In which Emily gets sick.

9:38--Vienna, Austria

Guten Morgen! I am sipping on my morning coffee and thought you might appreciate a picture or two of the ball:



Above is the Musikverein, the dance hall where the ball took place. The stage is in the background; this is where the musicians are sitting. The white blobs are the brass section and the dark blobs to their right (as you're looking at the picture) are the string section.



This is the massive gallop at the end of the quadrille. Yes, I am somewhere in there. I have no idea where. Ten dollars if you can find me.



At the end of the gallop, people form a tunnel (as seen here) that continues forming even as you go through it, so it really does seem it never ends. I am also somewhere in this picture, probably obscured by the tunnel.

I got sick the day after the ball (go figure!) with a fever and a migraine and all sorts of unpleasantness, but I am better now.

Have a pleasant day!

In which Emily has more fun in one eight-hour span than ever in her life. Really.

10:33--Vienna, Austria

Let me preface this by saying that I crawled into bed at 6:30 this morning and have woken up in time for a cup of coffee and a shower before class. This means I have had four hours of sleep which, in my languid sleep-addicted brain, means many too few hours.

But it was totally worth it. Let me describe.
We walked into the Musikverein in our ball gowns and watched from a balcony as below us hundreds of beautiful women (beautiful!) danced with hundreds beautiful men (in TAILCOATS!), ages, oh 18 and up. It was later pointed out to me that the Vice Chancellor attended, as did the Minister of Finance. I couldn't have told you which were important people and which weren't, not because I'm not familiar with Austrian notables but because everyone looked to important in their formal dress.

We met two lovely Austrian men (Johannes and Michael) who were kind enough to dance with us, so picture, if you will, me surrounded by beatiful and beatifully dressed men and women, waltzing in a gold-encrusted music hall to the Blue Danube played live by the Wiener Philharmonik with a man IN A TAILCOAT. I have never, in all seriousness, had so much fun in my entire life.

I also danced the quadrille, which was very entertaining because I didn't the steps at all, and even though there's a nice man giving directions (in German) into a microphone (this man, I was told, is the headmaster of the foremost dancing school in Vienna), nobody else seemed to know it very well either. The same basic dance is repeated over and over again, faster and faster (the dance instructor would call, "Schneller!" and I knew I was in trouble), but Johannes and Michael kept me kindly on my feet. It culminates in a giant gallop round and round the hall, which is basically like the storming of the Bastille in high heels. It was magnificent.

P.S. Johannes studied for a year in Tillamook. Yes, Tillamook, Oregon. How insane is THAT?

As if this wasn't cool enough, directly below the music hall was a more traditional (in the modern sense) dance floor, with a deejay spinnin' the tunes. Only it was great because the people dancing there were young-to-middle aged people IN TAILCOATS (I really can't emphasize that fact enough). My favorite moment: a man who was, like, killing it with his break-dancing moves, in his shiny black shoes and somehow never tripping on his coat.

I was transported for an evening into the life everyone should lead: that of ball-goer. We were there from 10 pm to 5 am and it felt like only a few hours had passed.

We ate breakfast (in our ballgowns) in a bakery in the Westbahnhof on our way home this morning, and tried to savor a moment that we will all remember for a very long time.

In which we get a new president!

9:58 -- Vienna, Austria

We watched Obama's inauguration upstairs in our apartment, then traveled to Badeschiff, a riverboat/club. There were two walkways across the Danube Canal to get there, and one was very dark and one was light, so we chose the light one.

Inside were a bunch of Obama-T-Shirt wearing adult people who (shocker!) spoke to us in English as if it was their native tongue! We were so surprised we stood there gaping for a moment, waiting for the gurgled Rs the cchhhhs, but none came. The nice (American) lady hosting the Democrats Abroad party told us to go the dance partay, which was downstairs, and that to get there we'd have to go through the other walkway. We exited.

We trampled down the other walkway, hearing a music rhythm in the background figuring, having been given English directions, there's no excuse for getting lost.

Well.

So we found a door, that appeared to be the right door, and nobody told us otherwise, and opened it. Behind it were fifty or so pairs of eyes looking directly at us. We had entered the opposite side of the Democrats Abroad room, only this was not where one received directions from elated Americans, this was where they were projecting the Inaugural Address onto the wall.We heard Obama's dignigified voice. We saw all these people looking at us. Then we turned around. The speech was being projected onto the wall behind us, and part of the wall was the door. We had entered through Obama's head.

When we did find the dance party, it was hilarious. An enthusiastic black man sang about hope and change and believing in yourself and we loved it. Then...THEN...a new singer came on and sang Michael Jackson's Man in the Mirror. 'Nuff said.

Anyway...school today. Wiener Philharmoniker Ball tomorrow (which lasts until 5 am, can you believe it?...I bought fake eyelashes, as Wieners are all about making fashion statements, and when in Rome, right?) I am very glad I brought my ball gown with me, as ball gowns here are extremely expensive.

Saturday the Kunsthistorisches Museum is free for students, so I'm going to take advantage of that (I've been there once already, but only briefly, and with a tour). A couple of friends are going to go to Zurich this weekend, but I'm looking forward to a quiet, art-filled weekend (I haven't been to the opera yet, and I'm thinking this weekend is the time).

Love you all.

In which Emily gets lost in a Viennese cemetery.

17:31 -- Meinhartsdorfer Gasse 7, Vienna Austria

So, as some of you will know, and others of you will have experienced (Bekah, my love!) I periodically despise the company of my fellow humans and feel an intense need to be alone. This is a difficult thing to do when living with eleven other women (not that I don't love them, because I do).

I was directed to the cemetery for a good out-of-the-way, not very trafficked place to do some thinking, and boy was it worth it! To get there one takes the Strassenbaum 71, so that when a person dies in Vienna they are said to have taken the 71. The death train.

The elaborate gravestones are above ground (some are even mini-buildings in which lie whole families). It was a very touching place. Periodically there would be piles of rubble from when WWII bombs landed in the cemetary; a plaque commemorates those who were buried there. It had also snowed that morning, about an inch or so, so the cemetery was still and eerily quiet and possessing the beauty only fresh snow can deliver. This is where Mozart is buried (roughly--he was thrown in a mass grave, no one's sure where he is exactly). In my time there, I only saw two other people.

The grave that really got me was a fairly modest stone that read: "Mein unvergesslicher Sohn," or My unforgettable son. It strikes me as perfect words for a loved one's grave...what would I want to be to those who love me but unforgettable?

Well, I kind of became immersed in the whole atmosphere, and before I realized it two things happened: 1. I got lost, and could not see through the trees and headstones where the wall surrounding the cemetery was, much less an opening in the wall. 2. The sun set.

Can you imagine? Wandering through a deserted Austrian cemetery alone, at night? I finally found the wall but couldn't find an opening, and then found an opening but it was gated and locked.

I stumbled into a caretaker who didn't speak a lick of English and I only just was able to understand how to get out, and I returned home (safely, parents, here I am, writing, safe and sound and happy!).

It was pretty cool, though.

Also, we have been invited to the club where Helmut's brother is deejaying tonight...for those confused about Helmut, see below.

In which a nice Austrian man helps Emily with her suitcase and compliments her on her German!

18:42 -- Vienna, Austria

Glitch: in response I said, "Langsam, bitte?" (slowly, please?) because I hadn't understood. And then he said it again and I understood and felt all the sillier. A familiar emotion for me even in the States, so you can imagine how intense the feeling is here.

My apartment is...are you ready for this? You're not...is a huge two-story apartment that overlooks Viennese rooftops and has a HUGE terrace on the top floor. I have a 20-minute commute to school, which happens in the Palais Corbelli, a baroque palace. I go to school in a palace. I can't believe it.

Story of the week: There is a man named Helmut. He is the student services coordinator, and he is beautiful. We had all acknowledged this beforehand, and it was a source of constant entertainment to us. So this is the story: I was looking on facebook for the IES Vienna Spring 2009 facebook group and came across the IES Vienna Alumni group. This is the group's picture:

Yes. The person whose phone number I have in my wallet and am to call any time, day or night, in case of emergency, is this man. Helmut. A former male model.

Vienna is wonderful.

In which men in lederhosen are more attractive than they have any right to be.

12:31 -- Deutschlandsberg, Austria

Orientation has been held in what we have taken to calling the uber-hostel (with an umlaut over the u, but I'm not technically savvy enough to make that happen except in my imagination). This hostel is warm, with big fluffy pillows, really great water pressure, bowling alleys and a sauna. Which is great, because it's freezing outside (and even more freezing in the castle up the hill, which I toured, and in which people were long ago tortured in the following method: placed in a barrel [our charming Austrian tour guide called it a "large wine box, ja?"] and fed until the natural processes of the human body ate away at the prisoner.)

Far and away the best story to come of my adventures thus far has to do with a group of traditional Austrian folk dancers, led with distinction by Hans, an old man accordion polka player whose wife sent us baked pastries. The group of dancers (all men) came directly from the pages of Abercrombie & Lederhosen and taught us to dance (but not very well) and always were encouraging more drinking (one of them came up to me with a big bottle of clear liquid and said, "Shot, ja?" I said, "Ja, danke," because what else does one say to a lederhosen-clad Austrian offering you alcohol? Even Hans, the enigmatic accordion player would pause between songs and holler "Bier!" at which point one of his merry men would come barreling through the crowd with the largest, heaviest mug of beer I have ever seen. End parentheses.) All of my lady-friends would have appreciated in particular the virtues of one man who--well, let's see. You know the new Britney song? Womanizer? He is who that song is meant for. In lederhosen.

In sum, I can now polka with the worst of them, also learned to waltz (in preparation for the Viennese ball season, which is in full swing) and generally have had such a fantastic time that I will be loathe to ever return to the United States.

Just kidding, Dad.

In which Emily spricht ein bisschen Deutsch!

21:36 -- Vienna, Austria

A few notes on the journey:

1. The very kind Polish flight attendant, when offering me dinner in Polish, recognized my face of total incomprehension and amended, "Chicken or beef?" This, I think, is indicative of the overall challenge I will have here. I said, "Neither," and explained I didn't eat meat. She looked at me, the look on her face dually expressing two thoughts: But you must eat! and How am I supposed to feed a person who doesn't eat real food? She kindly gave me the option where the meat could be easily separated out.

2. The Polish men I saw while in the Krakow airport have several things going for them: they are tall and broad-shouldered and in general very manly-looking. Also, they have impeccable cold-weather fashion, including long coats and scarves.

3. The female Polish flight attendants I encountered were universally beautiful, compact flight-attending machines who also happen to have impeccable cold-weather fashion (ankle-length, slender navy blue coats with LOTR-esque hoods!). I wanted to ask where they got their coats, but I resisted.

4. LOT (Polish airlines) has great coffee.

Note to self: visit Poland.

In which Emily sits in the airport.

12:39 pm -- Portland, OR

I read in the Rick Steve's Europe through the Backdoor (which sounds kind of naughty to me, but oh well) book that those who are scared of flying should think of a plane through the air like a boat on the water, the idea being that air has mass just like water does, and the feeling like there's nothing between you and the ground is ill-founded.

He has clearly not seen Titanic.