrier, which is great. The good news is that my cleaner/cook/maid lady has gone from hating and disdaining me to finding me ridiculously hilarious, mainly because I never have a clue what's going on and I get out of bed so late (which she seems to find funny...)

See ya later alligators xxxx

Ma and Pa in AustriAAA

I will start by informing you with great enthusiasm that I had my first roast dinner on Wednesday, as it was Thanksgiving and my friend in Amstetten (my only friend.) is American! She came over with a dead chicken in her backpack and then spent a good few minutes rubbing melted butter all over it, into every single nook and cranny. Luck would have it that this girl knows how to roast a bird – it was one of the best roast dinners I’ve ever had. The meat was so delicious and garlicy and moist and YUMMY IN MY TUMMY! We also had homemade stuffing, leeks and carrots, pomegranate (because I couldn’t find the cranberry sauce in Spar, because I don’t know the word for cranberry, but I did find a pomegranate), roast potatoes and grrrrravy. I had three helpings. Then we had apple crumble with ice cream. Then we had buttermilk pie, which is basically a normal pie case filled with a couple of kilos of sugar, butter and buttermilk. Here's a pic:

Kirbee let me keep the carcass. I popped it in the freezer and will boil it at a later date.

I didn’t have time to boil it this weekend, because the PARENTS were here! Upholding a strong family tradition, they missed one of their crossovers and were a teensy bit late, but this didn’t bother me as it just gave me more time to snooze!!! When they arrived I showed them the sights in Amstetten, which took all of four minutes, then we had schnitzel. The best thing about them visiting was I could say things like “oh, I know the best place to get schnitzel.” Little did they know there is only one place! But it made me sound like a genius. Also mother looked extremely impressed whenever I spoke German. Father was less convinced.

“Wow,” he sneered sardonically, after I completed an extremely long and complex telephone call with the car hire company in dialect(!!!) “You’ve learnt to say ‘okay’ and 'super' in a German accent!”

“I think you mean an Austrian accent,” I retorted coolly. The tension was too much for the small hotel room so we retreated to the hire car.

They were both suitably impressed with Melk, and we went inside the catacombs of the abbey and it was very good. The church there looks like somebody ate lots and lots of gold leaf and renaissance art work, then projectile vomited all over the walls and ceilings. In a word, I would call it ‘EXCESSIVE’. In two words, I would call it ‘VERY EXCESSIVE’! But also pretty awesome. The pictures just do NOT do it justice.

Are my parents ghosts!? Mere figments of my imagination!? eek!

This beautiful model is used to hold the lower  jaw and one remaining tooth of one of the abbey's saints.

Stify Melk Church cieling

Then we spoke to a miserable Scrooge of a tourist office representative, who, after much pestering, finally revealed there was a Christmas fair we could go to nearby. This was held in a local castle and was a treasure trove of handmade goods! The locals charged large sums of money for all sorts of strange objects, our favourites were small angels made out of pieces of pasta and entire cribs encapsulated in a walnut shell. It was a marvel of the power of recycling. As I pointed out to the parents over tea and cake, the producers of Blue Peter would have pissed their pants at all the craft activities they could have stolen there! Mother didn’t approve of my turn of phrase, but still whole-heartedly agreed.

Then I took them to that nights Kulturwochen event, which was a local punk-protest-folk-band-thing and they sang some songs and gave me a free sticker! The lyrics were in German, but the music had an upbeat, toe-tapping, head-nodding, shoulder-wiggling tempo that kept all three of us entertained! The name of the band was WOSISIG, check them out on youtube, if you so wish! Most excitingly, the viola player from the ‘troupe’ (as mother would no doubt dub them) plays in the orchestra I’m in! our final performance of the season was on Sunday, it was a roaring success, despite the fact I missed several rather important cymbal-solos due to losing my place in the music. Turns out you cannot translate ‘to lose one’s place in the music’ literally into German, as when I tried to explain to my fellow tub-thumpers what had happened, they were pretty nonplussed. They smiled politely though!

On Monday we ventured in to Vienna. We saw a great deal of Klimt artwork, and also an impressive amount of Klimt memorabilia. The Belvedere art gallery has taken every object known to man, and covered it in Klimt. If this is something you think you’d like, pop over to the museum shop BUT BE PREPARED TO PAY BIG BUCKS. We had lunch in a little café that reminded me of my flat INSOFAR AS it was a bit of a time warp. Mother was rather taken with the waiter, mainly because he was wearing a bow tie, but also because he was ‘softly spoken’. I worked out that ‘susserdapfel’ is sweet potato and felt extraordinarily pleased with myself.

There then followed a rather long-winded quest for Christmas markets. I do not know Vienna that well, and I was following shady directions from a teacher friend that I could half remember, and for a while all we could find was some kind of soviet occupation protest (TYPICAL COLLINGSES!! Straight to the soviets! We can’t keep away!!!!) In the end we found a nice market with random things in it, and a stall that sold the sausages that are filled with cheese. Me and Daddy had one each, it was super!

IN THE CASTLE!

Father claims that this landscape features in a film, so I told them to look 'dramatic'. You can tell mother graduated from drama school, can't you! Father refused. "It wasn't that type of film." he grumbled.

I left them at the market so I could catch a train home. Father enthused greatly about my tour guiding capabilities. “Thank you for showing us around!” he said in a jolly, rumble-tumble sort of way. Mother was slightly more cryptic. “Yes, thank you for trying your best,” she said pleasantly. I chose to take this as a compliment.

I was (unfortunately) back in school bright and early this morning. I did a lesson about extreme sports and explained the difference between the ‘jumping’ and ‘leaping’ through the medium of mime. Turns out they like mime a LOT! They also like it when I read things out and then do a funny face. I then did a class about protests and accidentally showed them a photo with a big protest sign saying “DAVID CAMERON IS A C***”. Unfortunately the sign in the picture did not use cute little starts to disguise the foul language.  I had to very quickly skip to the next slide, which so happened to be the liberal democrat mock election campaign video we made in year 13. For some reason, the students did not seem to enjoy watching this as much as I did. However, I shall leave it here for you – my fans – to truly appreciate. It a nostalgic trip down memory lane, which MIGHT leave a bitter taste in your mouth (not just because of the Scottish accents!!!!)

Papa just text me (being rather wizz on the old mobile telephone). They've landed safely back in the UK and he said a good time was had by all. After I left them, mother apparently bought a new hat which is 'very becoming'. BECOMING WHAT!?!?!? We'll never know! Only four weeks until I’m back in the bosom of Blighty – so pumped! 

xx

"I WANT YOU IN MY ARMS, INFLAMED WITH PASSION!" -SCORRRRRRRPIA

Saw a sunset on the way home today :o) BECAUSE I WAS WORKING SO LONG THAT NIGHT HAD BEGUN TO FALL WAHHHH!

I’m currently sitting in my spick and span, freshly cleaned flat. My seriously cute landlady employs a seriously cute cleaner. Now, I know people call me over-dramatic. They say, “Sarah, you use too many superlatives. You just exaggerate everything to make your life sound more interesting when really your life is nothing more than living with an old lady and being ignored by stubborn teenagers and eating-yourself-podgy.” Well, screw the haters, okay? I like superlatives and I like capital letters. And my cleaner is THE BEST CLEANER IN THE ENTIRE WORLD EVER!!!  I was at work when she visited today, so I have no idea how she managed to create order from such chaos, but now every single thing I own is in neat, attractively arranged piles. In my imagination, she achieved this with a Mary Poppins/Snow White-esque pirouette around my room, with a bit of help from a friendly bluebird. She even took the packed lunch I made myself and forgotten to take with me to work out of its bag and popped it in the fridge so it was still fresh enough for supper!  I feel a mixture of awe, shame and respect when I think about it.

Ordentlich!

DISCLAIMER : I did actually ‘tidy up’ before she came. I spent about 3 hours ‘tidying up’ but it will probably come to no surprise to you that after ‘tidying up’ my flat looked like most normal people’s flats look like just before they start tidying up.

ANYWAY, now for more vaguely blog worthy exploits:

Yesterday was the end of another long weekend. This long weekend was even more special than usual, for two reasons. Firstly, because it was to celebrate Duke Leopold of Austria, who I am able to reliably inform you kidnapped King Richard the Lion Heart and then trapped him in Lower Austria (which is where I live) (in Lower Austria, not in Duke Leopold’s prison LmFaO-O-o-o-!) (I know this because I once had a starring role in a particularly acclaimed production of ‘Robin Hood’, which was so successfully it actually toured the world.) Secondly, because for some reason all the shops in Amstetten really embraced the opportunity for extra custom and STAYED OPEN all day! Even though it was a bank holiday! *AMAZING* Even my super-duper powerplate class stayed open, and because it was a bank holiday they had a little ‘Open Day’ which mean I got free champagne and salmon nibbles after my session. I even got chatting to some of the middle-aged patrons of the powerplate class and we had a bit of banter.

In the evening I attended my SECOND Kulturwochen event! I was invited to accompany my little old landlady to ‘French Night’.  ‘French Night’ was at a local hotel and involved a pianist and a singer performing famous French songs, as well as French wine and French food and French flags banging around all over the place. We didn’t booked a table, and when we arrived the waitress suggested we sit on one of the free tables round the corner, but this would mean we wouldn’t be able to see the performance, so instead little old landlady just pulled up a chair to the VIP table where the singer’s family and closest friends were sitting, as well as the photographers from the local paper. We had such a good view! Landlady was pissing herself laughing at how cheeky we were. We got some wine and some quiche l’orraine and then we had a pancake and I tried to talk in Spanish with a Peruvian but it was embarrassingly difficult and I got all muddled and though I started the sentences in English they’d meander through some basic English to a little bit of German and then trail into nothing. AWKWARD! Anyway, the quiche was AHHHHHHHHH-mazing. The pancake was also good. My little old landlady especially liked the fact it was soaked in alcohol.

On Friday I went to Vienna. This was amazing because I met some other teaching assistants and we went for a curry. I love curry. I love curry so much, and the curry was so delicious, and the naan bread was so garlicy, and it was a total 10/10. Then we went to an ex-whore-house, which reminded me of how my mother used to live in an ex-whore-house, but  I didn’t mention this because I was scared people would judge me :S :S :S

One of my friends who lives in Vienna (one of MANY friends I happen to have, being so popular and in with the in crowd) recommended we go to the Naschmarkt, SO WE DID! The Naschmarkt is a flea market and it was really, really, really exciting because I found a stall that sold loads of white linen blouses and I bought two. It was my favourite thing I’d done in Vienna UNTIL THAT POINT!! We also went to see The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and all I have to say about that is don’t go. Then we did things like drink sociably and eat burgers and chit chat and mix up an order in a posh brunch restaurant etcetc. I reward the whole Viennese experience a Rachel-Eyre-8/8.

I came home on Sunday because I knew I’d have to spend several hours cleaning the flat in preparation for the cleaner, but then on Monday, like The Real Slim Shady, I was back – back again. This time to go to the State Opera. I’d never been to the opera before and I was a bit apprehensive because the ballet we went to in year 7 was totally D. U. L. L. However, the whole experience was totally like it happens in Pretty Woman, except instead of being accompanied by Richard Greer, I was surrounded by a group of snoozy teenage students in dinner jackets. But the Opera was SO GOOD! It was a lot better than the ballet, which may be because ballet just isn’t for me, or may be because I saw the ballet at The Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton, and I saw the opera in one of the best opera houses in the world. Predictably, the audience clapped lengthily and enthusiastically at every available opportunity. At one point a particularly raucous audience member hollered “BRAVO!” with such good projection that I assumed it was part of the performance. What was also INSANELY COOL was that because of some kind of youth integration thing we not only got the tickets really, really cheap (15 euros for seats in the stalls, which every classy lady knows are the Best Seats) but also got a backstage tour of the opera house and I got to stand on the stage! It’s so beautiful! My American Assistant Friend, whose school we were with, and I were about 350% more excited about the whole thing than any of the students.  I loved it. I want to go back, and be an opera singer, and have a standing ovation, and jump off a tall building but then run around from behind the set for my standing ovation, and wear a wig and stuff.

THAT WAS MA WEEK!!!  I’ll leave you with the incredible exciting news that Mr and Mrs Collings shall be descending upon the capital city in two short days! GOD ONLY KNOWS what the hell is going to happen!

As they say in Austria, 

“Lovely greetings”, Sarah.

xooxo

Happy …. WoRlD sAvInGs DaY!!!!

Before I start explaining in gloriously in-depth detail about my week, I need to let you know that today I decided to go to the bank before the bank holiday started. This was an Amazing Decision, because today ALL the banks were having a party! When I went in, I was presented with a fruit smoothie and fresh fruit kebabs, then had to wait to be served while a group of children were photographed holding OBERBANK balloons. After grappling my way through the paparazzi (a less normal experience for me than you’d expect, given my celeb-status) I was presented with a stall giving me a pick of playing cards, key rings and notebooks. THEN, and only then, did I manage to get the counter, where I found out I have either been paid early or Mr.Zaheya E.Attar, Manager Emirates NBD {national bank of Dubai} Khalediya, who emailed me last month was NOT a fraudster! (because I have money in my bank account). I asked the person who gave me the smoothie why there were free smoothies. He replied, cryptically, that it was ‘World Saving Day’, and then refused to elaborate. In truth I don’t think he knew any more about it than I did – he looked about 15 years old. It’s obviously quite a big thing though as, leaving the bank, I saw the main square in Amstetten had a giant Sparkasse bouncy castle in it. This made me smile, because at the school ball, it was the manager of Sparkasse who I accosted and gave golfing tips to.

Enough about the banks, pleaseeee, I hear you grovel! Okay, here is what I’ve been up to J

Last weekend was a ‘long weekend’ as Austria celebrated its National Day. I wore my Dirndl as a sign of solidarity with Austrian independence, and we went to Vienna. FUN FACT: People in Vienna, as a rule, do not wear Dirndl. In fact, evidence suggests only one person was wearing a dirndl in Vienna that day (me.) Despite this, nobody really gave me any funny looks, though one little rascal did insult my shoes (this didn’t upset me too much as I know they are ugly shoes). We went to Heldenplatz where there were soldiers and a funfair. The centre of Vienna is pretty impressive, which a lot of huge white buildings. I was with another TA who had lived in Vienna for a while and so knew a bit about the history and stuff and she gave me the inside info. I could share this with you now, but I’ve forgotten most of what she said :S Everyone in Heldenplatz was having a great time. I captured the magic in this photograph, which I think you’ll agree is pretty goddam artistic:

JUST BEFORE this photo was taken, a young man handed us a leaflet for the MAK museum open day, so we went. It is the museum for applied arts, and it was really great! We saw some kind of traditional eastern Asian drumming, got free tea, got a free poster, ate Vietnamese food etcetc

The most exciting thing about the day was that when we were wondering around the train station in the morning, I heard a musical, joyful voice calling my name. Then, appearing before my eyes in a hazy mirage of wonder, was my darling friend Eva who I haven’t seen for over a year!  She lives and studies in Vienna, and in the evening we went to her ‘WG’ and ate pasta. It was top notch.

On Saturday a TA friend got me a ticket to her ball. This was in Wieselburg, which translated means Weasel Mountain (lol), and was basically a young farmers’ ball. It was vast, with thousands of guests and some really talented dancers. I wished Jamie Smith had been there with me. Dancing with Jamie Smith was a life-changing experience for me, and I’d recommend it for any girl looking for a good time! He’s only good for dancing though, as his hair may be red but his heart is black.

We gave the disco a good go, but all the young farmers had got PISSED and were flailing around in a very unsightly manner. Managed to survive long enough to hear ‘Is This The Way to Amarillo?’ (I was the only one chanting WOLVERHAMPTON) then we escaped to see the end of a set by a 70s tribute band. When we left the ball it was snowing!!!!

Regular readers will be dying to know how my HOT BEACH CUBAN BOD 2K13 plan is going. Well, in the past week alone I have been to the swimming pool twice AND to my new POWER PLATE CLASS. The first time I went to the pool was for an Aquarobics class. I was pretty apprehensive, however my Expert Swimmer Housmate from Manchester (aka Jess) reassured me it would be full of old people. She wasn’t wrong! The class was run by a tanned, middle aged aerobics instructor with buns of steel who stood at the side of the pool and acted out energetic aerobics routines with unbridled enthusiasm and a terrifying grin. I didn’t feel much pressure to keep up with her though, as nobody seemed to take much notice of what she was doing. No matter what action she demonstrated for us to follow, the mass of elderly, bingo-winged ladies surrounding me merely bobbed up and down and generally displayed a complete disregard for the rhythm of the music AND the recommended dance routines. Every now and then one of the more enthusiastic participants would raise an arm out of the water and wiggle a bit, and at one point the woman in front of me span in a circle for about a minute.

The second time I went to the swimming pool, I took a friend, which meant I was even brave enough to actually do some swimming! I also tried out the slide and the sauna. The sauna was not good as it made me want to giggle and every time I giggled I breathed in a whole room full of steam and coughed and choked. We were in there for under three minutes. The slide was much more enjoyable. The swimming, however, was tiring, confusing and did not last very long. I’m going to try and go again though, and maybe if I keep practising I’ll get better. 

Today, however, things took a turn for the worse. Getting to school for 7.30am means I always need a nap in the afternoon, and today my name lasted too long and I missed my power plates class! This may well be a good thing, however, because one of my teachers today said she thought I looked pale and suggested I have a good rest. This won’t be too hard, as it’s another bank holiday tomorrow and so I have a four day weekend!

To conclude, I give you the excellent news that I found a Mango Outlet store in a nearby town yesterday, and bought two wool coats for 25 euros each. I only need one, but I got a bit carried away. Now I’m searching for a nice hat to complete the winter look! I’ll keep you updated.

Sazboo x

avin a bawwwwll!!!!

I was back in Melk today. I do like Melk, but am really unconvinced by the concept of ‘commuting’ anywhere and it was very difficult to get out of my warm (SINGLE) bed into the freezing cold ice igloo that is my flat this morning. However, today the cleaner came and two brilliant things happened. Firstly, I thought the cleaner cost fifty euros, but she only costs twenty! She slaved away for over two hours, did my washing up, hovered, changed my bedding AND (second brilliant thing) showed me how to use the heating! So now I am sitting in only one jumper, luxuriously enjoying the benefits of a central heating system which, like everything else in this building, has not been updated since the height of the cold war. (<<<<<<<Ironic! :P)

For the past three weeks, Amstetten has been going chicken oriental for what I was reliably informed was one of THE social events of the season – the HLW Ball. My students (who organised the ball) told me it was the BEST ball in Amstetten, Austria and maybe even the world. When I asked them if they ever went to other balls, they were nearly sick into their vocab books, so disgusting the idea seemed to them.

The idea of the ball had been stressing me out, mainly because I was not only going without a date (perfectly normal for me as I am in INDEPENDENT WOMAN), I had to go to this one without anyone. Neither friend nor foe were prepared to accompany me, meaning I was waddling to the venue (late) on Saturday evening completely alone, trying to blend into a vast crowd of Austrians streaming towards the door :'( I had, however, received help in getting READY for the ball. Last weekend I went to Innsbruck and received lots of fashion advice from my friends there, and bought a dress. When I showed the dress to my landlady she got very excited, and gave me seven different shawls to wear with it. Going from personal experience, I thought a shawl would be a bit showy and I’d be unlikely to see anybody else in one there. I nearly didn't wear it. Thank god I did. These people take their balls seriously – the lovely woman I was seated by was wearing a full length, bejewelled dress with a silk shawl and an up-do. It was beyond posh.

Anyway, I plopped myself down by these strangers and tried to do some small talk in German, which mainly involved me repeating strange German words I didn’t understand whilst wearing a confused face:

Austrian lady: So, do you flobbidyjibbywaber?
Me: Do I flobbidyjibbywaber?!!?
Austrian lady: Flobbidyjibbywaber.
Me: Flobbidyjibbywaber!?
Austrian lady: flobbidyjibbywaber...
Me: Yes!

Smiling and agreeing generally seems to either answer the question, or encourage them to stop trying.

The event was attended by about 1500 people – students, parents, teachers, friends and locals. It opened with a performance of the female students either dancing with their boyfriends or their fathers. They danced to ‘You Raise Me Up’ by Westlife, and at the appropriate moment, the fathers lifted their daughters into the air and looked solemn. Regular fans will not be surprised to hear I was choking back tears at this point: totes emotes.

I was sat by a student from Vienna who was unfortunate enough to ask me a question JUST  as the big band started playing Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers’ “Islands in the Stream”, and I started hyperventilating with excitement. Obviously sensing a chance of romance, he offered to dance with me. I’ve always believed myself to be a very good dancer, possessing natural rhythm and grace. However, after stepping on his feet about 17 times we had to stop and it was very awkward.

There were five or six bars – one for ‘beer’ (it’s lager.), one for Champagne, one for cocktails, one for shots etc etc. I went to them all. Near the ‘beer’ bar, in the room for the hip young things, some of my students performed in a band and people cheered and drank mugs of beer (me too!). Some of them came and shouted at me things like “IT MUST BE SO WEIRD FOR YOU TO SEE PEOPLE DRUNK WHO ARENT 21!!!” (wrong) and “YOU CAME WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND!” (also wrong.) One student told me that she LOVES my lessons. She is my new favourite.

At midnight there was another huge performance which included the headmaster dressed as some kind of prince and many dance routines:

For one of the dances they dressed in Lederhosen and smacked eachother's bottoms (hilarious)

Grand Finale.

When it ended, everyone was weeping and cheering and they did a little encore. After two more glasses of wine, the headmaster invited me to come and drink with the VIPs (it was only made apparent to me later on that they were VIPs). By this time I’d had a vicious cocktail of alcohol, and was feeling emotional, enthusiastic and over-excited. I simply GUSHED about the headmaster’s performance and how wonderful it was to get all the students involved, then started prattling away to the local important business man who had sponsored the event. Yes, in hindsight, I am embarrassed about this; however, I have no regrets.

Here is a photo of that I took of myself in the disabled toilet. At the time, I thought it looked really wacky and cool and like I was eating my own camera. I think you’ll agree!

"You left me standing in my LBD with my bang bang shoes - I was so confused!"

After the solo photoshoot in the toilet, I felt a bit peckish, so snacked on some salmon and caviare entrees (tasted fishy...in both senses of the word!!!) then decided to waddle back home. I got back at 3am, and in the morning Little Old Landlady was appalled. “3am!?” she cried. “They usually don’t get back until at least seven!”

It was a pretty exciting night, but I’m even more excited for this weekend, as one of my fellow TA friends thinks she’ll be able to acquire me a ticket to attend her ball and this will mean I won’t be going alone! And, because it’s in a different town, I can wear the exact same outfit. SCORE!!!!!!!!!! :P

Melk, you beauty!

Here in Austria I’m working at two schools .The first, which is the school who have to deal with all my paperwork and mood swings, is in Amstetten and is a school focussed on hospitality. The second is a grammar school which is situated in Austria’s version of Disneyland (Melk). A huge abbey built on the top of a hill in Melk, Stift Melk is so big that it is literally impossible to get a complete photograph of it without a helicopter. After leaving my house at 6.40AM (!!!!) I travel to Melk on a 33 minute train ride. The train line follows the river Donau, which had lots of mist rolling over it in the mornings, and the water was quite calm last week and a beautiful colour. Being a relatively ‘flat’ part of Austria, you get a wonderful view of the sunrise and then you turn a corner and the Abbey suddenly appears out of the mist, huge and symbolically intimidating, like the ice berg in Titanic (except yellow). As commutes go, it’s quite impressive, and certainly makes the early mornings almost bearable (I also like to play ’21 seconds’ by So Solid Crew to get myself going).

This is genuinely what it looks like!

I liked it a lot, and the town is also very lovely with little, traditional buildings and a market on a Wednesday. One of the coolest things about the school is that it has huge oak doors in the corridors which open automatically, like magic! One of the least cool things about the school is that you have to climb about 935,000 steps to get to it, and by the time I get to the top, I’m really out of puff!!!!

Seeing as I am now working in Disneyland, I decided I needed to complete the look so, despite refusing to spend money on a coat (who needs a coat!? in Austria!?) I bit the bullet and [BIG NEWS!!!] bought myself a Dirndl. I got it in an incredible shop where I wanted to buy everything. Austrian traditional dress seems to involve a lot of velvet, reindeer and buckles: my three favourite things! Mine was reduced from 200 euros to 39.99. It's a lilac colour to match the lilac tree that was planted in my honour in Wolverhampton (by my parents in my garden) and has little reindeers leaping all over the skirt. A dirndl is made up of the dress, a little blouse and an apron. You can also get AMAZING VELVET JACKETS but I couldn't afford one, so it's on my 'wishlist', along with a pair of ruby slippers and comprehension of the German language.

Here is me looking like even more like a princess than usual:

The best thing about the Dirndl is that it has pockets. I tied my bow on the left so all the fellas know  I'm free, single, and ready to mingle! That's also why I chose green.

Lol self timer

They were all full length. I might take it up to knee-length, if I'm feeling paticularly cheeky. 

When the hell are you going to wear a Dirndl!?!? I hear you cry in indignation. Why, around the house, when I'm feeling sad.

My Snow White-inspired lifestyle has NOT ended there! After accumulating some rather ripe bananas I decided to release my inner Mary Berry and, instead of throwing them away, made a cheeky Banana Bread. Naturally, this activity took me an entire day to complete and involved spending much more money than the bananas were worth. Baking ingredients in Austria is not the same as baking ingredients in the UK (I blame there extensive variety of baked goods). I had to resort to accosting random strangers in the supermarket for advice, especially in the flour section, where I was really baffled. One day I'll look up the German words for the ingredients I want BEFORE I go to the supermarket, but not this week.  (EDIT: BTW See my recipe for banana bread cake balls here).

FlOuR!!!!

A picture of my banana bread. It was so good, and I gave some to my landlady's daughter and she  LOVED it, despite repeatedly telling me 'it's not bread, it's cake'. I was like, yeah BUT ITS CALLED BREAD OKAYYYY?????? :S

I used the  Guardian's perfect banana bread recipe  and it the best banana bread I've ever eaten (sorry dad.)

Whilst making my banana bread I utilised some of the wacky 70's equipment in my kitchen, including this weighing scale:

It really is a weighing scale, and it seemed to work, but I've never seen anything like it. Exciting new things!

And IN CONCLUSION here are some pix I took of Melk!

Entrance

Second entrance 

Inside the Abbey with some atmospheric birds circling the dome.  The window to my office is on the first floor on the right.

Several Exciting Things

[NB: I have been accused (more than once) of ‘overusing’ CAPITAL LETTERS for DRAMATIC EFFECT, so I have decided to limit myself and have only used Capital Letter for the beginning of words which are Important. I hope you appreciate and enjoy this change in my writing style.]

Several Very Exciting Things have happened over the past few days. First of all, I had my First Interaction with an Austrian Builder 2k12. I found him lurking in the basement which until that point I did not know existed. He had a strong local accent so I didn’t understand a word he said, and had to resort to smiling politely and slowly backing away.

THEN I went on a pre-arranged outing that my mentor teacher signed me up for. This wasaorganised by the English department of the Grammar School next door and involved a trip to a traditional pub that was celebrating ‘Knudltag’, or, for monolinguals: “Dumpling Day”. “Knudl” sounds a lot like “canoodle” so I have been saying it as much as possible! We drove up into the mountains and when we arrived the waiter shook all of our hands and the owner of the pub came out to greet us extremely cheerfully! “Gruβ Gott!” he hollered, and we all hollered back! We sat in the baking sun, looking over views of the mountains. I was served three courses of dumpling based dishes, starting with Liver Dumpling Soup, which I dutifully finished, despite a flavour and texture I would not recommend you try unless forced to by politeness. Then we had a main course of savory dumplings and ‘sauerkraut’, which is basically a very disappointing version of coleslaw. The weirdest thing about Dumpling Day is that all the Dumplings are the same and only the filling changes. So we had plum and Nutella dumplings that were made of the same dumpling as the meat and lard dumplings (!!!!) but I ate them all anyway. I was treated to the meal by one of the English teachers and I certainly enjoyed the nice traditional experience, even though I don’t know if I’d eat so many dumplings again ever again. Nobody had a satisfying explanation of why Dumpling Day existed; in fact they found it strange I even questioned it.

The most exciting thing about Dumpling Day was that [SIGNIFICANT DRAMATIC PAUSE] I made a New American Friend!  My New American Friend works as a teaching assistant at the Grammar school and has been here a year. After Dumpling Day she showed me some of the sights of Amstetten, which were a statue of a wolf and…well, that was it, actually, but we also had some coffee at a little coffee shop and treated ourselves to some ice cream.

When I was wondering home, I fantasised about how pleasant it would be to pee as soon as I got in, as all the dumplings were pressing on my bladder and I needed the ‘WC’. However, I was soon beckoned from my path by a dark, mysterious figure, rather like the wolf in little Red Riding Hood. As I approached I soon realised it was my Dear Old Landlady, who was waiting to go into the Grammar school, where she used to work, to attend some kind of event. She couldn’t really explain what exactly the event was, but she encouraged me to come in with her, so I did, keeping a beady eye for the toilets. It soon became apparent it was an evening held for the ‘friends of the school’ and it’s beneficiaries, and not everybody was entirely delighted to see me tagging along. Everyone was dressed very smartly and I was still in my Dumpling Day outfit. We went upstairs and they promptly began giving long speeches in fast and complicated German. This, and the fact that there was no toilet break, meant I was eagerly awaiting it all to be over. However, when it did end, they presented us with alcohol and nibbles, and Dear Old Landlady introduced me to all the important people. I spoke to the music teacher who’s in an orchestra, and I asked if I could join too, and then he told me about trips they made to the opera and to musicals in Vienna. Dear Old Landlady left then, but made me stay because I think she (rightly) thought I needed to make some friends. I spoke to one of the girls who had provided musical entertainment during the talks, who had just graduated high school and is now studying medicine in Vienna. She was completely fluent in English, and it turned out that because her mum was an English teacher and they both loved period dramas. This gave us a LOT to talk about – they’d even seen Cranford! They gave me loads of tips of German books and poetry to read to help me improve, and then gave me a lift home.

I took this photo with my camera!

On Saturday, New American Friend and I went to Vienna for ‘Night at the Museum’, where you buy a ticket to for 13 euros which lets you go into about 122 museums that stay open until 1am. We met at the train station, but by the team we’d gotten tickets and got ourselves sorted there was only one minute until the train left which meant we had to RUN through the underpass and down the platform. A woman with a scooter leapt to our assistants and held the door open for us, and we jumped on as the train was starting to leave the platform. It was So Cool. The excitement, thankfully, did not stop there. The train was like a modern Harry Potter train. After being screamed at by a very irate young lady in the corridor, we went into the only compartment with spare seats where Mr Charistmatic was stting. Mr Charismatic told us that it was a compartment for ‘retired people’ only, (by which I think he meant disabled people), but if the ticket lady asked we could say we were with him as he had a poorly foot (NB: the ticket lady did not ask). Mr Charismatic then left us alone for a while, but once we started talking about the general election he got interested, and spent the next 40 minutes animatedly telling us about himself and how much he loved America. He was Russian, but originally Spanish, but born in Austria (?) and runs a jewellery shop with his father and a property business. I know all about him. He even showed us pictures of his family, and told us about his visits to New York. Then he gave us valuable life advice, especially on choosing a spouse, and some tips about Vienna. Eventually we reached Westbahnhof and Mr Charismatic bid us farewell.

A blurred image showing me contemplating a  marzipan gogo dancer. Regular followers may be interested to not how long my hair is! I'm wearing an unusual selection of little known high street brands (i.e. Primark and H&M) and orthopaedic shoes designed for the elderly. The woman is wearing marzipan.

Vienna is a tiny capital – it only has 5 different colours on the underground map. We started in the centre, where there’s a cathedral, and had Sturm and pancakes in a restaurant, followed by The Best Kebab of My Life. We didn’t really have a plan for the museums, but started at the Natural History Musem, were me met Other Teaching Assistants. The Natural History Museum was MANIC, there were people everywhere. There were little stalls with demonstrations and samples, where people got especially bustly. We then made a very poor decision and queued for an inordinate amount of time for a very small and rubbish marzipan experience, where they gave us free boiled sweets and NO marzipan. We left dejected, disappointed and desiccated (like a coconut!) then My New American Assistant Friend and I went to the art museum, which was INSANELY GOOD! All the walls were ornately decorated, with painted ceilings and alcoves and marble pillars. The very top had murals by Klimt, which we climbed up 3 gazillion steps to see, but it was really worth it. Then we went to the Ancient Egyptian area where there were loads of mummies, and hieroglyphics painted all over the walls. It was really, really cool. In fact it was so cool that we couldn’t drag ourselves away until we abruptly realised we had 20 minutes to get back to the train station in time for our train at 23:50, which was three tube stops away. By this time we were hobbling and wheezing from walking too much and lack of hydration, so we hobbled to the underground station and waited for the next train. When it arrived we had 10 minute left before the train left. When we got to the train station we had about four and a half minutes left. Naturally, the underground train was under the ground so we had to haul out tired, aching bodies up three escalators to get to the normal train station, where we fumbled about getting ourselves tickets from the horrid little machines. We got the tickets at 11.49. Then we had to run up another flight of stairs and to Platform 5 where the train was. We ran to the train door, but realised that this train was actually some kind of cruel ruse that Wasn’t Going Anywhere and was positioned there to confuse and upset people. The train we needed was actually the next one down the platform. This was about a 100m sprint to the doors, which we managed in I’d say about 25 seconds, which considering everything is pretty good, especially as we’d already run about 55 miles. When we got on the train we were panting heavily, I was sweating and I thought I might faint, so I went to sleep.

NEXT TIME:
Q: WOULD YOU RATHER, MELK OR MILK?
A: MELK(!!!)

DAY ONE AS AN EDUCATIONAL PROFESSIONAL

TODAY I MADE SEVERAL HUGE STEPS OF PROGRESS: I started my first day at school, I registered at the local town hall and received my “Meldezettel”, I opened a bank account, I bought a wireless-internet-dongle-thing, I continued to be ignored by my parents. BUT the most exciting event of the day: I went to the supermarket again!

On my first day at the supermarket I was just shocked to find a building I could happily describe as big. I was over-excited, overwhelmed and over-tired. Muddled, frightened and half-blind I lurched through the aisles like the drunk man in that youtube video.

Today was so different. Having learnt from previous mistakes, I made a list before arriving to try and help me focus. First stop was the vegetable aisle. I was so amazed at the vegetable aisle I almost failed to complete any other purchases. I did three circuits of it (I kid you not) and picked up all the different pumpkin/squashes in complete amazement. They have pumpkins here that look like octopuses. They have eight little legs, like octopuses. They have so many different types of pumpkins!! If you thought Butternut Squash was exotic (I did.) then prepare yourself for whole new world of wonder! Every shape, size, colour and pattern. Within seconds I was making a mental list of all the people I knew who I just had to bring to the vegetable aisle! (Be warned: your name may well be on that list!) About 35 minutes later I dragged myself away with a 2 kilo red cabbage in one hand and a bag of onions in the other, wistfully gazing back at the pumpkins. Then I found the cheese aisle. I could now list all the different types of cheeses, milk and creams available, but I think it would be easier to list what wasn’t there: cheddar. Now imagine every other kind of cheese you can: THEY HAD IT! This was pretty mind-blowing, but I kind of really wanted cheddar, so I didn’t buy any cheese. I then continued around the shop in complete bemusement and wonder until I stumbled upon the checkout and left, cabbage in one hand and a 500g pot of cranberry sauce in the other. (Breakfast tomorrow is going to be very weird.)

There is an Aldi (actually called Hoffer here) a little further down the road, I may well go there tomorrow, because I just find Merkur so incredible that I can’t get anything done! It’s like trying to do an exam in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory – there are too many distractions to make any sensible decisions!

Other interesting things that happened to me today:

I met all the other teachers and students, and all the teachers were very friendly and a lot of them had heard of Wolves. All the students looked at me fearfully, like they didn’t really know what ‘England’ was. The more frightened they looked, the more I tried to smile (to appear friendly!) and the more frightened they looked…and then the more I tried to smile… it was a vicious cycle that taught me one important life lesson: my smile is not reassuring :-S

Over and out xx