Day trip to Bratislava

Bratislava is but a short jaunt from Vienna, about an hour and fifteen minutes by train. Hubby has been. I have not. And so, on the advice of a friend who lived there for 2 years in the early 2000s, and to satisfy Hubby's urge to go back and see how the city may have changed since Slovakia joined the European Union, we embarked on a small day trip.

Before leaving, we checked the weather. It called for 19 degrees and a mix of sun and cloud. Perfect weather for wandering around, right? WRONG!! You see, we neglected to check out the wind speed. And it was 'effin windy. Meaning that I was grossly underdressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and the thinnest hoodie I've ever owned (you get what you deserve when you buy clothes at Costco...) So I admit it, I was a wee bit grouchy as we set out from the Bratislava train station to begin our exploration.   

We arrived at said train station just in time for lunch. Good thing - because Hubby did some research and discovered that the Slavic Food Festival was kicking off that very day. Double bonus - it was on the grounds of the Bratislava castle. Two birds, one stone, and all that jazz. So up and up and up and up and up we climbed to get to the castle. Jesus! No one told me I would get altitude sick by visiting Bratislava! That was one steep hill, which had the advantage, I guess, of lessening my feelings of guilt resulting from missing my morning run. 

It also earned me a beer and a slab of pork roast, followed by cake and chocolate covered fruit. Delicious! So delicious that we forgot to take a pre-eating pic with the hats. Oops:

Please don't judge me for the grease stains left on the plate...

After wolfing down our lunch and freezing our asses off drinking cold beer at high altitudes, we wandered over to the castle to take a look. After seeing the palaces of Vienna, I must admit that I was not blown away. But then I realized that this was built in the 1300s, serving primarily as a military fortress and not as a symbol of imperial dominance. Consider me now suitably impressed. 

Although there is a museum in the castle, we weren't really feeling all that museum-y, even though it would have given us an opportunity to warm up. Instead, we began the stroll down into old town, through windy cobble stone streets. Which would have probably been a lot more picturesque were it not for the graffiti littering the walls. Art or vandalism? You be the judge. 

Once we arrived back down to an altitude with oxygen, the sun came out and it got warmer. Still, we ventured inside to take a look at St. Martin's cathedral. Far less opulent than St. Stephan's, but featuring some of the most impressive stained glass that I have seen. We spent half an hour wandering around the cathedral (have I mentioned how much I love cathedrals). Here are some pics:

The pipe organ:

The pulpit:

I'm not sure what this statue commemorates, but I found it rather striking:

The altar:

Beautiful stained glass:

A sign telling women to cover up their cleavage. This is a church, after all:

With my soul thoroughly revitalized and my body suitably warmed up after the refuge from the wind, we explored Old Town. It is so charming and quaint. Hubby says that the last time he was here, it was the Christmas season, and so the markets were selling holiday wares. I imagine that would be lovely to see, even though I am not the biggest Christmas fan. During our stroll, we stumbled upon St. Michael's gate, the public square, and a lovely coffee shop. 

Wandering through the streets:

Of course there is a pair of legs hanging out of a building. Doesn't every old town have this?

St. Michael's gate:

No Ottawa, but Toronto is only this far away:

Me in the public square:

Enjoying a coffee in a café just off the square:

After refueling with coffee, it was time to make our way back to the train station, but not before taking a peek at the opera house:

Yes, there is ways an opera house. 

All in all, it was a lovely, albeit brisk, way to spend a day. Just like the pamphlet says, I am now a Bratislover. 

And I've added  another country-knotch on my belt. 

The great Viennese contradiction - and other stories

For the past 5 days, we have been hanging out in Vienna.  

Before coming here, I'd built up this image of Vienna as one of the most spectacular cities in Europe - right up there with London and Paris in its cosmopolitan wonder. Yet I had also pictured something a little more, well, sophisticated.  I mean, this is the city of Mozart*, Strauss, the opera, the Viennese ball, and architectural delights of the baroque, rococo, and gothic styles. There was something just a touch more opulent about Vienna in my mind. 

And the city did not disappoint. From the stunning St. Stephan's cathedral - which has become by far my most favourite cathedral in Europe (disclaimer: I have only visited about ten or so and there are many more to go) - to the baroque gardens of Belvedere and Schonbrunn palaces, to the majesty of the Opera house. Vienna is not the glamour of Paris or the hip of London. It is the height of European grandeur. 

With one exception:

The food.  This is the land of the weiner schnitzel, a slab of meat pounded to paper thin, breaded, and fried. And this is the height of local cuisine. 

Now don't get me wrong - it is damn delicious. As were many of the other local fares that we tried, including beef goulash, pork roast and dumplings and the infamous apple streudel. But I just can't picture myself getting dressed up in a ball gown and pearls to spend a night at the opera, and stopping by the local beisl (pub) to have a quick bite to eat - in the form of a schnitzel the size of my face (if my face were flattened out a little). 

And herein lies what I believe to be the great Viennese contradiction. The food does not match the splendour of the city. 

Now I am rather blue-collar in my upbringing. Fried balogna was a treat in my house. So schnitzel suits me just fine. But if you are looking for a food experience, stick with the tapas bars of Basque Country in Spain, or the cafés of Provence in France. 

Some other random observations

 - The "ring road" in Vienna is spectacular - 5km around central Vienna. For at least 2 of those kms, you are treated to some of the most stunning displays of architecture, including the Opera house, Parliament, and the University of Vienna. I discovered most of these buildings when I set out for a run around the ring road on our second day in the city. Because the ring road is so bike and pedestrian friendly, I expected to encounter many a runner. But there were none. I was the sole jogger on the ring road. Are the Viennese lazy and out of shape? Not at all. They just prefer to run through their spectacular gardens, such as those found at the various palaces throughout the city. So if you want people to think you are a local, jog through the palace gardens at Belvedere or Schonbrunn, and leave the ring road to the tourists. 

Austrian Parliament, a photo snapped while running the ring road... like a tourist...

The gardens at Schloss Belvedere

Me after a run through the Belvedere Gardens

Catching up with Hercules after another run through the gardens

Local runners climbing the hill at Schloss Schonbrunn. I sat this one out...

- Hungry? Grab a sandwich and eat on the go. I can't tell you how many Viennese grab a sandwich (usually a schnitzel sandwich), and then take off on foot at top speed while devouring said sandwich. Which, when you think about it, takes a certain amount of dexterity. And I suppose this is not all that different from the North American infatuation with drive throughs so that we can eat while we are on the go in our cars. Ultimately, despite it being fried meat on white carbs, it is probably healthier to eat-on-the-go Vienna style. At least you are burning calories. 

- Too many people wear pleather. Which I was not expecting. It's like the Gatineau of Europe. (Sorry to any Gatinese readers that I may have offended, but you know I'm right.)

- The single most moving piece of art that I have ever seen was in St. Stephan's cathedral. A simple statue of the Virgin and an infant Jesus, which dates back to the 1300s. It is a sure sign that I am Catholic that such a simple statue of Mary moved me as much as it did. I don't expect Protestants to understand. My Presbyterian husband sure doesn't! 

- On the topic of St. Stephan's, this was the single hardest church to visit that I have ever been to. It took at least 4 tries before we got to finally tour the place. That I had the patience to try 4 times is a testament to my love of cathedrals. But oh my was it worth the visit. This cathedral is simply stunning. And it has been through so much, from the siege of Vienna by the Ottoman Turks, to the Allied bombing of the church in 1945. What this cathedral has seen. And what it means to the life of a city that it remains standing while the rest of Vienna grows around it. Surely the most satisfying hour of my trip was that spent roaming through the cathedral. 

St. Stephan's during the day:

St. Stephan's at night:

The pulpit at St. Stephan's:

The crucifix in the nave:

The way the light dances through the cathedral:

- I have spent an entire day waiting in the rain to get into the pit at a Bruce Springsteen concert. In Vienna, people line up to get one of 400 standing-room-only seats at the Opera house, 200 of which don't even have a view. And the queue starts at noon, even though the opera starts at 6:30pm. The Viennese love their opera like I love my Boss. Admittedly, I don't love the opera. But I admire the dedication to the art that moves them. 

I have no picture of the queue, but here is the opera house, as well as the outdoor screen so that you can watch from outside:

- And it is not just the opera that the Viennese love. They love their classical music (again - how this marries up with a love of schnitzel, I just don't know...). Mozart is everywhere, there are always concerts to see, and we lucked out and got to take in a local festival featuring music in a number of churches. Incidentally, it is while watching a choir singing Haydn just last night that I remembered why I had to quit choir. Not because I can't sing. Au contraire, I am a solid alto, I used to front a blues band, and I have even been invited to sing the national anthem for a former prime minister. No, my problem is that I am a diva, and I always want to be the centre of attention. I try to drown out the people around me, and secretly despise the soprano, who always gets the solo parts. This is perhaps the reason that I am more suited for rock...

A lone cellist on Stephansplatz:

Taking in a local choir performance:

The one and only Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart:

- I have been to the Holocaust Museum in D.C., and was shaken to the very core of my being. I expect the same will happen when I visit Dacchau in a few days time. But I find that the most stunning memorials to the victims of the concentration camps are those that I have stumbled upon unknowingly while wandering the streets of European cities. A simple plaque in the Jewish quarter in Paris marking the story of the ghetto. And now the memorial to the 65,000 Austrian Jews who lost their lives in 41 camps across Europe. We stumbled upon the memorial while wandering through central Vienna. Built upon the ruins of one of the older synagogues in Europe, this simple structure, meant to look like bookshelves and displaying the names of the camps around its base, took my breath away. 

A description of the memorial:

The memorial:

The main inscription:

The camps:

- I did not pack scarves with me for this trip, figuring that they would not be needed on a spring European trip. But Western Europe is experiencing a cold snap. And everyone here wears scarves. And now, so do I. I've bought three since leaving Canada. Do I look like a local? Probably not...

My favourite new scarf, and a statue of a horse:

- There are statues of horses everywhere in Vienna. I didn't take pictures of them all, but the one above of a horse being punched was a particular fave. 

- And finally, our hats are enjoying wine, beer, coffee and dessert across the city. Delicious!

A glass of grüner veltiner, an Austrian grape. Quite nice:

Kaiserschmarren, a local dessert which is essentially a pancake with raisins. Holy delicious:

Bier:

An aperol spritzer, a refreshing local drink after a day of roaming the market:

The best damn apple streudel I have ever had (even though I have only had 2):

Saying goodbye to Vienna with one last coffee at the train station:

So farewell, Vienna!  My but we did enjoy you. 

*Yes, I know that Mozart was born in Salzburg. But Vienna was his home. He played for Maria Theresia at the tender age of 6 in her palace in Vienna, and he was married in St. Stephan's cathedral. So he is as good as Viennese as they come, in my books!

How to survive jet lag, in a few easy steps

Whenever Hubby and I travel to Europe, we take the overnight flight. Usually it leaves around 10:00 pm (or so), getting us into our destination around 10:00 am (or so). 

Why put ourselves through the torture of an overnight flight, you ask? Well, the theory is that you grab a couple of hours of shuteye on the plane, and then stay awake all day once you arrive. This way, your body more easily falls into the new 5/6-hours-ahead-of-your-normal-schedule time zone, and you, as a result, will be as fresh as a freaking daisy by the time the first full day of your vacation rolls around.

So far, this "theory" has been greeted with what I would describe as no more than mediocre success. There is, of course, the small matter of me not being able to sleep so well on planes. I might have been able to get away with pulling an all-nighter when I was in my twenties. But let's face it - those days are looooooong gone. Anything less than six hours of sleep now and I can barely spell my name the next day. At the very least, I need a nap. Enter the problem of me not being able to stick to the strict rules of cat-napping. Nope - the minute my head hits the pillow in the middle of the day, I almost immediately go into full REM sleep, dreaming away for at least three hours. Which makes it a little difficult to have to go to sleep a mere few hours later. 

So yeah, overnight flights are a bitch. So is trying to stay up the next day. 

Luckily for me, this time around, I found a way to do it.  Move over, jet lag! You're not going to get the best of me!  Well, at least not until I get back to North America, anyway.

Step #1 - Don't leave the airport without getting a coffee: A real coffee. Not that watered down shit you get on the plane. Yes, I know you are tired, stinky, grouchy, stiff, and that you just want to get to your hotel. Fight the urge to run from the airport. Instead, find a coffee place and pay the ridiculously high mark up. You are going to need your energy. Plus, it will help you kill some time.

10:00ish am at Heathrow

Step #2 - Take the most difficult means of public transportation possible to get to your hotel: Seriously, you've got some major time to kill until bedtime, so do yourself a favour and use up as much as possible by taking public transportation. And I don't mean a nice, comfortable, fast taxi either. You might be too tempted to close your eyes while sprawled out in the back seat and that just won't do. No, you need to take the subway, the train, or the bus. Preferably a combination of all three. Not only will this eat up time, but it is impossible to fall asleep when running from one conveyance to another, dragging a heavy suitcase. Not to mention that you don't want to fall asleep in a bus with a bunch of strangers in a foreign country, do you?

Step #3 - Take a shower as soon as you get to your destination. A cold one: You heard me. The colder, the better. I know it's tempting to wash away all of those airplane germs with scalding water. But now is not the time for cleanliness. It's time to wake up. So use a high quality soap, scrub yourself down, and freeze your ass off. If this doesn't wake you up, I don't know what will. 

Now by this time, if you have followed my rules, you should have eaten up a good three hours, and it should be about 2:00 pm. And really, you only have to make it to about 8:00 pm. Only six hours left!

Step #4 - Go have a drink. Or five: I know what you are thinking. Alcohol makes you drowsy. The last thing you should do is have a drink. Fair enough. I used to think so too. Instead, I would try to keep myself busy by going for a walk, going shopping, or drinking more coffee. But here's the thing - those things are not fun when you are tired and all you want to do is go to sleep. Having a drink, however, is always fun. And once you have a couple, it gets even more fun! I find that a proper pub crawl, involving good friends to keep you from slouching in the pub bench and to keep you laughing, really helps with this step. Especially when they are locals and know all the good pubs to take you to:

2:15 - the Queen's Pub (it was board game day)

3:20 pm - the Maynard Arms

5:30 - the Harringay Arms

6:50 - the King's Head

8:10 - Villiers Pub

Sure, there were times I wanted to give up. Pub #3 almost did me in, I admit it. But soldiering on is good for you. Especially when there are so many great local beers to try!

Step #5 - Go home and have some peanut butter toast: I'm not actually sure that this helps with jet lag. But after crawling your way through five pubs, it will be the tastiest thing you've ever eaten!!

Step #6 - Sleep... For twelve hours: When was the last time you allowed yourself to indulge in more than six hours of sleep? You totally deserve this! So pop a couple of Advil, slam back a few glasses of water, and sleep in!

Step #7 - Start your day as soon as you wake up the next morning: Sure, you're on vacation and you want to lounge around. And sure you don't remember telling your host that you would like to go for a run in the morning and so you can't figure out why he is already waiting for you by the front door with your running shoes in his hand when you wake up. And sure your lungs are still swimming in five pints of beer. Too bad. The fuller your days, the more likely you are to fall into your bed at night. So suck it up and go for a run.

Step #8 - Stay busy for the rest of the day: Perhaps you could take a stroll through a cemetery, like Highgate Cemetery in North London:

Or stroll through an English garden in Hampstead Heath:

Or just go back to drinking more beer:

Either way, just find things to do so that you are exhausted by the time the sun goes down. Or drunk enough to pass out, anyway. 

And there you have it. Simple, really! Just remember, all you have to do is survive those first two days, and you are well on your way to kicking jet lag to the curb!

Here's a toast to overseas vacationing!

And away we go

The herd as been dispersed as Hubby and I embark on another adventure!

Princess Kitty, who is back in our lives for a few months, is hanging out with our neighbour for the next 2 weeks. Last I saw her, she was running around the house, meowing uncontrollably as we did our last minute packing. I do believe it is because she misses the F-bomb, who was dropped off at puppy camp early Friday morning. I am sure that Fergus missed us for 2 minutes, but if Facebook can be trusted, he is now having the time of his life herding all of the dogs who are camping out for the May long weekend. I am sure that by now, he has forgotten who we are.  

No matter - because we are completely unplugged from our lives back home. The blackberry has been left behind, I have no idea who is leading who in any of the Stanley Cup playoff series, and I can barely remember my home phone number. I AM ON VACATION!!!!!

So what am I doing, you ask? Well, about six or so months ago, as I was reading through the blogs that I follow, I came across a rumour that Springsteen was gearing up for another leg of his Wrecking Ball tour, this time in Europe.

"Hubby!" I said.  "Springsteen is going to Europe!"

"Uh-huh," he said, barely glancing up at me from his community newspaper. 

"Let's go see him in Europe!" I said. 

"Uh-huh," he mumbled.

And so it was that a few days later, when the rumours were confirmed and the dates were announced, I found myself setting my alarm for 3:00 in the morning so that I could wake up and purchase tickets to see The Boss in Munich. 

(Incidentally, Hubby doesn't remember agreeing to this. I tell him that he should simply pay more attention to me, and less attention to his community. So there!)

But back to our story. 

Why Munich?  Quite simply, I've never been to Germany. And Springsteen announced 4 shows in Germany, but not in any other country.  And so I figure that he must really like Germans, and they must really like him. So I must really like Germans too. And frankly, how could they not like me. 

Whatever. I'm going to see Springsteen in Munich!!!!!

Along the way, we've built in a couple of other stops. London, Vienna, and, wait for it, Winnipeg. That's right kids, we're rounding out our trip with a stop in Winnipeg!  A cousin's wedding, my niece's 16th birthday, and of course, the hamam at Ten Spa. Sure to be the most relaxing bit of this trip...

I've never used this blog to chronicle my travels, but I figure why the hell not! Neat things happen to us when we hit the road - or the skies, as the case may be - so why not tell you all about it. And I thought I would begin with the top 10 reasons why Hubby and I are the world's worse travellers, who could never be on The Amazing Race. 

10 - I can't sleep on planes. I can drink a bottle of wine and take 6 gravol before hopping on an overnight flight, but I. Can. Not. Sleep. Not good when the only times you really have to grab some shut eye are when you are in the air. 

9 - When I do manage to catch a few zzzz's, I do so in the most dangerously unnatural position I can squeeze myself into in these miniature spaces that pass for airplane seats. Meanwhile, the coldest of cold, recycled, germ-infested airplane air blows down my neck, causing it to seize up and lock into place, and thus decreasing my mobility for at least a few days. 

8 - I can't leave the airport without getting a proper coffee. Which, by the way, is slightly difficult to sip on without spilling when your neck is jammed at a 45 degree angle. But can you blame me??? We just took the overnight flight, I've had a bottle of wine and 6 gravol, and I only got maybe 30 minutes of sleep! You bet your ass I need a coffee!

7 - Neither one of us has any bladder control. It doesn't matter if there is a million dollars on the line - when one of us has to go to the washroom, we have to go RIGHT. NOW. 

6 - But one of us - I won't say who - does not like to have to pay for the luxury of using a toilet. And so, rather than simply cough up 35 pence in Paddington Station, this person instead runs around from bathroom to bathroom, until after 10 minutes and 6 bathrooms, he/she realizes that all of them require 35 pence.

5 - All the while, the other of us follows in exasperation, screaming "Just pay the 35 pence so we can get the hell out of here!" But during this time, this other one doesn't think to use the washroom him/herself, and only realizes about ten minutes later, when the couple is about to enter the Underground station where there are no toilets, that he/she won't make it for an hour on the tube. So the couple has to reemerge to the surface with all of their luggage so that the other one can also visit the W.C.  And now they are down 70 pence, and at least 25 minutes behind schedule.

4 - Our suitcases are way too big. I mean really, could we be MORE North American? How are you supposed to carry two big suitcases up and down flights of stairs in the Underground, or weave through the London throngs? And another thing - why the hell aren't there more elevators and escalators in these damn Underground stations? Do they think no one uses he tube to get to and from the airport? None of this is helping my Hunchback of Notre Dame-seque stance, either!

3 - We are too trusting of others who give us directions. Bakerloo line to King's Cross, my ass! Sabotage! This little mix-up cost us at least 20 minutes as we had to double back and then get to the complete opposite end of the station to get onto the Hammersmith line. Which, may I remind you, is a pain in the ass to do when carrying everything you own in a large roller suitcase!

2 - I am too easily distracted by pretty shiny things displayed strategically in shop windows.  As evidenced by the 40£ dent in my wallet as a result of a lovely scarf display that I just had to take a closer look at. 

1 - Hubby is just too damn nice.  And when you want to get somewhere quickly, this is a damn problem. You shouldn't be opening doors for people and letting them go before you! You should have your elbows up and muscle your way through! And there is no time for conversations with people when on the train! That's how you miss your stop! Seriously - why can't he be just a little bit more like me: mean and aggressive!!

Okay, so we won't be winning any million dollar prizes. But I suppose we do have a lot of fun together, and that has to count for something. Plus, we are bound to have some good stories to share! So stay tuned!

Ah, Mother's Day

This is me and my mom.

This picture was taken on my wedding day, almost four years ago. I am wearing my post-ceremony dress, the second of three dresses that I wore on that day (what can I say, I like an event with a few wardrobe changes). As you may have noticed, you can catch a glimpse of my bra. That is because this dress is made for a woman who is, shall we say, chestier than I. And so, every single time I sat down, I would inadvertently expose my bustier. My mother had been sitting directly across from me right before this picture was taken, and was telling me to fix my dress. I kept telling her that there was not enough double-sided tape in the world that could make a difference - the girls are just too darn small and there was nothing that could be done about it! That's when she decided to take matters into her own hands by fixing my dress herself. The photographer, finding the exchange more than a little hilarious, snapped a picture of me trying to stop my mother from covering up my inadequacy with the overabundance of draping silk.

This is one of my favourite wedding pictures.

It is just so us. There I am, doing something deemed by Mom to be "not-quite-right", and there she is, trying to fix it. Because that's what moms do. They guide their children and teach them right from wrong. And when those children falter, moms are there to make sure that they behave.

I love my mom. And whenever I see this picture, I love her more. I love her because she refuses to stop being my mom. She refuses to stop loving me and caring for me and looking out for what she thinks is best for me. Even though I am 29-years old in my mid-30s. Even on my wedding day.

I am not a mother, so I do not know what it is like to so badly want to protect my children from bruises and scrapes that result from falling off of bicycles, or from first heartaches when that boy they have a crush on doesn't call, or from exposing their bra to their wedding guests. But I do know what it is like to feel a mom's gentle hands applying a band-aid to a sore spot, wiping away tears, or yanking up a falling dress.

It feels like love.

I may not follow in the footsteps of motherhood, but I do cherish my mommy, and all of the other mothers I know, for filling this world with so much love.

Happy Mother's Day.