Since we moved from the apartment into the house, I‘ve been trying to get another photo series together like the last 4 seasons series I did. It’s taken some time, but here’s the first batch of four season photos. Enjoy!
Growing up in Oz, I have obviously had different rules drilled into me. It wasn’t CLOSE THE DOOR and it obviously wasn’t TURN OFF THE LIGHT. It was… wipe up those crumbs! Put that food away! And for God’s sake don’t leave a half-eaten sandwich in your school bag!
To this day I still carry a reflex that impels me to wipe all surfaces down after meals. To tidy any crumbs away, empty the compost bin, and make sure no sticky sauce bottles are left out. I mean, it’s a good habit to have. But in Austria, if you don’t do this…
NOTHING HAPPENS.
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Doesn’t sound like much of an achievement, right? But if I’m correct in my thinking, this is only the second chocolate cake I’ve ever made in my life. You see, I do not like chocolate cake. Therefore, I never make it.
But guess who loves chocolate cake? Yep… my kid.
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We dove into winter #2 with Sam at daycare knowing what we were in for, but hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as year #1. Now, apart from the bout of tonsillitis and RSV, we did ok. There were sniffles and coughs and the occasional one-off vomit but it could have been a lot worse.
I headed off to Australia and hubby had his time in India… and then it was April – the weather was warming up and we thought the worst was over.
But apparently it was not.
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I think for some it’s a natural reaction to bang on a wall when there’s a loud or annoying noise on the other side. Like if your neighbour in the flat next door is playing loud music, or a toddler is crashing around above.
Now, in Australia it’s very satisfying to do this. Because walls are hollow, made of plasterboard, when you knock or bang on them, you are rewarded with a hearty sound.
But what happens when you do it in Austria… on walls made of concrete?
Ouch.
Just the sound of your cry of pain as you remember that the walls are, in fact, made of concrete.
Now here is a concept I had never seen before I came to Austria!
If you’re parking in any of the towns, especially smaller ones, carrying a parking clock is absolutely essential. Some places are marked with areas that are free for a certain amount of time – like 30 minutes or one hour. And to track how long your car has been there, you need to set your parking clock.
You set it for the time you arrived, so when the parking inspector moseys by, they will only issue a fine if it’s an hour (or whatever time is allowed) past the time your clock is marked at.
Once you get the hang of it, it’s great. Other times, you forget, and get a fine. Or you confuse 12 and 24 hour time, and get a fine. But so far I’ve only been unlucky once!
It’s always interesting listening to another language and hearing English sprinkled in. Newer words, like, computer, for example, are quite often universal. When I was learning German, I was surprised by how many words don’t change, but then there is the other side of the coin, the words I was surprised that do.
Like…
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Last year, I took four weeks off parenting to fly back to Australia alone. This year, guess what? I did it again. Now, that might seem like a lot for some people, but it’s also something that comes with the territory of moving to another country.
The distance, the cost, the jetlag… it all adds up. Two weeks would be tiring, but doable. Three is better. Four is… well absolutely fantastic with a trace of indulgence.
So, I’d been encouraging hubby to take a break of his own. Not because it was owed – because I have a right to go see my family – but because he can. And since we’re not keen on taking a small child to India, off he went on his own.
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The flight from Australia to Europe, with its 35-40 hours of total travelling time, is not what I’d call an awesome time, even in business class. But it passes. So, when I was faced with what turned out to be almost 70 hours of transit time via Japan, I was not, what you might say, overjoyed. I was, however glad not to be going anywhere near the Middle East, especially in those early days when everything was very chaotic.
One of the reasons why the Emirates flight has been a long favourite of mine, is that the times are perfect for departure and arrival. The stopover is long enough, but not too long. And I can get to and from the airport via train without adding an overnight.
Sadly, this would not be the case this time. So… let’s compare the two.
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It’s funny, cause I remember thinking on the way to Australia, that the journey could not have gone better. I was healthy. Trains and flights were all on time. Transfers were easy. I was upstairs on the A380 with the bar in my favourite seat for both legs. There wasn’t even a wait for shower at the lounge in Dubai.
So, I was quite looking forward to the return trip.
And then I woke up on Sunday morning, the day before I was due to fly, to news of war in the Middle East. A few hours later came reports of Dubai airport being bombed, and I suddenly knew this wasn’t going to be the straightforward way home I’d imagined.
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