Hats off to Austrians and Their Partying Ways
Oh Austria... Or rather, Austrians... you guys know how to break it down. Living abroad most of my life has definitely given me a peek into partying. Moscow was often a booze-fueled party and when I moved back to Canada in 99, I was smug in my alcohol tolerance and shocked at the prices. But as I age, I realize that I am more delicate and the days of knocking back tequila and dancing on bars (HI MOM!) are waaaay past me. Well, sidenote: about 4 years ago, the Husband and I were out on a couples date and I was pregnant and we were all being nostalgic about our crazy jutes (youth) and I proudly declared "I haven't danced on a bar since I was 18!" and then the Husband cleared his throat and asked "Really? Are you really saying that?" and I clutched my pearls and said "Of course!" and then he shook his head sadly and said "Um, dear, we were in Vegas 6 months ago." Crap. Stupid husband and his stupid short-term memory....
Anywho. Times have changed and while I still love a good party, I just don't have the energy to Paris Hilton it anymore. Before you all nod and say "Well, none of us do. We are so old." I need to point out that this does not seem to apply to Austrians. I have an example. Walk with me.
Back in 2004, the Husband and I had been married for a few months. He had been invited to a university reunion trip in the mountains. I was all like "Sounds good. I'll Maria Von Trapp it. Where's my apron?". We met up with his best friend early in the morning in Linz and his best friend had a small backpack with him. The backpack contained bottles of wine. I really like his best friend. We met the rest of the class in the town of Sankt Gilgen and I admired my cute fake fur lined wedged boots and secretly judged the people wearing spandex and ugly shoes. We started up a hill and I enjoyed the views. About 10 minutes in, I started to pant. About 20 minutes in, I started to sweat. About 30 minutes in, I lost a lung. Meanwhile the Austrians yodeled and laughed and smoked and I considered throwing myself off the side of the cliff. After a 2 hour climb, we reached a beautiful alpine house surrounded by flowers and benches. The group sat down and I shed my sweater and took in the spectacular views. Beers were ordered and I sucked mine back, happy to have made it to the top... or so I thought. I was informed that this was just the halfway point and after a couple of more beers, we would continue up the mountain. Oh hell no.
One person saw my look of fear and suggested I take the ski lift the rest of the way up. The Husband and his best friend thought this was a capital idea and the three of us headed to the ski lift station. I looked back at the group and just shook my head. Four rounds of beer and another 2 hours up a mountain? God be with you all.
We got to the charming pension (hotel) about 20 minutes later and let me just say; there's nothing quite like a bottle of rose on a gondola, overlooking the Alps. Just saying. We checked in and sat on the terrace and waited for the rest of the group to arrive. I assumed that after consuming a couple of liters of beer each, this group would have been air vac'd but no... they arrived singing. Da hell? And then the real party started. By 11 p.m. I was exhausted from the beer, the wine, the schnitzel, the shots and one of The Husband's old school buddies following me around exclaiming in a thick accent "You're a niiiiicceee liiiiitle giiiirl." The party went on until 5 in the morning. When we went down for breakfast around 8:30, I assumed that we would be the only ones there. Au contraire. Everybody was up and bright eyed and bushy tailed. I felt like a squirrel had died in my mouth. The lesson I learned that weekend, Austrians can party hardy.
So this long post brings me back to Saturday night. Last week, I noticed that there was a typed up notice on the bulletin board in our building. It stated that the students that had just moved in were having a party on Saturday and they apologized in advance for the noise and chaos that would most likely ensue. Now, they live right above us and for the most part, they have been decent neighbors. Except for that one night they blasted techno and the chandelier shook and I yelled to the Husband to find my pants so I could go upstairs.
Lucky for them, the music stopped and I had had another glass of wine so all was good in my universe again. Saturday night I went to a friend's place for a lovely dinner. Wine and great food was consumed, lots of jokes were shared and then around a 11, I headed home. I could hear the music from down the street. It was loud. I got closer to our building and saw about 5 people on the balcony, drinking from plastic cups and singing a Bob Dylan song. It was going to be a long night. The noise increased with each step I took. Every time their door opened, THE NOISE increased and I got a little more manic. I cleaned the floors because I can only do that when the Kid is asleep or else he turns into Shamu at Sea World looking for a treat; in other words, he body surfs the wet floors. The chandelier shook non-stop for an hour and I kept telling myself "They will all pass out soon. Or I will. Either or." I crawled into bed and was out like a light despite the thumping and screaming and intoxication of young'uns above.
And then, at 5 a.m. both the Husband and I sat up in bed in fear. It sounded like someone had dropped a grand piano upstairs. Our whole bedroom shook and I was about to go and find my pants again. But I was too damned tired and we both ended up falling asleep again.
Now, I don't have a problem with parties... obviously. And I don't even mind that the kids upstairs had a wreck-hotel-room bash on Saturday... But I am a little conflicted. And here is why. On Sunday afternoon, after a lovely brunch, we were cleaning up when the doorbell rang. The Husband answered it because he can deal with serial killers a lot better. I heard some talking and the curiosity got the better of me so I went to the door. A kind of shady woman kept repeating "Is this Stiege 1?" and the Husband kept repeating "There is only one Stiege." and this went on for a couple of minutes while I whispered "Dude, she's casing the joint." Finally the woman looked at her piece of paper and said "Oh! Wrong apartment!" and she apologized and left. I quickly shut the door and turned the lock. The Husband looked at me like I had lost my mind.
"She's on reconnaissance. She's checking out our home. She wants to rob us." I said as I looked through the peephole. Now, before you judge me, you should know that I have absolutely every reason to be paranoid. A few months ago, our neighbors were robbed. I felt like a total douche that I hadn't heard anything while they were away that weekend. Apparently the robbers broke in by knocking out the bottom panel of their door and crawled through it into the apartment. This apparently happens A LOT.
I just thank the heavens above that I did not look through the peephole at the time they would have been crawling through the door panel into the hallway because I would have quite possibly lost all control of my bowels. SO BACK to the story. After I expressed my distrust of the woman, the Husband sighed and said "She's a cleaning lady. The students upstairs hired her." To which I responded with "WHAT?!? Why, that's, that's, that's BRILLIANT! And also deplorable! And I am so conflicted! Why did I never think of that? Think of all the hours we have wasted deep cleaning after parties! If this is an example of the future generation then I am just fine with that because brava for critical thinking. But then again, what about accountability? Ugh. I don't know how to feel." And I still don't. I really don't.
So there you have it. Austrians not only can party hardy, but they are smart about it as well. One day the student will become the master. One day.
 |
| At my age, I would have to visit a chiropractor after that move. |
Anywho. Times have changed and while I still love a good party, I just don't have the energy to Paris Hilton it anymore. Before you all nod and say "Well, none of us do. We are so old." I need to point out that this does not seem to apply to Austrians. I have an example. Walk with me.
Back in 2004, the Husband and I had been married for a few months. He had been invited to a university reunion trip in the mountains. I was all like "Sounds good. I'll Maria Von Trapp it. Where's my apron?". We met up with his best friend early in the morning in Linz and his best friend had a small backpack with him. The backpack contained bottles of wine. I really like his best friend. We met the rest of the class in the town of Sankt Gilgen and I admired my cute fake fur lined wedged boots and secretly judged the people wearing spandex and ugly shoes. We started up a hill and I enjoyed the views. About 10 minutes in, I started to pant. About 20 minutes in, I started to sweat. About 30 minutes in, I lost a lung. Meanwhile the Austrians yodeled and laughed and smoked and I considered throwing myself off the side of the cliff. After a 2 hour climb, we reached a beautiful alpine house surrounded by flowers and benches. The group sat down and I shed my sweater and took in the spectacular views. Beers were ordered and I sucked mine back, happy to have made it to the top... or so I thought. I was informed that this was just the halfway point and after a couple of more beers, we would continue up the mountain. Oh hell no.
One person saw my look of fear and suggested I take the ski lift the rest of the way up. The Husband and his best friend thought this was a capital idea and the three of us headed to the ski lift station. I looked back at the group and just shook my head. Four rounds of beer and another 2 hours up a mountain? God be with you all.
We got to the charming pension (hotel) about 20 minutes later and let me just say; there's nothing quite like a bottle of rose on a gondola, overlooking the Alps. Just saying. We checked in and sat on the terrace and waited for the rest of the group to arrive. I assumed that after consuming a couple of liters of beer each, this group would have been air vac'd but no... they arrived singing. Da hell? And then the real party started. By 11 p.m. I was exhausted from the beer, the wine, the schnitzel, the shots and one of The Husband's old school buddies following me around exclaiming in a thick accent "You're a niiiiicceee liiiiitle giiiirl." The party went on until 5 in the morning. When we went down for breakfast around 8:30, I assumed that we would be the only ones there. Au contraire. Everybody was up and bright eyed and bushy tailed. I felt like a squirrel had died in my mouth. The lesson I learned that weekend, Austrians can party hardy.
So this long post brings me back to Saturday night. Last week, I noticed that there was a typed up notice on the bulletin board in our building. It stated that the students that had just moved in were having a party on Saturday and they apologized in advance for the noise and chaos that would most likely ensue. Now, they live right above us and for the most part, they have been decent neighbors. Except for that one night they blasted techno and the chandelier shook and I yelled to the Husband to find my pants so I could go upstairs.
 |
| Pants, NOW! |
And then, at 5 a.m. both the Husband and I sat up in bed in fear. It sounded like someone had dropped a grand piano upstairs. Our whole bedroom shook and I was about to go and find my pants again. But I was too damned tired and we both ended up falling asleep again.
Now, I don't have a problem with parties... obviously. And I don't even mind that the kids upstairs had a wreck-hotel-room bash on Saturday... But I am a little conflicted. And here is why. On Sunday afternoon, after a lovely brunch, we were cleaning up when the doorbell rang. The Husband answered it because he can deal with serial killers a lot better. I heard some talking and the curiosity got the better of me so I went to the door. A kind of shady woman kept repeating "Is this Stiege 1?" and the Husband kept repeating "There is only one Stiege." and this went on for a couple of minutes while I whispered "Dude, she's casing the joint." Finally the woman looked at her piece of paper and said "Oh! Wrong apartment!" and she apologized and left. I quickly shut the door and turned the lock. The Husband looked at me like I had lost my mind.
"She's on reconnaissance. She's checking out our home. She wants to rob us." I said as I looked through the peephole. Now, before you judge me, you should know that I have absolutely every reason to be paranoid. A few months ago, our neighbors were robbed. I felt like a total douche that I hadn't heard anything while they were away that weekend. Apparently the robbers broke in by knocking out the bottom panel of their door and crawled through it into the apartment. This apparently happens A LOT.
 |
| I would have lost my mind |
So there you have it. Austrians not only can party hardy, but they are smart about it as well. One day the student will become the master. One day.
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