No matter how old a mother is, she watches her middle-aged children for improvement.
Florida Scott-Maxwell
Bed is the poor mans opera.
Italian proverb
A number of years ago my mother thought it might be fun to bring our far flung family together for the Christmas holidays...in Europe.
We siblings all had the same reaction, "Now why in the world would we all want to leave our happy homes to travel 10,000 miles to be abused by people that couldn't understand English & didn't want us there, eat food you couldn't recognize, sleep in beds made of horse manure, crammed in 'quaint' frozen cells of hotel rooms....
"I'll buy." She said.
"Where do we meet?" We said.
"Vienna." She said.
Ah, Vienna, "Paris on the Danube", the crossroads of Europe, capital of Austria, nestled at the foot of the Wienerwald Mountains.
"The Wienerwalds? The Wally Worlds? The Wiener Dogs?" My brother Tom & I practiced our Austrian & pursued the bar cart on the long trans polar flight to Europe.
Tom was practically fluent by the time we landed & hailed a cab....
"VE vant de Innere Stadt, on Ringstrasse, near Donaukanal, across from Strudelstrasse & Beir Stubestrassa...bitta, (that means please, I think.)
"Downtown." said the cabby in perfect English.
Three days later we were finally able to locate the rest of the family in a "quaint" pension ( that's European for hovel) called the Boars Head Inn or something butcher shop sounding like that.
My mother does not stay in Holiday Inns, she believes it best to 'go native' when traveling hence the Boars Head Inn. But believe me, no self respecting European was staying at the Boars Head, only other confused travelers trying to 'go native.'
All six of us shared the 'quaint' room, complete with three cots filled with frozen horse manure, one steam radiator that sounded like AM-TRAK, & put out no heat, & a bidet that erupted ice-water on the hour.
My brother & I , somewhat fragrant after 10,000 miles of bar-carts, were forced to share a cot, as the rest of the family wanted nothing to do with us.
We woke simultaneously that night, wrapped in each others arms, starring into each others bloodshot eyes in a toxic cloud of bar cart breath....
"AAAAYYYYEEEE!!! The scream woke people for blocks down Strudelstrasse.
We both slept on the floor from then on.
Dave Barry said it best: "Europe is so rich in history that sometimes you can barely stand it."
And Vienna is the virtual museum. From St. Stephen's Cathedral, called 'Old Steve' , started in the 13th Century & still not done, to the Palace Hofburg, home of the ruling Habsburg family. As we know, the Habsburgs were 'the' family to know as they pretty much controlled Europe from the 1200s to the 1800s.
Even Napoleon hung with this family, & when one tours the palace his bed is pointed out. All I can say about that is he was doing better than my brother & I.
The Hapsburgs liked to 'keep it in the family,' so to speak & by the late 1800's were so inbred that their jaws had moved forward. Unable to chew their food, they all eventually starved to death...don't quote me on that one...
Vienna is rife with excellent coffee houses, (they had capachino when most Americans thought that was Italian underwear), & restaurants galore. One has to be careful here although as with entrees such as Weinerschnitzel & other veterinarian sounding names you don't know what you might get. Europeans, as you know eat things we wouldn't use for bait. A mistake ordering diner in Europe just might get you a slimy, garlic-soaked pile of slugs, or a wine-embalmed brain, or a tongue the size of a football. You have to be very, very careful here.
No trip to Vienna would be complete however without a night at the
famous Vienna Opera House. A couple of things here to consider, tickets must be purchased at least 50 years in advance, my mother had picked them up in kindergarten, & to you Crested Butteions, & you know who you are, this is a 'dressy' affair. This is NOT the Bartenders Ball where matching socks means formal wear. This is what they call 'black tie'. And again for you Butteions a 'tie' is a small strip of fabric the male ties about his neck with a type of fancy knot under the chin. The women all sport what they call "cleavage' also something (but for Bookie) not seen often in the Butte, however, you will know it when you see it. Hanging precariously above all this magnificent 'cleavage' are more diamonds than in all of South Africa.
The Opera itself will have music provided by a very large live band, called an 'orchestra'. There are so many people in this 'orchestra' that some do little more than bang sauce pans together at the end of the song. As far as what's happening on stage, I regret to inform you, I had no idea, but it appeared the participants were hollering at the top of their lungs over tight costumes.
But Hey! After a week of viewing the most beautiful architecture, the most magnificent art, the most spectacular sculpture in the world...your sick of it.
What we wanted was a ski area.
My mother oddly enough hadn't thought of that & we were left without reservations. Until late one night on a sleazy Viennese bar, however, when my brother & I chanced upon a Hans, that had a friend called Fritz, who had a cousin called Wolfgang, that owned a pension in the ski town of Salbach. This 'pension' on the slopes, was somehow not full 2 days before Christmas.
One should have been suspicious then.....
We arrived by train in the 'quaint' snow covered burg of Salbach & were ushered with stiff politeness (as one might treat cousins with leprosy) to the highest end of town. A shopkeeper pointed straight-up the cloud shrouded peak.
"Wolfgangs Eagle's Drop Inn." he said.
The pension was on the slopes all right, the top of the slopes.
Suddenly with the commotion of D-Day an German WW1 half-track with skis mounted in front, rumbled down from the cloud.
It stopped next to us with a mighty explosion & a huge ham-handed, red faced Wolfgang leapt to the ground.
"MINE AMERIKAN FRIENDS!!" He hugged us all, loaded our luggage in the smoking beast & leapt back in the drivers seat.
"IT VILL BE GOOT FOR JA DA VALK, YA!!" And off he went up the slope.
Four hours later we crawled to the front door of the Eagle's Drop Inn.
As in much of Europe summer farms are winter 'Inns'. What in summer comfortably housed Wolfgang & his rotund wife Heidi now accommodated somewhere around 125 foreigners.
Wolfgangs 'AMERIKAN FRIENDS' were given a dusty corner of the attic, separated by a dangling sheet from his "ITALIAN FRIENDS,' who were separated by dirty laundry from the 'FRENCH FRIENDS.' Numerous other nationalities were jammed in broom closets & bathrooms. We all slept on cots obtained from concentration camps.
All went fairly well, days spent fighting our way through lift lines, (European custom) nights spent swilling Wolfgangs cider. All went well until Christmas eve that is.
Carried along on Christmas cheer & cider, Wolfgangs international crowd commenced to singing their native Christmas carols. The Swiss sang, then the French, then the Italians, then the Germans...we all sang along.
Then the AMERIKANS, being the Church Family, lit into Silent Night.
Admittedly the song had been done better but in the middle of our rendition the Germans leapt to their feet & started a thundering chorus of O Tanning-balm.
Well, Silent Night kinda petered out.
"VE REFUSE TO SING VITH DE AMERIKANS!!" Screamed the Germans, who consisted of a half dozen blonde linebackers.
"They're cuuuute.".... cooed my sisters.
Now my father, a large man & a 20 year Marine veteran, was visibly upset as he exploded from our table throwing cheeses & Churches helter skelter. He headed across that room like Patton. My brother & I, stupid on cider, fell in behind him as our sisters yelled encouragement.
"VIVA LA FRANCE!! VIVA AMERICA!! The French fell in with us.
"THE FATHERLAND!! The Austrians sided with Germany.
"STOP THIS NOW!!" The Swiss took the middle ground.
Two Japanese grabbed their camcorders.
"MAMA MIA! THE VINO!!" The Italians raced for the bar.
A large group of Yugoslavians turned on each other, fists, strudel & cider flying.
The Greeks started dancing, joyous in the melee. A Romanian did a back-flip into a impressive handstand. A dozen languages shredded the air.
Then seconds before my father & his allies slammed into the German lines, Wolfgang turned out the lights.
The place went dead silent in the total blackness.
A minute later the lights went up & Wolfgang took the floor.
"LOOK AT YOU PEOPLE!!! LIKE CHILDREN!!! IT'S CHRISTMAS FOR GODS SAKE!"
We all stared at each other.
Then, all at once, everybody started laughing, hugging, crying.
There on top of that Austrian Alp, jammed in Wolfgangs tiny Eagle's Drop Inn, the world came together.
There for just a moment differences dissolved & we all became family.
One word had brought us together.
Simply one word.
Christmas.
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