Dirty Laundry

There's only one problem with traveling as lightly as I have on this trip: the laundry. The hotel in Austria was willing to take care of it, for just over $7 per tee shirt and only slightly less for a pair of undies. I'm pretty sure I didn't even pay that much for either of those items to begin with... Someone found the only self-serve laundromat in town, but I never got over there, so now I'll have to do a wash in Auvergne, in a village where I know there's no laundromat.

Annie kindly offers me her machine, and as I hang my things to dry on the line behind the house, I try to hide my utilitarian undies behind the longer items. I know they'll be a source of humiliation, because they don't meet the French standard for la séduction, and this was always a running joke at my expense. Unfortunately, Annie beats me up the hill when the clothes are dry and says, "Ahh, toujours des culottes Petit Bateau!" ("Still wearing little girl underwear!", i.e., sturdy, full coverage, basic colors...) I say, "Hey! At least one of those has some lace on it..." Everyone laughs.

Later, when we go swimming, 69-year-old Annie does an impressive slight-of-hand poolside change out of her clothes and into her swimsuit. As I pick up her undies to put into the beach bag, I marvel: they are a practically weightless confection of fine lace and satin, truly a thing of beauty. She says nonchalantly, "Oh, la, la, I'll be so glad when thongs go out of style; they're really uncomfortable." Note to self: hit the end-of-summer sales when you get back to Paris...

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...

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...