Cultural Exchange

Anyone who knows Chloé knows that she takes her assignments very seriously, so it should be no surprise that when her choir director told the girls to "mingle with the other groups," she got right on it... The young men's choirs from South Africa seemed to be especially favored by Les Etoiles, and Benjamin here is no exception. All I can say is, I'm glad that communication via Facebook is totally free, because I couldn't afford the phone bill (and to think, I was worried about the boys in France -- at least that country is occasionally on my itinerary...)!

Veni, Vidi, Venezia

Of course it's insane, but the idea has been brewing in my mind for weeks, so I decide to "seize the day" and see if I can catch a train to Venice, since the girls are completely occupied for the day and have no need of the extraneous parents like me (I try to enlist a couple of the other moms, but apparently, no one is as crazy as I am). At the train station, I'm the first in the queue; I buy a round trip ticket (surprisingly inexpensive) and by 7am I'm southward bound on the express line to Venice.

Riding trains through Europe is still one of my favorite pastimes. Watching the countryside hurtle by is such a visual treat, and I love the rhythmic rocking of the train on the tracks. Gentle, rounded hills give way to ever-widening valleys sprinkled with unspoiled villages. Suddenly I see them -- the craggy, mile-high Alps which separate Austria from Italy. At 11am, we cross the border and make our first stop at Tarvisio. The differences are instantly noticeable; where else in the world but Italy would the young man serving coffee on a train be dressed in Dolce & Gabbana?

The world flattens out again, and by lunchtime we're in Venice. When I come out of Santa Lucia station and cross the bridge, the hordes of tourists turn right, so I, of course, turn left. In five minutes, I am completely lost. This is how I love to travel, sinking into the cultural quicksand and then digging my way out (maps are strictly forbidden outside hotel rooms). Being mistaken for a local anywhere I go is my personal badge of honor, and this happens almost immediately here (much to my surprise). I am in a state of bliss.

I weave my way through deserted streets along empty canals, slowly making my roundabout way to the Piazza San Marco, which, sadly, is now flooded with cruise-ship-cheesy-souvenir-buying tourists. I feel claustrophobic, so I immediately head over the Grand Canal and pay visits to the Galleria dell'Accademia, where I see some wildly avant-garde works of 15th Century artist Giovanni Bellini) and the Collection Peggy Guggenheim, which houses one of my favorite paintings -- The Empire of Light by Magritte.

Once I've done that, my feet are completely blistered. I stop to buy some little glass pendants (for the girls back in Graz) in a tiny backwater shop, far less expensive than the tourist traps on the Ponte di Rialto. I ask the shop owner to recommend a place for dinner that is equally off the beaten path, and she suggests a place where "the Venetians love to dine."

After getting utterly lost again (still no map), I find the osteria she has named around 9pm. I don't have to catch my night train until 1am or so and I'm wondering how to kill time between then and now, but as it turns out, that's not a problem. I find myself the only non-Italian speaker in this 14-table restaurant, and everyone is unbelievably charming. The evening stretches itself out, and suddenly it's after midnight. I run to catch a vaporreto on the Grand Canal, and after an hour's struggle with the snooty Italian Night Car ladies, I finally make it to my sleeping berth. I'm exhausted from the joy and excitement of a perfect day and I can assure you, my dreams are sweet.

Musical, Magical, Murinsel

This amazing island in the Mur, designed by New York architect/artist Vito Acconci, is an amphitheatre, a cafe, a playground, and a bridge. Unlike my initial reaction to the Kunsthaus, I take an immediate liking to this structure -- it's interesting to look at and highly practical, and doesn't conflict with it's surroundings. Locals joke that if the Murinsel breaks free, we'll all end up in Slovenia, but hey, what a ride that would be!

Les Etoiles have an evening performance here, and the amphitheatre is filled to overflowing. Once the scheduled show is over, they begin singing improptu with a group of Croatian girls, angelic voices raised in a unified chorus of Dona Nobis Pacem. A keyboard is brought out, the music continues, other voices join in -- and the effect is absolutely magical.

It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience in an unbelievable location, and I know they will never forget it. Isn't that why we're here?

When Angels Sing

When I consider the time and effort it's taken to get Les Etoiles to the World Choir Games, it breaks my heart that they don't qualify for the final round of competition. The other choirs in their category are vast and varied, the winning group featuring more than seventy girls and an extremely experimental repertoire.

But nothing can change the exhiliration we in the audience felt when they sang. The dresses were beautiful, the pitch, perfect, and the voices, heavenly (see video). I'm pretty sure most of the moms were teary-eyed; I was. And although they won't be going home with medals, the girls of Les Etoiles will have something better: memories of an experience they'll always remember.

Kooky Kunsthaus

When I first laid eyes on the Kunsthaus Graz from high above town, I must admit I had an allergic reaction to its quirky form. Seemingly so out of place in the historical center of town, it feels almost like an insult to the senses. But as the days pass, I begin to soften and my tolerance for its out-of-place appearance mounts. Once I actually go visit, I'm smitten.

Inside, the strange ventricles reveal themselves as windows -- portals to the sky. Moving walkways move visitors up an incline, and the exhibits are small enough to be digestible. At the moment, articles by the late Italian designer Joe Colombo are being showcased. Every graphic designer I know had one of his rolling plastic tabourets at one point or another. When I see his Total Furnishing Unit, I want to move in.

The Kunsthaus, nicknamed the "Friendly Alien", has grown on me to such an extent that when I leave, I'm tempted to blow my luggage weight limit with books about the place. I grudgingly control myself, remembering that the internet is weightless and infinitely accessible. A web visit won't be the same, but at least it won't break my back. I only hope the locals love it as much as I do...

Forks and Knives

One of the benefits of travelling in a group is making new friends. The very first day in Graz drew together a group of talented, creative and intelligent mothers (and a dad or two), and I've really enjoyed getting to know these people. Mostly this revolved around meal times, as we peered at maps, searching for the ubiquitous symbol of the crossed fork and knife. Dining is still an adventure, as we try to guess different dishes by their placement on the printed menu. Apparently, big brown beans drenched in pumpkin seed oil are a specialty of the region...

Hübsche Blumen

The Pauper and the Princess

Call it ironic or whatever you wish, but there's just something plain wrong with this picture. Explain to me how I had to pay 50% more for my "single" room than I paid for Chloé’s"double" which she's sharing with another singer. Honestly, it just doesn't add up. My room is the last room at the end of a looong hall with a lovely view of the air shaft, which you have to stand on a chair to see...

...While her room is undeniably palatial and fit for a future empress, complete with chandelier, large marble bathroom, and views up and down the grand boulevard.

There's actually a golden crown affixed to the double doors that lead to her Kaiser Suite. This has most assuredly given her diva complex a healthy boost; she's barely acknowledged my presence since we've arrived. Well obviously, I can't sit in my room to mope about it, so you'll probably find me strolling along the Sackstrasse...