Let the Games Begin

The sound of Les Etoiles echoed through the atrium of the hotel as they practiced this morning, in preparation for the first day of the World Choir Games here in Graz. There are so many countries represented; I don't think any of the girls (or their parents) realized the magnitude of this event.

You can see them walking by in the Opening Day parade...

after they chatted up the guys in a choir from South Africa...

...and before they all fell asleep at the table!

Bier und Suppe

I am so bleary-eyed, beleaguered, and befuddled at this point, it's a wonder I can even sit up in my chair. Since the only German words I know are "please", "thank you", and my maiden name, the menu I'm staring at looks a lot like the Rosetta Stone, undeciphered. I know there's something for me to eat in this cafe, I just don't know how to ask for it.

The waiter seems nice, but he is definitely not going to help me out; he's enjoying my helpless expression. "Beer..." I say, and he says "Ja, bier." So far so good. "Soup?" I venture to ask, and he suddenly starts speaking quickly and pointing at the menu. I really want onion soup, which I think might be zwiebelsuppe, but I don't see that. He jabs his finger at something and I respond, "Ja," defeated.

The beer is cool and refreshing, the soup (even though it has mystery meat floating in it) is warm and nourishing. I'm ready to go lie down now, probably face flat, probably for 10 hours, but at least I know how to say "danke" as I get up to go. Maybe tomorrow I can play at being more like Jean-François Champollion...

If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Austria

One day's worth of pocket detritus shows what a crazy halfway-'round-the-world trip the last 48 hours have been. Planes, trains, and automobiles. This kind of travel must be an absolute nightmare for people who aren't very organized -- keeping track of our complicated itinerary is almost more than my weary brain can handle. But I was ever so happy that the metro tickets I'd saved in my wallet since 1997 still worked...

(B)link

Lufthansa's strike was a short-lived one, thank goodness, so we made it to Graz as planned (but just barely) on a razor thin connection in Stuttgart. It was such a close call, I'm convinced our feet didn't actually touch land. We arrived after the departure time for the next flight, but a gate attendant was waiting to whisk us from one tiny plane to another via two giant busses (talk about wasting gas!). All we saw of Stuttgart from the ground was this glimpse out the window...

Facebook Fix

What is the world coming to? It's 4am in Paris, France, and all Coco wants to do is chat in real time with her friends back home. Wait, I'm kinda doing the same thing... This is probably going to be a really long day, given that we just heard on Euronews that Lufthansa workers are on strike, and that's the airline which is supposed to be getting us to Austria. Of course, we'll keep you posted.

Jet Lag Stinks

You know it's 3:30 in the morning in a foreign country when the half-naked screaming chick (who looks and sounds more like a guy) on the French version of MTV actually seems entertaining. You know it's jet lag when you realize you've just put a blister reliever under your arms instead of deodorant. You can see how this could happen...

Circadian Slump

It goes without saying that being sleepless for 28+ hours can mess with your mind... If you add the drama of folks almost missing the plane because they can't get their bags packed and in the car on time, the day stretches to even greater lengths.

Encountering Paris again after an absence of eight years is simultaneously comforting and eerie, and my brain descends into a fog of forgetting and remembering all at once. Stephane, who has come to pick up Wynham, kindly offers to drop us girls off in the city, and Coco says "Champs Elysee" as I say "Musee D'Orsay". Coco spends less than 15 minutes spending 30€ on that crowded boulevard, while to my dismay, I realize that the National Museums are closed on Monday.

We cross the river and descend into the over-packed Forum Des Halles to catch the RER back to the airport -- it's hello-goodbye-hello-goodbye to Paris -- since we leave way too early in the morning for Graz, via Stuttgart.

We're still suffering sticker shock -- 2 chef salads, a glass of wine, and some sparkling water for dinner have set us back nearly $100 -- but there's definitely something to be said for being here, which seems better than being there or anywhere else for today. Tomorrow is another day, and another country, and perhaps we will be fully alert by then...

Packing Light

Honestly, I thought I'd win the respect and admiration of my friends for my packing skills, but they all look at me like I'm plain crazy. Two weeks in Europe with a 6"x12"x16" rolling carry-on? Impossible, they argue. Let's just say that my first European jaunt 25 years ago was a luggage disaster; I tried to take all my worldly possessions in a backpack that was larger than me, and couldn't even manage to get out of the Gatwick airport on my own without jettisoning most of what I'd packed.

Ever since then, I've been trying to follow Susan Heller's sage advice: "When preparing to travel, lay out all your clothes and all your money. Then take half the clothes and twice the money." Then, for good measure, I halve the clothes pile again. That leaves more room for books, which are my #1 essential item. Given the current exchange rate, I should probably also double the money again. Now if I could just convince Chloé to leave behind those fur-lined Ugg boots she believes are an imperative element of her summer travel wardrobe...