July 27 The Girls' Inner-German Comes Out

Therese and my father-in-law have skipped town for the funeral of a distant relative. That leaves the rest of us chickens (bwaak!) no choice but to spend a day at the Salzburg zoo. It goes without saying in Europe, there's a direct bus that drops us right at the zoo entrance. Squeak, squeak. (That was the sound of me rubbing it in.)

The kids and I have made a pact that we speak English at home but must speak German while on outings, even if Therese is not with us. Previous attempts to enforce this have been unpopular. But today at the zoo something has clicked. As if by magic, the girls begin speaking German, not just to me, BUT TO EACH OTHER! They have never done this in their lives before today. Now, I didn't say it was good German. We're destroying conjugations, mutilating word order, mangling tenses, and it is pure delight. I don't correct them in any way -- just let it come out and relish the moment.

Something has obviously started to switch over in their brains. The immersion is sinking in. Ironically, I think Therese's absence is a catalyst for the reaction. Perhaps we are simply too accustomed to our nine-year habit of Therese speaking German to the kids while all other communications get conducted in English. Therese posits later that it's my attempt to speak German that inspires the kids to brave it themselves. "If poor old Dad can do it and flub it without embarrassment, maybe we can, too."

May it last!

July 24 Austrians Do Swimming Pools Right

Introducing the freibad, an outdoor public swimming park found in just about any German/Austrian city. Think water park + Olympic swimming pool + grassy picnic areas + playground + soccerfield, all for about $5 per person. Unlike American water parks which charge $20 and up per head, freibads are subsidized by the city, so you think nothing of packing up and taking the kids on a whim, perhaps even several days in a row if there's a heat wave on. Canada, are you listening?

The girls consider swimming just about the world's greatest treat. They've both recently learned to swim and are just in heaven in the water. For hours on end we play Capture-And-Escape, Throw-Daughters-Mile-High, and Dunk-The-Monster. (Guess who's always the monster.)

July 23 And Now Back To That Great Day I Promised

The jerks at the bottom of the mountain long forgotten, we enjoy a wondrous panoramic view of the countryside from the peak of Mt. Geisberg, a view that includes the mighty Festung Hohensalzburg castle, now meek and toy-like when seen from a mile above. Vanessa and Cornelia both remark upon the irony of seeing the castle and the Kapuzinerberg in miniature from above after having declared just days ago from the peaks of those structures how small everything else had looked surrounding them.

The peak itself is a marvel of nature, a sweeping meadow of wild flowers that delights us as much as the view below it.

Later in the afternoon, I teach Cornelia the meaning of negative and fractional exponents, which she absorbs with her usual dexterity.

July 23 They Tried And Failed To Ruin Our Day

It's a heavenly day. Therese suggests we take a tour bus up to the peak of Mt. Geisberg where we'd seen hang gliders floating the day before. We'll enjoy the view, and hike back down on our own. That's the plan, but an unexpected evil is awaiting us.

On the city bus to the base of the mountain, two men are sitting behind us. They start muttering something about us and snickering. I can't understand them, but Therese does. As both we and they get off the bus, Therese tells me in English that they'd been making fun of her appearance. I debate whether to approach them and tell them off, but Therese, reading my mind and ever the wiser one, stops me. They just want attention. Don't give it to them. They're not worth it.

Unfortunately, this is not the end of it. We walk to where we'll catch the tour bus that takes us to the peak, which comes in 30 minutes. When we turn around, we see that the men have followed us. They get right in our faces. Grinning stupidly, Jerk #1 says, "Do you speak English?" They must have heard us talking as we deboarded.

"What's that to you?" I snap back.

They proceed to mock us to our faces, making obscene gestures and cussing us out in ridiculously broken English, using whatever words they'd picked up from bathroom stall walls. We yell back, using more grammatically complex constructions than they can apparently understand, for they just talk over us, ignoring everything we say and simply repeating their six-word cycle of insults. Cornelia, Vanessa and Bettina are cowed behind us.

I am on the verge of snapping. Every nerve in my body wants to lash out. Jerk #1 is within easy range. I could land a hard punch before he knows it, perhaps hard enough to take him out, dropping the ratio to 1-to-1, where I might have even chances, provided Jerk #2 is not armed, and is not a habitual street brawler, which I certainly am not. That's a lot of if's, and I don't dare risk it, not with our kids presenting such easy targets. If I get entangled with one, the other one could go after them.

And so Therese and I stand there and ignore them, praying they'll just get bored and leave. They eventually do. They swagger away, giving one other a congratulatory high-five, clearly proud of themselves for having successfully terrorized a family with young children.

Thankfully the kids were not phased, as they understood too little, and they play at the nearby playground until the bus comes. Therese and I console each other, reflecting that we will have a better day, a better year and a better life than either of those two men. Who will they cuddle with tonight? What hope do they ever have for satisfying careers like the ones we enjoy? Who will care about them enough to visit them when they're old, or even mourn their passing? How many accomplishments, joys and deep friendships can they look upon with fondness and satisfaction, as Therese and I do in abundance? Even if they find a woman desperate enough to marry them, when will their kids ever say to their friends with pride, "That's MY dad! He's the best!" Victory is ours. It was ours before they ever saw us.

As if to spite them, the ride up the mountain and the panoramic views from the peak are breathtaking, like nothing the girls or I have ever seen. Those two men, now still at the bottom, tried to ruin our day, but in this they have failed. God is good, and the beauty of God's creation shines all around.

July 22 Church Shopping, Take #2

Second attempt is a success! Today we try an interdenominational English-speaking church. Cozy modern chapel. People of all colours of the rainbow are there. The liturgy is comfortable and familiar and makes me wistful for my Episcopalian days. The sermon is poignant, if 10 minutes too long. And a greeting! At the door! In fact, the pastor invited us to stand and introduce ourselves during announcements.

Communion is conducted in-the-round, with all holding hands. Wonder Bread and grape juice hits the spot, and the soul. At fellowship, Therese and I get to talk to adults besides each other for the first time in 10 days. The cookies and cakes are yummy, too. In the name of lunch, we have to restrain the girls with quotas. Vanessa meets another 7-year-old girl who is also named Vanessa. We'll be back.

July 20 Boring Stuff For Adults

We visit the Dom cathedral, a marvel of architecture and sculpture that has Therese and me in rapture and has the girls, in dutiful conformity with the rules of the family-sight-seeing genre, hanging on our arms like chimpanzees, mewling, "Can we just gooooooooooo now?"

To extend their torment and ours, we go next to the Salzburg Museum's new exhibit on the history of Alpine art. We get in free on our newly minted museum-member family pass, and it is just as well, for the exhibit is as obscenely dull as the description on the flyer had promised it would be. Hell, even I was bored. The freeness of the admission offers us a guiltless escape to the ice cream parlour, a deft move that restores the faith of the children in their parents' judgment.

July 17 The Castle

Seventh straight day of rain. We venture once again to the old city, this time to climb to the Festung Hohensalzburg, a medieval castle that dominates the city for miles around. No foreign army ever breached it, and it's easy to see why: horses can't climb sheer cliff. The climb is hard on the girls and on Therese who is grumpy most of the day. The views over Salzburg, however, are even more spectacular than those from Kapuzinerberg. We decide to take the cog-train back down instead of walking, the best parental judgment-call we made all day.

July 16 Cornelia's First German

The girls and I spy out another amazing playground. Incredibly, it is even cooler than the first one we found. A giant turn-table you can lie on while your siblings spin you, wooden mini-cabins with ramps leading up to them, slides set into a hill so that you get to the top by climbing the hill instead of a ladder, spin-till-you-puke carousels, the works.

We get back just in time to get Cornelia to SommerLeseClub, a summer reading club for kids held at the library that I secretly signed her up for when she wasn't looking. The idea is to get her to speak some German to other kids without Therese or me pushing her in the back and whispering "Go on, now. Say something."

She is understandably nervous and says very little on the bus ride there. Only three other girls are in attendance, but the two group leaders are friendly and get Cornelia talking right away. "Ich heiße Cornelia. Ich bin aus Kanada," are her first two utterances. The group leader asks her, "Super! Verstehst Du schon alles?" ("Great! Do you understand everything we're saying?") and Cornelia nods with a smile. Fist pump!

With that, I leave her in good hands for 90 minutes. When I come to pick her up, she skips out of the room with an ear-to-ear smile. She takes me by the hand and declares her wish that the club could meet twice a week instead of just every other week. She says to me, "I discovered I really can speak German if I have to and nobody there knows English." I just about die of pride. She bubbles with excitement all the way home.

July 15 A Heavenly Mountain Hike

Perhaps nature can do what church this morning could not, namely to freshen our souls and offer rest from the week's labours. After church we take a delightful hike through the foot paths of Kapuzinerberg, the mini-mountain that overlooks the city centre and the obligatory pastoral river that all European cities are required to own. We've never seen such stunning views. The sun comes out just in time for our descent, providing us a sparkling, dew-soaked tunnel of tree cover to walk under all the way down.

July 14 Expanding the Beach Head

Four days in, and our fearless Schattman explorers have conquered the bus system, a weekly farmer's market, the public library, a network of key playgrounds, the cheapest places to shop, the girls' soon-to-be school, and a great kids' museum.

Tomorrow we try church. There's a classic t-shirt for Austrian tourists that reads THERE ARE NO KANGAROOS IN AUSTRIA. Well, we've also just learned that THERE ARE NO MENNONITES IN SALZBURG. So we're looking around for the "next best thing".

In searching for churches, I feel like Tom Cruise in Rain Man, as he's trying to order in dinner over the phone for his autistic brother, who will only eat tapioca pudding for dessert on Wednesdays. "Oh, and uh, tapioca pudding. You got tapioca pudding?" "No, sir, we don't." "Well, then just bring the closest thing."

Behold, we find a church on the web that just might be the "next closest thing": a break-away Catholic church that seems marketed towards disgruntled ex-Catholics. It's gay-friendly. Communion is open to anyone. The pope is not always right. Divorcees and mixed families are welcome.  How bad can it be? Let's give it a try.

July 10 D-Day

Today we leave our dear Canada behind! Nerds that we are, we dutifully arrive at the airport 3 hours ahead. And what finer way to kill time than dinner at the Toronto Airport Swiss Chalet! Well, for starters, how about an aircraft that is free of mechanical problems, the kind that keep 300 people in their seats on the tarmac for over an hour before the 8-hour flight even begins?

The kids sleep well on the over-night flight, including Bettina, who sleeps in my lap all "night." Bettina and Cornelia both throw up during the descent, one right after the other. But we're here, on another continent. A new, if inauspicious, beginning.