I’m a swimmer… always have been. Look, I’m no Olympian but even by Australian standards I’m better than the average bear. It’s the ultimate sport because for me it’s very natural, and the fresh, tranquil feeling I get when I’m stroking through water with only bubbles in my ears is basically my idea of heaven.
In Australia, I’m not overly remarkable. I’m just one of many people who choose to wake up early and hit the pool for a refreshing pre-work swim. I can hold my own – I usually get away with swimming in the fast lane (unless there’s a pre-teen Ian Thorpe smashing out butterfly) and I’ve competed in numerous open water swims (though I’m definitely mid-pack in that situation).
But in Austria… in Austria I feel like a swimming legend.
Coriander seems to be one of those things – you either love it or you detest it with unrivaled passion. When we looked at herbs to grow last year, I decided I wanted coriander. I am, if you haven’t already gathered, one of the lovers. And it’s not so easy to get coriander on demand over here.
You will be both thankful and disappointed there are no specific photos for this blog post.
I’ve mentioned mowing in previous blogs, Austrians’ need for a perfectly manicured lawn and their penchant for mowing around the flowers. But I have forgotten to mention one detail so far. There seems to be a kind of mowing ‘uniform’ in Austria… and it’s… bathers. Continue reading →
There is a significant difference between summer and winter in Austria. And in summer, every plant goes mad. Something that was basically a grotty patch of mud two weeks previous can unexpectedly bloom a veritable forest of green and colour. It’s amazing to see.
This is still one of the funniest things that has happened to me in Austria. Caution: this story contains sexually explicit material and graphic images. If you think this might offend you, best skip it.
Shortly after we moved into our house, hubby and I started up a tradition – Friday Night Dinners. Friday Night Dinners is exactly what it sounds like – on Friday nights we go out to dinner. How indulgent of you, I hear you say. Well, not always.