English Only, Only English

I have discovered I LOVE learning another language. It is like this massive puzzle (infinite, really) where you are doled out a few pieces each day and try to fit them together. To make it more exciting, you can earn additional pieces by reading books or magazine, watching movies or TV, or speaking with the locals. (Although in the last case, if the locals are drunk they might give you a piece that belongs to an entirely different puzzle which you aren’t necessarily interested in constructing. You won’t know this until you try to use the piece and someone laughs at you. Good times.)

A group of us were chatting at the break from German class about languages, and Bernhard, our teacher, commented on how people from the UK or NA frequently only speak English. Oh, I am well aware, and I think it is a complete travesty, as well as being fairly embarrassing. Bernhard made a good point that you really learn the grammar in your own language only when you study another language. Which is why some schools still teach Latin. And of course there is the whole narrow-focused perspective thing. Discussions about the language inevitably lead to topics about different countries’ culture, people, food, clothing and customs. Of course, I am additionally blessed in this course, as everyone else is from a different continent from me so I am pushed even further to think outside the tiny North American box (or I should say cube, this being the high-tech generation.)

Whenever I have this English-only discussion, it always reminds of my favourite post on Stuff White People Like: #78 on the list: Multilingual Children. It starts out:

All white people want their children to speak another language. There are no exceptions. They dream about the children drifting in between French and English sentences as they bustle about the kitchen while they read the New York Times and listen to Jazz.

As white people age, they start to feel more and more angry with their parents for raising them in a monolingual home. At some point in their lives, most white people attempt to learn a second language and are generally unable to get past ordering in a restaurant or over-pronouncing a few key words. This failure is not attributed to their lack of effort, but rather their parents who didn’t teach them a new language during their formative years.

White people believe that if they had been given French language instruction when they were younger, their lives would have turned out very differently. Instead of living in the US, they would be living and working abroad for the United Nations or some other organization with a headquarters in Switzerland or The Hague.

Sometimes I swear these people have a wire tap directly into my brain (see Grammar, Bad Memories of High School and Apologies), which would be deeply disturbing if it wasn’t so hilarious. And I should point out that this website is specifically referring to American White People, which can usually be transferred pretty easily to Canadian White People. Being a European White Person is the end goal…so in effect, by moving to Austria and learning German I have hit the jackpot in terms of white person ideology, as long as I get passed ordering in a restaurant that is.

Tschüss!

Welcome to the Aqua Dome

First, let me say that my friend Sue has inspired me to join the National Blog Posting Month in November (Hi Sue! I admire your intention to have a goal for this…I’ll be lucky if I just remember to post everyday. Lots of content, poor memory.) So hopefully you’ll see a post every day on this site. If not, well, there is always next year. I’m not sure if every day will be something earth shattering, but I’m going to try to put something, hopefully something readable, up daily.

This post will be easy, as yesterday we went to Längenfeld to visit the wondrous swimming complex, the Aqua Dome, as well as to connect with a family of a school acquaintance of mine. We have been a few times to this, well, I would call it a pool but it is oh so much more, and so we knew that we would have a good time. When you have a family, it probably is one of the easiest places to spend the day and keep everyone entertained. There was only the 3 of us, as Rebecca balked at the thought of leaving the house at 9:00 in the morning on a Saturday. As if!

The complex is about 40 minutes drive from Innsbruck. It was All Saints’ Day, where all good Catholics spend the entire day at the cemetery visiting departed relatives. As no one would confuse this family of being practicing Christians of any denomination, we just appreciated the empty roads and easy drive. The Aqua Dome is a series of pools fed by a hot spring. There are adult areas, kids areas, and 3 outdoor pods that each have a wellness theme: light and sound therapy, massage and whirlpool. There is also a restaurant where you can dine in your bathrobe. Everything is accessed and paid for by an electronic wristband, so it is easy to spend way too much money without noticing. Brilliant from a business perspective. Last time we were here, Markus and I also went to the spa, which was very brave of me as those crazy Europeans walk around without any clothes on. Not even a towel around the waist. That sure pushed the limits of my North American puritanism, let me tell you.

But as we were with Annie and only had about 3 hours, we just stayed in the pool areas. The setting is stunning with mountains close enough to touch and the trees showing off their blazing fall fashions. Here are some pictures of the morning.

Annie and Markus enjoy the indoor pools...
Annie and Markus enjoy the indoor pools...
...and the outdoor pools
...and the outdoor pools
One of the swimming pods in a stunning Austrian autumn setting
One of the swimming pods in a stunning Austrian autumn setting

After our morning activities, we headed over to a different kind of adventure: having lunch with someone we had never met. A high school friend of mine, Erla, reconnected with me on Facebook a few months back. When she read that I was moving to Innsbruck, she offered to forward me the email address of her husband’s cousin. I’m up for any opportunity to meet more people at this point, so Drifa and I exchanged notes and agreed that we would come over to her place for lunch after our swim. Längenfeld has about 4,000 people living there full-time (with 10,000 visitors a year for skiing), and so pretty much everyone can see the Aqua Dome from their living room. After a very short drive, we arrived at the apartment of Drifa Radiskovic and her 3 children, Alexander, David and Sara. As you can tell by her name, Drifa has an interesting story. She is Icelandic and her husband, Zoran, is a Bosnian Serb. They met one summer working at a ski resort near Lägenfeld and never moved back. They speak Icelandic and Serbian at home, and the children are learning German and English in school. (That will be a whole other post about the travesty of our mainly uni-lingual existence in N.A.) All 3 children have blond hair and blue eyes, so the Icelandic influences clearly dominated in the gene pool. Zoran’s uncle moved to Canada and settled in Manitoba with the large migration of Icelanders to Gimil, which is where Erla’s and mine connection kicks in. Whew, this is complicated!

But in any case, we had delicious homemade pizza and Annie played a little bit with the kids until she conked out with fatigue from her morning activities. I found it fascinating to hear about their background and how they made the transition to a little dorf in Austria. I guess there is both some historic and more recent stereotyping of Serbians here, so she has experienced some discrimination. But of course has also experienced many wonderful things about living in Austria, and overall I think she is happy to raise her family here.

And so the adventure continues for all of us.

Birthdays and Fingerprints and Angels, Oh My

A bit of this and a bit of that in this post today.

Birthday Wishes

On the 28th was Rebecca’s 15th birthday. 15!!!! Who can believe it? We had a family dinner and gift presentation, with Markus cooking Rebecca’s request for a traditional Canadian turkey dinner. Turkey, mashed potatoes, carrots and stuffing.

Rebecca did well in the ski clothes department and we bought her a mountain pass for the winter. All of her friends ski, so this should be an excellent activity. Rebecca had several gifts as well from Canada from all sides of the family . Very nice, but it did make her a bit homesick. Understandable given how far she is from Victoria. My friend from school, Ana, even remembered and gave her a lovely gift of a Russian stacking doll. So sweet.

With my wildly (yet predictably) unruly family, the pictures of them sitting at the table are crap: Rebecca with a napkin over her face, Lili completely ignoring the camera, eyes closed, mouths full…you get the non-postable picture. So here is a slightly better one of Aunt Susi, Oma Renata and Rebecca modeling her new winter vest:

Fingerprints

This week we also crossed off a few more of the long, bureaucratic tasks to finalizing residency for Rebecca, Annie and me. The one interesting event in the whole process was getting my fingerprints taken at the police station. This is a requirement of the Canadian RCMP office in order to issue an official criminal check for me. As almost no Canadians move to Austria (something like 46 North Americans moved to Innsbruck in 2007), the Politzei were a little unsure how the process worked. After we were taken under wing by an officer who was curious how this would all unfold (obviously a slow day in the policing world), we found a detective who could help us.

After checking the requirements, they determined that we would have to actually take old-school ink fingerprints instead of the digital scans I was expecting. So I was brought into this very stark white back room complete with a chair set up to take mug shots with the prisoner number. Excellent. The detective had to keep asking me to keep my hand relaxed so the prints would work properly. Not sure how someone being arrested would stay relaxed, but oh well. Here are the results, just like on Columbo:

Angels

Staying on the detective theme…On Saturday when I was at the wedding, Markus took the girls to Arzler Alm. On the gondola on the way up I guess they had a Charlie’s Angels moment. Markus didn’t have the camera so snapped this one with the cell phone. I had to include it…can’t believe that this worked out with an often camera-resistant teenager, an energetic 7 year old and a ‘not-quite-sure-what-is-going-on-but-it-looks-like-fun’ toddler. Apparently they had a fantastic time hanging out together. That makes me so happy to know that the family connections are strengthening.

Does that make Markus Bosley?
Does that make Markus Bosley?

Hilarious!