Brahms, Strauss and Singing Toilets

Brahms, Strauss and Singing Toilets

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Sometimes at home I have to think a minute–or a few minutes–about my daily posts. What thoughts have come to me during a walk in the suburbs? What snatch of ordinary life do I want to write about today?

But now ordinary life is standing on end. Into our ears pours the mellifluous sounds of spoken Austrian (which Suzanne tells us is distinctly different from German). Into our eyes comes a constant stream of images. Every sense is alerted. This is a different country, a different way of living in this world.

So what do I pick today? On our first night, crossing into the First District through the underground shopping area of Karlsplatz, we passed a singing toilet. The melodies of Strauss poured from the open door. It was corny, schmaltzy, complete kitsch. But this is Vienna, the city of Beethoven and Strauss and Brahms. So all is forgiven.

Vienna Waits for You

Vienna Waits for You

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We met Suzanne yesterday; it had been more than five months since we’d seen her. While I was walking in the suburbs, she’s been walking in one of the great European capitals. So she took us on the first of many tours, to the Opera, Stephansdom, and Cafe Central, known for its sacher torte and Old World ambiance. We are going out again soon to the Naschmarkt and the Belvedere Castle and St. Mark’s and all sorts of other places. We have placed our hands in the capable hands of our established Vienna tour guide. Vienna has waited for us. And we have waited for Vienna.

The Skeletons in the Vasa

The Skeletons in the Vasa

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Today we went to the Vasa Museum in Stockholm. It houses an almost completely intact 17th century warship, the Vasa, that sunk about 10 minutes into its maiden voyage in 1628 but wasn’t dredged up from Stockholm harbor until the late 1950s. The ship is a beautifully carved work of art, a messenger from the past. It’s grand and glorious. But listen to the movie, take the tour, and you learn that scores of men were crammed into its gun decks. Go down to the lowest level of the museum and you’ll meet some of the 40 men and women who perished when the ship sank, look at their skeletons and read about their lives. From their bones, scientists can learn about the diets of these people, the injuries they endured, the fractures that hadn’t healed, the illnesses they suffered. Almost all of them were malnourished; tooth decay and gum loss were common. Sailing out on this grand ship may have been the highlight of their difficult lives, and then, in an instant, it was all over. It’s easy to romanticize the past, especially when I’m traveling in Europe. The skeletons in the Vasa made me glad I live in the modern world.

Castle Weather

Castle Weather

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If yesterday was spring in Stockholm, today was winter. It was cool and misty in the morning; I even borrowed gloves. But we defied the weather; we hiked through a fairy-like forest, then had a picnic lunch.

It was the perfect day to visit a cold and drafty castle. And Gripsholm fit the part; it glowered at us as we strolled toward it, crossed over the moat and walked through the thick and forbidding walls into the courtyard.

Kings were imprisoned in this castle, and one abdicated his throne from it. Inside were portraits of royalty, and room after stunning room, some with painted wooden walls, others with damask coverings and one with warm wood paneling. The castle was an intricate maze of passageways and stairways and, on the top floor, a theater.

When we left the place to stroll through the village of MarieFred, my head was spinning, and no wonder: I had left the 16th Century and was suddenly re-entering the 21st. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the trip.

Second Spring

Second Spring

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Traveling to Sweden is like traveling back in time, back to a second spring–the trees just leafing out, the daffodils blooming, tulips, too. Today was one of the first and finest sunny days of spring. Everyone was out, mothers and babies and teenagers and old folks and marching bands and tourists, of course, like us. We learned from Dan today that we are only 11 hours drive from the Arctic Circle! No wonder the air has a chill when the sun goes down (when it finally does). But the warm days are all the sweeter here because they are so rare, and Stockholm was humming with life, the gardens and the palace and the narrow alleys of Gamla Stan (Old Town). Traveling is like a second spring, too. Suddenly the eyes are opened to what is always there.

At Home in Sweden

At Home in Sweden

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It took two planes and more than fourteen hours before we landed in Stockholm, but since then everything has been so easy I almost can’t believe we’re in a foreign country. Tom’s cousin, Dan, and his wife, Ann-Katrin, have taken us into their lovely lakeside home outside of Stockholm and we have talked and hiked and taken a ferry to a castle where the king and queen live. It all seems like a mirage–the soft green of the newly leaved birch trees, the melodic sounds of spoken Swedish, the warmth and hospitality of Dan and Ann-Katrin. But it is real–my fuzzy, jet-lagged brain tells me so. And because of my fuzzy, jet-jagged brain, this post will be brief. Just long enough to say, we already feel at home in Sweden.

Ascension Thursday

Ascension Thursday

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Not to be sacrilegious, but I realized a few days ago that we would be leaving for Europe, taking our long flight across the Atlantic, on Ascension Thursday. I believe this holiday has been demoted in the Catholic Church from a holy day of obligation to a regular holy day, but years of Catholic schooling have left their imprint. Ascension Thursday it is. The day Christ ascended into heaven, 40 days after Easter, a perfect counterweight to the 40 days of Lent.

Today we rise, too. Not on clouds, and not to the music of angelic choirs. We rise by racing through the airport, taking off our shoes, our jackets, our belts; by handing our passports and boarding passes to various grim-faced officials. It is not easy to fly these days. But there are few feelings like it. It is freedom, of course. That’s the thrill of it. An escape from earth, an escape from time, an escape, even, from the weather. And so, off we go…

This Above All

This Above All

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As we were growing up, my mother quoted Shakespeare to us, one line in particular: “This above all, to thine own self be true.” My mother didn’t raise my father, of course, but this line could have been written for him. A man so aptly named Frank, my dad has always been true to himself. He is friendly and fun and as good as they come; he extracts joy from daily living.

When he was a tail gunner on bombing raids in World War II, he took a milk concoction into the nether regions of a B-17 bomber so that he and his buddies would have ice cream when they landed back in East Anglia. Sixty-odd years later, when he was being honored as a D-Day veteran by his hometown, he told the Lexington City Council that its downtown reminded him of London during the blitz–his way of protesting the demolition of yet another city block. He even made us laugh when he was facing serious surgery: Instead of taking the revolving door into the hospital, he took it all the way around so he was back outside.

But of course, it was all in fun. He went back in; he did what he had to do. But he did it with a smile and a quip. People like my father make life worth living. Happy Birthday, Dad!

The Checklist

The Checklist

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I’m reading (actually, racing to finish, because it’s a library book) The Checklist Manifesto by Atul Gawande. I discovered Gawande’s writing through one of those Best Essays volumes and have continued to read and enjoy his books.

This one is about how checklists save lives. He tells one riveting story about an operation gone wrong (his own error) and how a checklist ensured there was a large supply of blood on hand to transfuse the patient. One of the items on the checklist was for the surgical team to introduce themselves before the operation began. As a result, Gawande says,”We came into the room as strangers. But when the knife hit the skin, we were a team.” It was teamwork and cool, methodical action that saved the patient’s life.

Two days before our departure, I’m making my own checklists. Passport. Check. International Driver’s Permit. Check. I’ve always been a list-maker–and I’ve often faulted myself for it, thinking it the sign of a limited imagination. But reading this book has made me feel better about my habit. If lists save lives, think of what they can do for vacations.

Cool Shade

Cool Shade

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It’s chilly outside this morning, but one thing about the day makes me think about the sticky summer weather to come. It is shade, the deep green depths of it, the way it cools and soothes. I grew up in a shadeless subdivision, playing in meadows and along creek banks for hours each day under a full and merciless sun. The two trees in our front yard were saplings I was dying to climb. By the time they were large enough, we’d outgrown the house and moved away. Maybe it’s this early shade deprivation that explains my attraction for cool, dappled glades; for fern and hollow; for the quiet, naturally air-conditioned woods. Each spring we extol the return of flower and leaf. Shouldn’t we also celebrate the return of shade?