The joy of watching European ballroom champions!

A day I've been waiting for all month!  The 2012 European 10-Dance Championships are in Salzburg this year.  I scooped up a ticket as soon as the first posters went up.

Before today, I had always thought that ballroom dancers at this level were so polished, so impossibly perfect, as to be indistinguishable to all but the judges; that judges alone could spot the split-second differences in foot work, floor craft, angles and timing that separate 1st place from 6th.  But watching from the bleachers, I am delighted to see that this is not so.  As the semi-finalists, and then the finalists, are announced, I find that my own preferences matched the judges' 90% of the time!  Meaning, they could just have well have given me a judge's clipboard and gotten similar results — and for a lot cheaper, too.

Like the Olympics, each country in Europe sends its top couple to represent them.  But what makes this event especially fun for me is that I personally know the Austrian couple.  (They run the monthly dance socials I've been attending.)  They are the home-crowd favourites, and each section of the bleachers screams for them and calls out their number "ZWANZIG!" whenever they dance past.  And these two are wallowing in the celebrity attention.  They play to the audience at every turn, sparkling with smiles a mile wide.   The judges mark them in 5th place out of a pool of 18.

I feel sorry for the spectators who paid 1400 euros for a floor-side VIP table and the six-course meal; from their ground-level view, they have, ironically, the worst view in the house because of the foot-high placard ads that surround the dance floor.  My cheapskate 85-euro seat in the bleachers gives me a far better view.

Even so, the best  view of the dancers is off stage where the dancers warm up before their heat.  I sneak under the bleachers to watch them.  They are literally within arms' reach of me.   Their precision, their incredible speed and the intricacy of their choreography hits me full in the face.  If they weren't right before my eyes, I'd have sworn it was enhanced by CGI effects!

Saint Therese, meanwhile, in a noble act of magnanimous adult sacrifice, has taken the children to the kiddy-rides carnival — for the whole day —  so that I may enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime experience.  Marry well, people. It is my number-one advice to young adults today.  Marry well.

Why you don't take the kids out to eat in Europe

I'ts a gorgeous almost-fall day.  So after school, we pack up the swim suits, perhaps for the last time this year, and bus to Lake Salzachsee.  In full sunshine and a mountain breeze, I dive into the lake and casually observe that the temperature of the water on this fine September day feels just a touch — WHOA, THAT'S COLD!  ("He's all right, folks.  Cancel the ambulance.  He's still moving.")  Inspired by dad's brave example, the kids swim and run and squeal until the sun sets.

Watching the kids burn so many calories has made me ravenously hungry.  I dumbly suggest we eat out tonight.  In my malnourished state, I have forgotten that we are not in Canada anymore; we are in Europe, where restaurants cater, as a rule, to adult couples and tourists.  Having changed at home, we're seated at a charming Austrian homestyle restaurant.  And yet all of us are grouchy.  I am wondering why no one is having any fun.  Then it hits me:  not only are there no kids' menus, but the kids can't even make sense of the adult menu, seeing as it's printed in this medieval Hear Ye! type face.  The waiter had simply rattled off two things the chef could make for the kids — in a rapid dialect which the kids couldn't understand — and we'd chosen for them.  Right off the bat, half the fun of eating out for a kid is gone.  To fill the time in between, there is nothing for them.  Crayons and drawable placemats?  Shirley temples with crazy straws?  Nope.  North American inventions, not known here.  

And they are taking their sweet time in the kitchen.  Honeymooners will happily gaze over the table at each other for 45 minutes, but kids famished from swimming all day won't.  Bettina is falling apart with hunger and boredom.  Therese is starting to grumble, too.  I hand out pretzel sticks from our bag just to prevent a mutiny.  

Praise heavens, the food is truly delicious when it finally comes, and everyone's moods improve.  In this sense, I suppose the 20 extra gourmet-minutes the chef spent primping the meal were worth it, but this dad has learned his lesson.   

Nature Still Makes The Best Toys

In the past three months, Vanessa has developed into the family athlete. From which generation in the family tree she inherits this gene, fully dorment in her two hapless parents, we cannot tell. But whatever the source, Vanessa knows no greater joy than when she is climbing. Trees. Boulders. Ropes. And her favourite is rock-climbing walls. It's the first thing she heads for at any playground. So as a weekend treat, I take the kids to a rock-climbing gym I found in Salzburg.   Three jaws drop when we enter the gym.  Some of these walls are five storeys high.  Most are meant for pros, to be attempted only with ropes, harness, and a spotter on the ground.  But enough of them are kid-friendly to be worth the hefty admission.  The girls climb hesitatingly at first but grow bolder when they learn to trust the foam-padded floor beneath them.

Time for a picnic lunch. As luck would have it, a beautiful brook empties into the Salzach river just outside the rock-climbing gym, with miniature stone beaches on either side of the delta. Instant playground! We'd paid 26 euros for two hours of indoor rock climbing, which required shoe rental. We paid 0 euros for an equal amount of outdoor rock climbing and river play, all in bare feet. Which was the better deal? Watching them play in the river with timeless abandon reminds me yet again that the best things in life are free, that unstructured play is the best play, and that even in the G6 wireless age, nature still makes the best toys.

School Here Is Neat

The children just love their schools! They're speaking German to their peers and teachers without hesitation. This is the moment we've been working towards since last December. For me, it's the crowning achievement of the sabbatical so far.

In utter defiance of their parents' genetic heritage, both older girls even like gym class! I am relieved. If ever there was a setting where language barrier could cause an embarrassing mistake with the consequent shame and tears, gym class, with its quickly barked instructions from gruff whistle-blowing coaches, rushed locker-room changes before and after, and unfamiliar games with unfamiliar rules (which the native kids all know of course), would be it. But the girls are taking it all in.

One routine new to all of us is that the 4th graders walk home for lunch, then walk back to school in the afternoon. Cornelia likes it, actually. Luckily I am sufficiently unemployed to be able to greet them at home each day and make lunch for them. What full-time or single parents do is a mystery.

REGISTRAR WARS

EPISODES I-III:  THE PHANTOM MENACE

It's the Wednesday before school starts. Time to get the girls registered. We'd have gladly done this in August if anyone in Salzburg had been behind a desk during the summer vacation season.

But this morning we finally get in touch with the school principal. "Oh, your kids aren't Austrian?" the principal says. "We can't register you here, then. Immigrants are registered by the clerk at the municipal building."

Fuming, Therese calls the municipal building. "So sorry," says the receptionist. "The registrar only holds hours on Monday afternoons from 1:00-4:00pm. Come see us in five days."

"BUT SCHOOL STARTS ON MONDAY MORNING!!!"

"Well," he says, "the kids will only miss the first day. The first day isn't all that important."

The sheer ignorance of this statement defies description. Cornelia and Vanessa are frightened enough as it is, starting a new school in a foreign country. On top of this, they are now to miss all the 1st-day introductions, the rules-and-expectations talk, the where-is-the-bathroom talk, the seating assignments, everything.

Well, next up is Bettina. Kindergarten is optional in Austria, but spots are fiercely coveted. We've been looking all summer without success, and by today it's come down to the brute-force action of calling every kindergarten in the Yellow Pages, starting with A. Therese locks herself in the back room with the phone book for an hour, with no luck.

EPISODE IV:  A NEW HOPE

Two days of painful waiting. On Friday we meet the principal, who in a welcome change of heart, offers to let Vanessa and Cornelia attend the 1st day of school "under the radar" even though they won't actually be registered by then. Little Vanessa lights up like a Christmas tree when she sees her 2nd grade classroom. Her nervousness is gone, replaced by true excitement! It is a joy to watch her glow.

With renewed energy, we buy school supplies and pack for one last getaway to Lake Weißenbach. The sunshine matches our ebullience. After a hearty swim in the lake, we get the best news of the month: one of the dozens of kindergartens Therese called on Wednesday calls back, offering Bettina a spot! If we drank, we'd have popped the cork. As it is, we unscrewed the sparkling apple juice and clinked cups all around.


EPISODE V:  THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK

Up at 6:30. Breakfast, backpacks, hair, teeth, jackets, and out the door for the kids' first day of Austrian school! Vanessa enters the bustling 2nd-grade classroom, searching nervously for a desk with her name on it. Frau Doppler (as in Effect) spots us right away, greets us kindly and finds Vanessa a desk. Vanessa is practically levitating.  Should I stay with you awhile or go? "Go," she says.  So I leave her in able hands, cast a wistful glance back and head home.

Three hours later (the 1st day is short), I pick up the most elated kids you ever saw. They buzz all the way home over how neat it was.

But our joy is short lived. We are met at home by a livid Therese, who had been at the municipal building to register the kids. She'd been in the queue for an hour before being told, "Why didn't you bring the children? I have to see them in person in order to register them." (As if parents registering fake children for school were a regular menace.) So back home she'd come to meet us.  She drags the kids back to the registrar, waits ANOTHER hour in the queue and is told, to her incredulity, that Vanessa, because she is born in December not September, is to be placed in Grade 1! "BUT SHE'S ALREADY FINISHED GRADE 1!"  Doesn't matter, the lady says.  This chart clearly states that any child born in THIS month goes into THIS grade. And this woman will not be reasoned with. She is a cog, entrusted with no professional judgment, unable to move 1 inch from what is printed in her binder. Sign here, please, she says.

Therese and I are apoplectic. At the lady.  At Salzburg.  At the Iron-Curtain-like mindset of the bureaucracy here. At ourselves for taking on this sabbatical that has cost us so much anxiety, along with untold hours of preparation and legwork.

Our only hope is the kind principal at Vanessa's school. With the one signature she denied us at the very beginning, she could resolve this mess. I volunteer to speak with her in the morning.  Of course it would be easier if Therese, being the native speaker, took this on, but she has taken on enough.  It's my turn to bear the brunt.  I begin formulating in German what I will say.  I better get this right.  If we hit another dead end, we're aborting this mission and flying home.

EPISODE VI:  RETURN OF THE JEDI

At 8:30 a.m. I knock on the principal's door.  I'm not nervous.  I've rehearsed my explanation, and it comes out smoothly.  To my delight, the principal is on my side from the get-go!  She promises to call that silly registrar's office at once and straighten things out.  She signs the papers herself, after all! Vanessa is back in Grade 2.

The relief is indescribable. The road is clear at last.

For our victory lap, we get to take Bettina for her first kindergarten visit. We would have signed her up regardless, for this is the only opening we've found, but we have a better reason than that. This kindergarten is a dream.  Smiling, happy teachers, a huge green garden for outdoor play, lunches supplied by an organic caterer, and a newly renovated play area remove all doubt.  Bettina knows the first-day drill.  Without a trace of hesitation, she seats herself at the Playdoh station next to two other little girls and begins making green pizza.  The last death star is destroyed! Let the sabbatical begin.

 

I'm Too Old For Exams!

Today I'm off to Berlitz to take my B1-level German language test, requirement number 12,906 for my residence visa. Bettina sits quietly with her coloring books while I am examined for 45 minutes by a language teacher. (You know, the kind that wear half-moon reading glasses around their necks by a string of beads?) Only in the heat of the moment do I realize that I have not taken a timed test in 14 years! And I am out of practice. I haven't done this since graduate school, but the stress is instantly familiar: the furious erasing; the frantic glances at the clock that grow in frequency in inverse proportion to the time remaining; the hollow feeling in the pit of the stomach; the fatalistic choice between A and D. I'm too old for this! I feel like the over-the-hill Rocky as he's getting whupped by Mr. T. The worst feeling is that I know my German is better than this, but this examiner will not know it. "They're asking all the wrong questions!" my inner 15-year-old protests. "If only they'd ask me about the things I know!"

How many times have I counselled a student with tears in her eyes and a D+ on her test, "Anne, you'll have more success on the next test if you'll invest [I love that word] 20 minutes a day on your homework, ask me lots of questions during lessons, and come to me more often for extra help," dismissing her piteous claim that she just "blanked out that day" as so much drama. Today in the examination room I remembered that it's not always just drama. I have been on the other side of the teacher's desk for too long.

Bettina and I eat lunch by the river, my B1 certificate fresh in my bag. Time to go pick up her sisters from horseback riding. I find them at the drop-off spot with empty ice-cream cups in their hand. "They bought us all ice cream!" they say with chocolate-smeared grins. A clever maneuver on the part of the day-camp staff to plump up the reviews the kids bring home to the parents who will decide whether to fork over the dough for the next outing. Or maybe they're just nice people. Regardless of the truth, I force myself to think the latter. "Stay Canadian!" I remind myself.

She's Got Her Mother's Good Looks

Therese is off to Bratislava to deliver a talk and come down with a cold. Big kids are on a day-camp outing, leaving Bettina and me alone for a D³, our code for Daddy-Daughter Day. I take her to the Thursday farmers' market for a 4-year-old education on bargain hunting and shopping-list management. Bettina proudly crosses off each produce item on the list, like Toad does in Bettina's favourite Frog And Toad story. With her maternally inherited good looks, Bettina charms one fauning vendor after another. One hands her a free strawberry. The next one gives her a free pear. At the next booth she gets a free croissant. (They certainly didn't hand me anything.) By 8:30a.m. she's practically had lunch. I should take her with me to the bank.

No More Relatives! Finally A Day To Ourselves!

A week of visiting in Berlin. The kids are tired of being sent off to Find Something To Do while mom and dad engage in adult chinwag with one set of old friends after another. A full week in Berlin, and the five of us have yet to do anything together as a family. Today we aim to remedy this with a morning of sight seeing in the Berlin city centre.

All of us are in high spirits—there are no guests to entertain, no opinions to solicit from friends over what to look at next, no advice from well-meaning mothers-in-law to parry. It's just us.
Therese takes us to lunch at Mövenpick, which I'd always thought was just another American ice cream brand marketed with a contrived European name. But no! Mövenpick is a full-service restaurant complete with sauces, table cloths and wine lists.

Sadly Therese must leave us after lunch for her conference talk, but the fun has just begun. Mövenpick has a fantastic play area for kids, where Bettina discovers a bin full of My Little Ponies with the requiste combs. She is in little-girl heaven.

In the same bin, Vanessa finds a toy gorilla. (What else would you expect in a box full of ponies?) She holds the gorilla to my face and says in her deepest gorilla voice, "Clean your room!" in allusion to her favourite Calvin and Hobbes comic, for one of the best laughs of the day.

But the best entertainment lies outside, in front of the aquarium, and for once it's not a playground—at least not in the usual sense.

There's a heap of flag stones assembled haphazardly into a fountain. The kids beg me to let them climb on it. Seeing no VERBOTEN signs, I give them a hesitant "o…kay", expecting at any moment to be barked at by some grumpy city authority figure. But not only are we not run off, other kids draw inspiration from the sight of us up there and join in! In five minutes, a whole school yard of kids is climbing and drawing on the rocks with chalk-like stones. It's now 5pm, and I have to drag them back to Oma's house.

The kids, fueled by two hours of intense, physical imaginative play, literally sprint the three blocks to the subway station, leap frogging one another and prodding one another on to ever faster speeds.

On the first leg of the subway home, I show Cornelia how to get around a big city with a subway map, and once in the station, how to find your platform. We're hungry and beat---a perfect segue to one last lesson! I invite Cornelia and Vanessa to go buy us some salami buns from a snack stand on the subway platform. They're scared, but they work up the nerve to approach the cashier and order. "Zweimal Semmelbrötchen mit Salami, bitte." Hot dog, she did it! I'm so proud of them, and so are they. The tasty buns, the successful navigation through the scary Berlin subway system, and a surprise, chance meeting with Therese on the last platform ("Hermione! Where'd you come from?!") make a perfect ending to a perfect day.