Austrian Odyssey

I just heard on the radio that 2012 so far has been the hottest year EVER on record for the United States. From over here in Europe, though, it was hard to believe stories about no rain and weeks of 90+ temperatures. Paris, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, Austria – everywhere we went rain seemed to follow us.

This past week has made me a believer. Ever since we entered Switzerland one week ago, clouds have cleared and temperatures have soared and teenyboppers have strutted around in their tiniest sundresses while Mark and I have hidden desperately in the shade. Global warming summer is here.

And so we're outta here. Right now, we're lounging in the air-temperature controlled Zurich International Airport. Little Pepper is gone, our belongings reluctantly shoved back into plane-friendly bags, and all that's left to do now is wait for our 3:30 flight to Edinburgh, Scotland. Aufwiedersehen sunny skies; 'ello rainy highlands. 

When Mark last wrote, we had just left Germany's rolling fields for the more dramatic slopes of Austria's Cider Quarter. This did not, however, stop Mark from saying we were in Germany for the next several weeks. “Hey Mark, what country are we in right now?” Panicked gaze into the distance, several seconds pause, and finally: “Switzerland... Nailed it.” *

Austria, once again, was amazing. To borrow a favorite word of Philip/Witiwati, it was probably one of the most amazingest parts of our trip. We hadn't even been there for 24 hours before we climbed a mountain, went swimming in their backyard pool, and helped Philip, Petra and their 16 year old friend put on a fire show for the local Tiki Bar. Kari Jones, I hope you are reading this, because Mark Wessels totally did Nyah Cat's fire poi routine as one of his acts. What did I do, you ask? Why, I held up one fire club to help illuminate Philip and Petra's partner acrobatic act. Nailed it. 

Petra, Philip, Me

Mark and me, really tiny in the distance

Mark's excellent poi routine and even better Tiki shirt

Our four days there were so packed with activities that I'm exhausted just remembering them. Philip and Petra aren't the type of people to spend their vacation days leisurely lounging around the house. Instead, we went on rock climbing trips, baked pies, worked on installing an elaborate porch awning, rafted in the freezing Ybbs, did handstands in the hills, and watched their backyard zucchini grow.

One rock climbing route had us at least 60 meters (180ft) above the ground, which was already part of a mountain. Looking out from the top, you got an amazing post-card view of Austrian countryside (assuming you could tune out your sweaty terror long enough to enjoy it). Another rock wall we attempted was much harder. I hung in my harness, defeated near the top, while Philip (holding the other end of my rope) yelled “Fight! Fight! Come on, fight!” and refused to belay me down until I had attempted the difficult spot at least 3 more times. It may seem supportive and motivational now, but at the time, all I wanted to do was drop a rock on his head. Mark, of course, attempting an even harder course to my right, aced it like a little monkey goat.

View from the top of the rock cliff as Mark and Philip wave goodbye.

On Friday night, a local party organizer (the same person behind the pool side Tiki Bar) hosted a fancy soiree in a club located in the town castle. The theme? The White Experience. In small town Austria, no one found this title the least bit offensive or ironic. Mark and I, however, cringed a little every time we heard about it. On the big night, P and P and Mark and I sat eating pizza, watching all the ladies in tiny white dresses and all the men in sort of white t-shirts parade past. We then went home and hosted the Mustache Experience, wherein we all put on fake mustaches and Mark and I taught everyone a classic American card game: King's Cup. Everyone was a winner!

Come Monday morning, we packed up our things once more and said our heartfelt goodbyes. Five minutes later, after Philip and Petra brought down the toothbrushes we had forgotten and found Mark and me eating chocolate on the bench by our car, we said them again.

It was wonderful to reconnect with them, even for that short time. Today, they're flying to San Francisco for a five week trip through Utah and Colorado, so if you live in one of those 3 places and want to dangle from a rope or be beaten ruthlessly in Dominion, let us know. We'll get you the hook up.

After leaving the now familiar Waidhofen hills, we performed for 2 days in Velden, a lake resort town in southern Austria. The shows were mediocre, but we went waterskiing, so there's that.

We had another 2 days to spare before needing to be at another festival, so we used them to drive south to Slovenia's Julian Alps. Swimming in Lake Bled, hiking through a gorge, and jumping into Europe's cleanest river were lovely. Driving up and down 1,600 meters in a tiny manual diesel car on a twisting mountain road with at least 60 switchbacks was not. “Mark, I don't know about this route – it looks like it goes straight up and down the mountain and might be a little crazy.” “No way, it's going to be fun.” Famous last words. Or at least famous last words before the equally famous words: “I told you so.” 

Slovenia, yo.

Thursday evening found us in Klagenfurt, a smallish town on the Austrian/ Slovenian border that was hosting a street performing/music festival. As a street performer, I generally HATE being at festivals with bands. They perform on large stages with huge sound systems, while we turn up our tiny Crate Street Cube to full volume and try to compete. Also, people tend to get drunk pretty early, which makes our final trick a little hard. So, once again, mediocre shows, but we got to ride the bumper cars with our friends from Scooby Circus, so there's that.

On Sunday we took to the road again, this time headed to Verscio in southern Switzerland to visit our friend David who does NOT go to clown school.

It's almost time to board now, though, so Mark will have to pick up the Swiss side of our story later. I'm going to start thinking about which complementary beverage to choose. Coffee is the classic choice, ginger ale is my go to, but we are headed to Scotland, so maybe...whiskey? Choices, choices...

*Also, for some reason, Mark has been calling our Swiss Francs “Marks” this entire trip. Like Deutschmark. Which are from Germany, not Switzerland, and haven't even existed for 10 years because of the Euro. He's unstoppable, though. “Where are we going to change all our Marks?” I don't know, Mark. Good luck to you.