Out and about.

Or is it,  "oot and aboot"?   I don't know.  Seems there are those who think Canadians tend to say those two words in a rather strange fashion.  I don't hear it.
I'm sort of rambling just a bit here since I've had some trouble coming up with titles lately.
Sometimes I sit and stare at that blank field for several minutes before attempting to slap something in there.
I can just imagine how much white out I'd go through if we were somehow in the typewriter age.  Scary.
Truth be told,  I would have given up long ago.

A while back,  I stumbled upon a web-based group here in Vienna,  and after hearing some news that came back to me by way of my travelling companion through one of her associates,  (got that?)  I decided to sign up.
This is in spite of those sage words of Groucho Marx who once said,  "I'd never belong to any club that would have me as a member",  or something to that effect.

Now,  the thing about joining any group or club or whatever,  is that one really should try and participate.  Probably why I rarely "join up".   Note reference to laziness in previous posts.
So when there was the chance to show up for one of the "German Conversation Evenings",  I decided to sign up and show up.
It just so happened that my travelling companion was at her second office up in Shrems,  with the intention of staying the night,  so I was on my own anyway.

Just a lonely guy in a lonely town.





I figured,  the food at Café Prükel is reported to be adequate,  and I was sure the beer would be fine.  I don't mind meeting people,  and I have a reasonable grasp of German,  so why not?
There were only four of us,  which was fine by me,  and I tried not to hog the conversation.
Honest.
I've been advised that this can sometimes be a problem of mine.


The details of the evening are unimportant.  I met some decent folks,  got to yak.  Had a couple libations and dinner.
The thing that I came away with,  was the realisation of the entirely serendipitous set of circumstances that has brought me to this (mostly) German speaking city.  Who would have thunk,  that when I finished a degree in German Literature over 30 years ago,   that I would end up here?

It's kinda crazy.

Of course,  I do realise that having written some essay or other on Thomas Mann's "Der Tod in Venedig"  isn't going be too damned helpful when you're looking for pork tenderloin at the butcher.
That's fine.
But it surely doesn't hurt.

The frustration in the air last night was almost palpable.  Kind of like the humidity we get in the North East.  You could almost chew it.
This is when I realise how "horseshoe up the poop-chute"  lucky I really am.  It's very hard to know when one should jump in and try to "help", without being a complete boor,  and moreover I really didn't have any way of "channelling"  German into the mouths of these people.
I can only imagine how lost I would be if we had ended up in some place like Abu Dhabi (like that would happen)  but I should think the people there speak more English than the Austrians.
 In some respects I'm in complete awe of anyone who up and moves to a foreign country,  whether for a job or whatever reason,  when they also have the insurmountable task of  learning a new language.


Not sure I could do it.




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