By land or by sea.

No wait,  it’s more like,  “by sea or by air”.   That’s the actual quandary.   We worked away at it over the weekend.  Of course,  the biggest consideration is that Travelling Companion doesn’t want all her clothes to be totally wrinkled by the time they end up at their destination,  so she’s hesitant to lay them out for the “air shipment”.

 

 

We *think* we have a pretty good handle on it,  even though it doesn’t really look that way.   Like, not at all?

Both of us really and truly prefer “neat and tidy”,  as opposed to what seems to look more and more like something left behind in the wake of a tornado.

I did manage to accomplish one major thing this morning,  and that was to take back the near empty propane tank and get my refund.  

 

Looks like this,  only we had one of the big ones. (10kg.)

This type of canister is really very cool,  and I certainly hope we go this way someday in North America.  They’re light weight (especially when empty),  you can see the level of the liquid through the sides,  and they’re virtually indestructible.  Plus,  I looked high and low, and there was no hint of an “expiry date”. 

Don’t even get me started on that expiry date bullsh*t. 

I was gone all afternoon Saturday,  trying to find a gas station where I could unload the thing.   You’d think it would be pretty simple.  I mean,  using our North American way of thinking, propane bottles or canisters,  or whatever you call them, can be had most anywhere.  Home Despot.  Crappy Tire.  Kmart?  You know.  And then there are some gas stations.

Well,  it seems that here in Wienerland,  BP *has the final word on portable propane tanks.  It wasn’t that way in the Netherlands.  I bought a tank at something along the lines of a hardware/tool store, although it was the metal kind,  which are no longer available.   

*that’s a neat interactive site that shows all the features of these canisters.  Go there.  Really.

Anyhoodle,  I discovered at the my first stop on Saturday,  that they were “full”.   What?  What does that mean,  “full”?   Well,  it turns out that they’re only allowed to have a maximum of twenty canisters on hand at any given time.  Same could be said for the second stop.  And of course,  none of these places are right around the corner from one another.  I mean,  they’re service stations all from the same company.  They’re going to be spread out.   By about the fourth attempt,  I had had enough and just came home. 

Oh ya,  almost forgot,  by then Mariahilferstrasse was closed off for some stupid reason,  so I ended up having to go up Zieglergasse the wrong way in order to get into the parking garage. (Don’t tell!)   Didn’t help that my first stop after getting in the door was the toilet either.  Hence the sense of urgency.

 

So when I took Travelling Companion to work this morning,  we still had our beloved propane tank standing on the floor behind the passenger seat,  so she was a bit squished.  Even though I was taking it back for my deposit,  I didn’t think it was such a good idea to lie it down in the trunk.   If I had managed to unload the thing on Saturday,  she could have taken the car as she usually does.  Stupid propane tank.  Stupid rules.

You’re probably wondering why I was so dead set on getting back my deposit?   Well,  other than the fact that there was no way I could even think of leaving it behind here,  perhaps in the upstairs storage,  the deposit on the thing was €54.   Yes kids,  fifty-four Euros.   You can do your own conversion.  

I think BP wants their canisters back,  yes??

Lo and behold,  after dropping T.C. off at the Company that Cannot be Named,  I went right around the corner to the nearest BP station,  and they had LOTS of room.  I don’t even think the dude bothered to count.   Why the hell didn’t I just go there Saturday?   Come to find out (after I told the guy he had just made my day) the clerk or whatever you call him,  had lived for a time in Ireland,  commutes every day in from Hungary (really?)  and he and I had a very nice little chat.  Most of it in English it turns out.   Oh,  and his opinion was that the Irish are a lot more friendly than the Austrians.  I’ll reserve judgement.

Not much else has dropped into my simple noggin,  so I guess that’s it for today.

 

Back to whatever the hell it was I was doing.  Half the time,  I don’t really know.

 

Keep those sticks where I can see them.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

 

 

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