Auf Deutch en Baden

Sontag, 5 Mai
 
I've been away for three or four days now, though the nine hour time difference, my missed connection in Munich adding 4 hours to my travels (22 hours from airport to airport!), jet lag resulting in not getting up till noon on Saturday, but being wide awake at 4AM on Sunday, all means I don't really know how long I've been here.
 
I've been taken under wing by Claire's family who are being great hosts to me. They even pushed themselves long past their bedtimes on my arrival night to take me to a concert in Vienna. No, not the Viennese Boys' Choir, not an evening of Strauss waltzes, not even the Lipizzaner horses. This was a concert by Socalled, my nephew, who in the middle of an onstage rap spotted me in the crowd and said "what the hell are you doing here?!", which of course made it all worthwhile. For all you Socalled fans out there in blogland, I have to say this Viennese crowd was far more lively than the dullheads at his Vancouver concert, and though I watched really carefully I still couldn't figure out how he does the damn newspaper trick!
 
But that was my only bit of Vienna so far. Momoo (Claire's grandmother) lives most of the year in Baden, a smaller town about 45 minutes from the city. Baden, as the name suggests, is a town of baths - warm sulphur waters that over the centuries have led to the construction of numerous spas where upper class Austrians would come to "take the cures" and generally indulge in retreat from the big city. Today this is added to by the construction of a large modern casino (which, as a Vancouverite, I was amazed to learn could survive without a large Chinese community), plus the predictable assortment of tourist shops selling porcelain knick-knacks and overpriced clothing.
 
Baden is also surrounded by vineyards. Yesterday evening Elie and Claire and I went for a walk out of town, following a path that went for a mile between rows of planted vines. And scattered around are "heurigen" - small restaurants specializing in fresh local wines. Today we lunched at the family favorite where the roast chicken was OK, the salads all somewhat quirky, and the wine (the area is mostly noted for its whites, but Elie and I went for a red aged in oak casks) was wonderful!
 
After lunch we walked through the old town- narrow crooked streets lined with gabled stone buildings from centuries back. One house was where Beethoven spent several summers and where he wrote his Ninth Symphony. (Something I heard today: Question - what's an Austrian? Answer- someone who tries to convince you that Beethoven was Austrian but Hitler was German). We strolled past the Rathaus and the porcelain shops stopping at "best place for ice cream". [How you loved ice cream! I still remember the places we ate. That one near the cathedral in Seville where we just couldn't decide. That weird rubbery ice cream in Turkey that survived in the heat that even you couldn't finish. The Dove Bars you'd allow yourself as guilty pleasure. The frozen fruit bars that became a staple in Mexico. The stops at Mario's in Vancouver when the temperature first made it above 10 degrees. And those last months, when they told you to eat the richest, fattest ice cream you could find because we had to get your weight up for the chemo. The only upside you could find to the process of dying.] And I stood there dazed, tears in my eyes, while my hosts pointed out places in the town square and I heard nothing.
 
This evening after dinner I went for a walk by myself. Down the hill and over the bridge into town. Past the old cemetery. Back past the large ornate statue to the victims of some long ago plague. Down a side street to find the synagogue (the sign says Gebetezeit Freitag am 19:00 uhr - I'll try to be there). Through the big Rose Garden Park with the geometric beds, the children's play area, the lake with the rowboats [You sat in the back of the boat, one hand lazy in the water, your eyes lovingly on me as I rowed us nowhere. It was in Ontario. It was at Cultus Lake. It was in a park in New York. And sometimes it wasn't a rowboat - sometimes we'd rent a paddle boat for an hour and just sit side by side, pedaling and talking, being young and alive. And now the only boat that I can think of is the one that bore you across the River Styx]
 
But my big surprise so far has been language. Since the family all speak both English and German there has not been much pressure on me. But Momoo's live-in companion is from Slovakia, so she speaks no English and the household functions in German. (I think she and I have a plan to watch an upcoming Canada-Slovakia hockey game together). To my surprise I hear German tumbling out of my mouth. In the house. In the restaurant. As I read the signs. I didn't know I actually knew very much. [All those Friday nights at Ruth's parents place, hearing them speak German. All those old Yekke recipes she would talk about. Those visits with Wehrner and Marianne in Wittlich or in Vancouver. The times I'd find Ruth watching a German language movie because she was trying to improve her level. It all was rubbing off.] And now I want to go back to her parents' home. I want to smile at Siddi and tell her that I'm becoming the son-in-law she said I should be. I want to thank her for her patience. And I want to thank her, again and again, for the loan of her wonderful daughter.
 
der Avi





 
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