Into Isaan

Isaan is the northeastern "bulge" of Thailand and one of the most rural and least visited parts of the country.  Those folks that do visit Isaan are usually en route to the Mekong for a river trip or on their way to Vientienne in Laos.  The more southerly portion of Isaan is a place where english is rare, Farrang are rarer, and a few Thai phrases come in very handy.  This ain't Bangkok.

A real Thai brekkie is essential on a travel day.  Last bowl of noodles in Bangkok.

The way deliveries get made in Bangkok.  Four wheels are a disadvantage here.

Ready to ride the Thai rails, we ducked through the MRT station and popped up on the far side of the chaos of Rama V.  Hua Lumpong (one spelling of many) is the main railway station in Bangkkok.  Two third class seats to Nakhon Ratchasima were 200 Baht each for the non-aircon 5.5 hour trip.  Second class is nicer, but the aircon will usually freeze one to death.  Besides, the vendors are more fun in 3rd.

If you need a quick trim and brush up, the Thai barbers can take care of you trackside.

Third class is the way to go, although the seats are a bit stiff.  You remembered your inflatable butt pad, the one I'm always going on about, right?

Koran, or Khorat, or Nakon Ratchasima (pronounced Ko-Lhat) is north and east of Bangkok.  It really does have two names, one being the old, one being the new.  This city of about 500,000 lies at the gateway to the plains of Isaan, just over the spine of mountains that separate the Big Mango from the northeast.  There is a strong Khmer and Laotian cultural influence here, which is reflected in the language and the food.  And Oh!, The Food!!  More on that in a bit.

Ayuttaya, the first main temple city outside of Bangkok.  I stayed here on my very first trip to Thailand.

The train chugs through Bangkok.  And chugs through Bangkok.  And...  One-and-a-half hours later, the countryside opens up as we near Ayuttaya.  It takes more than an hour one way to get to the outskirts of Bangkok.  By car it could be all day.  That's how big the Big Mango is.  Roughly ten percent of the Thai population lives in Bangkok, at least part time.  Riding out of the city by rail, a traveler can see the hard edges of the city.  There are rows of shanty towns set up to the very edge of the rail line.  Anywhere there is public land, such as under a freeway overpass or along the train tracks, there are whole compounds made of packing crates, corrugated metal and old signs.  Many folks from the north and the northeast flood into Bangkok after the rice is harvested in late October or November. They come to the city to work the jobs created by the busy tourist season of November, December and January.  When ther tourists go home in Feburary, they return to their fields to start the process of burning the scrub and planting new crops.  March can get very, very smoky up north.  

The train rolls slowly up the mountains, the Diesel engine throws little black smuts through the the open windows, the vendors ply the rocking aisles, selling everything from chicken on a stick to noodles and cold drinks.  People sleep, the train rocks, the conductor double-checks our tickets when we don't get off in Ayuttaya.  

Thai rail lines are narrow gauge, so narrow gauge in fact that one wonders how the cars stay on the tracks.  This is a legacy of the British, along with driving on the wonky side of the road.  Eventually we pull into Khorat.  Then there is the long sweaty walk-about to find the guesthouse.  After several wrong turns, false starts, and one backtrack, I left My One and the packs at a nice cafe and set off one more time.  Nuttin.  Okay, I found a Moto taxi guy who, for 20 baht, solved my problem by taking me up the tiny alley I had passed at least three times.  I gave him 30 baht, goodwill and smiles all around.  Once again, Thai locations : One.  Marco finding same : Zero.  Showered and rested, we ventured out as evening set on.

The statue and shrine to Ya Mo, the bad-ass wife of a local governor who, in the 1800's, roused the locals to fight against the Lao invaders.  Recent historians have written that maybe her heroic efforts have been a bit overplayed by the Thai Nationalists of the time, but the people of Khorat revere her memory.  Day and night, folks leave flowers and incense at her memorial.

Wait, didn't I mention food?  That's all there is to talk about in this wonderful town.  There is not a lot to do here.  The old city is surrounded by a moat.  Walking inside the old city is not much different than walking outside.  So, no real sights to mention accept for our bad-ass patroness Ya Mo.

Pick-a-pot in the darkened confines of the covered market.  Night has fallen and we are eating with the locals.  A few words of Thai are essential here.  On the other hand, one can just guess and point at what looks yummy.  And it all looks yummy.

Once you have your bowl, plop yourself at the bar and start throwing on the greens and fresh vege.  

So, we have a stewed curry chicken leg, a fiery fish curry over rice noodles, and a pile of vege to aid the digestion.  This feast of home-cooking will set a hungry traveller back 40 baht, about $1.15 by today's exchange.  

And no evening is complete without fried dumpling pocket things.  Pumpkin, bean, vege something and corn, we had a mixed bag of yummy fried treats for dessert.  And that, dear friends, was that.  From the gateway to Isaan, I turn my tired hands away from my keyboard and towards My One.  As always Friends and Neighbors, I bid you Ciao for Now!

 

 

Shopping Bangkok Style

When you need to get your shopping jones taken care of there is at least one place in the world that will "got 'er done."  Chatuchak Market is reputed to be the biggest open-air market in the world.  Basically, if you can't buy it here, you can't buy it.  As Lonely Planet says, you can buy baby squirrels in the JJ Market, as it is also known.  What you would do with baby squirrels, well, that's another story.  The Weekend market, the JJ Market, and the JJ Mall make up a shopping complex so big that it would be impossible to cover all of the stalls in a week.  Just in the main Chatuchak market area there are 12,000 stalls.  At the center of it all is the ubiquitous clock tower, pictured above.

My Heart and I had a mission.  We needed to find some traditional Thai garb for our ceremony, which will be held in October.  With that in mind, we descended to the MRT and rode almost the full length of the line to the far northeastern corner of Bangkok.  

The shoppers were already well up and about by the time we arrived.  The weekend market starts at six AM, with the hardcore Thai shoppers ready and waiting.  By ten AM the walkways are packed with Thai and Farrang.  

Thais love to shop and Thais love to eat.  The only thing that Thai folk like more than one of these is both of them combined.  No market worth its salt is short on food kiosks and The BIg One has enough food choices to confuse the most dedicated shopper.  

Two or three hours at any market will just about be my limit.  By afternoon, the press of humanity becomes more than I can take.  Fortunately, there is the sprawling Chatuchak Park lying just to the north of the market.  

Acres of quiet gardens, ponds with huge swimming lizards, what else does a tired shopper need to recharge his or her batteries?  We whiled away the heat of the day as the sun sprang out from behind the monsoon clouds.  Then is was the long ride back the entire length (minus the Bang Sue station) to our secret hideaway.  

As the sun fell and the shadows lengthened across the Khlong (canal, and filthy at that) it was time to follow that most important of Bangkokian pursuits:  Food!!

As darkness falls, the sidewalks sprout food stands like mushrooms springing full grown from the concrete.  Tonight our choice was the busy enclave of street food stands just across the Khlong from our digs.  After finally finding a vacant table, we settled in for some BBQ duck served over rice and greens.

The mood lighting is streetlights and headlights, the tea was icy, and the duck was fantastic.  Served with greens and seasoned egg, this plate met all of the major food groups:  Protein, Vegge, Carbs and Fire.

The night needed a capper and the best way to finish off a street food meal is with street food dessert! Time for Mataba!  Mataba, or Roti, is a thin thrown dough similar to a crepe, but springy like pizza dough.  As it grills in lots of oil, It is filled with whatever you Iike, then folded and grilled some more.  Slid hot onto the block, it's chopity-chop and topped.  In this case, it was my favorite, banana and chocolate filling topped with sweetened condensed milk and, yay!!, more gooey chocolate sauce.

The finished Mataba getting the chop.

No, it's not exactly health food, but it sure is good.  

Sated at last, at least on the food front, it was time for all good evenings to come to an end.  Another day in the Big Mango, and our last full day for a good while.  Tomorrow we set out for the Northest via the Thai railway system.  So, once again Friends and Neighbors, it's Ciao for Now!!

Reunion

Petchuburi traffic again, only wetter.

Bangkok is fully awake at 5:30 AM.  I was on my way back to the airport to meet My One and fetch her back to the guesthouse hideaway.  Retracing my steps of the previous day, sans heavy luggage, I rode the MRT to Petchaburi and then walked above the madness of Bangkok rush hour traffic to the airport train station.  The rain was washing the Big Mango as it is wont to do in the rainy season.  Once inside the airport, I took up my postition in the limo driver corral outside the customs exit.  During the tourist season this area is full of drivers and tour operators waving their signs for the hordes of incoming Farrang.  The airport is much quieter at this time of year, with an eerie abscence of the familiar hordes of arriving holiday makers.  The rains will last until well into October when the monsoon draws to a close.  November will see the first of the Farrang migration, which swells into flood tide in December.  But not now.  

My Heart appeared before me and we washed away the month of absence.  That is not the stuff of this blog, so control yourselves.  Reunited, I wisked her back along the same route to our guesthouse.  Our hosts provided us with the typical bad Thai version of Brekkie, a horribly abused egg and two pieces of toast.  

We were not alone during our late brekkie, as the local snails were on the prowl across the back of our bench.

While My Heart caught up on some badly needed sleep, recovering from the Vienna-Abu Dahbi-Bangkok route, I slipped away to my favorite noodle stand just up from our soi.  Hunkered under the blue tarp roof, I managed a real Thai breakfast.

Yeah, that's the stuff.  You keep the nasty eggses.  Yes, Precious, we wants our noodles!

Groggy but back on her feet, we were out on the streets and alleys by afternoon, walking through the heavy air of the back streets along the Chao Praya River.  Familiar streets, sounds and smells.  One of the most enticing and frenetic places on earth, the labyrinth of Bangkok's Chinatown will turn any walk into an adventure.  Sight, sound and smell will overcome navigational ability until one loses all sense of direction.  

A vat of steaming and aromatic pork being stirred and shredded.  It is then pressed into thin sheets and vacumn packed, ready for sale.  Like almost any other business in The Big Mango, the activity is pushed right out to the sidewalk.  Life here is conducted in the public view, open and vibrant.

Dinner time in Chinatown means eating on the street.  In this case, eating on the street in the rain.  The indoor restaurants are for the tourists and the faint-of-heart.  This place is my old standby, a long-standing favorite of the locals, tucked just off the insanity of the main drag through Chinatown.  I have been coming here for years and this is always my first stop on any street food walking tour of the neighborhood.

In the foreground, my favorite, fiery Phad Kee Mao with seafood.  My Baby chose a glass noodle seafood plate, pictured upper right.  For sharing, we had the crispy omelet with oysters on the left.  All of these delectables came sizzling on hot iron plates with a wooden carrier underneath.  Green lettuce leaves are dropped onto the hot iron to keep the noodles from sticking.  The greens char to a lovely texture, soaking up all of the fiery spice.  Yummers indeed.  

We walked back to the digs through the maze of sidewalks turned magically to tented cafes.  It is like threading a needle through a culinary dreamscape.  The smell of myriad cooking foods literally assaults ones senses.  The rain fell, warm and magical.  Traffic veered about the rain slickened streets. Just another night in rainy season Bangkok.

My One passed out into a well-deserved sleep.   I sat on the balcony, watching the rain and my friend the gecko.  And that, Friends and Neighbors, brings us full circle on my arrival back into the wonder of The Big Mango.  I leave you where I started, content with the rain, the heat, the sweat, and the noises of the night.  As always, thanks for reading, and Ciao for Now!

The Big Mango

There is a small gecko hunting the mosquitoes that are hunting me.  I am sitting on my balcony at the back of the guesthouse, sweating slightly in the moist night air.  It is 80 degrees Fahrenheit and 80% humidity.  The balcony overlooks the maze and tangle of tiny walkways and damp rooftops behind the guesthouse.  It is the rainy season here in Bangkok, my most favorite of Asian cities.  Bangkok es mi barrio.  When I walk out of the chilly aircon of the airport into that first blast of encompassing heat, feel the caress of the moist air, I know I am returning home.  

The press of humanity on the airport train.

I am packing far heavier than normal, lugging a heavy carry on, my trusty shoulder bag and a huge duffel.  There are things that need to be carried from Seattle back to Vienna and I am paying the price. Although I will stow most of this stuff at my guesthouse, retrieving it for the run back to chilly Europe, I still have to get the cargo from the airport to my secret lair near Chinatown.  Alas for the traveler carrying big bags.

Here is how it is done.  From the airport, one can take a taxi to the city, but that is 500 baht, or five good meals in Bangkok.  And I'm stubborn.  So it's onboard the airport train for 35 baht (one dollar) with a transfer at Makasan Station to the Petchuburi MRT station.  The frigid aircon of the subway will chill my sorry ass until I arrive at the end of the line, Hua Lumphong.  The guesthouse is tucked up a tiny soi (alley) just off busy Rama Avenue.  

The chaos of rush hour in Bangkok viewed from the Phetchaburi pedestrian overpass.

Sweating bullets and smashed cheek to jowl on the airport train at morning rush hour, I am reminded that I am in Thailand.  At my stop, I have to lug my heavy bags past the crush of Thai folks and out the door.  Instead of grumbling as I bump into them, they offer to help me.  Welcome to Thailand.

It's easy!  Just follow the signs and for a mere 30 Bhat, the MRT will drop you at the end of the line.

I have some laughs with the security check lady at the entrance to the MRT.  She wants to look in my carry on, sees the toothbrush on top, and waves me through with a big smile and a "Same-same," the ubiquitous Thai phrase for all is as it should be.  Arriving at Hua Lumphong is to be back in my neighborhood.  Exit #4 puts me out on Rama, threading my way past the noodle stands and food carts, the smiling Moto taxi dudes and the Tuk-tuk drivers lounging in their tri-wheelers.  No Brothers, no fare for you today, I know where I'm going and it's not far.  I turn up the quiet soi, walk to the end, and there is my last stop for the day.  Twenty-four hours of travel to reach this place.  

The view from my balcony after a long-awaited shower.  With the travel crud rinsed from my body, I enjoy a good cigar.

I had every intention of heading out for dinner, but the lack of sleep caught up with me.  From six PM until 5:30 AM, I slept the sleep of the dead, waking on Bangkok time ready to go.  I was up and awake with the early rush hour and heading back out to the airport to meet My Heart who is flying in from Vienna.

So, Friends and Neighbors, Sa-wa-Dee-Kap from the Big Mango.  More adventures to follow, of that I can assure you.  As ever, Ciao for Now!

 

Seat Time

A 1:30 AM transpacific flight is a good thing.  First, I've been up all day so I stand a better chance of getting some sleep.  Second, there is something special about an airport that is a ghost town.  I love sliding down the empty aisles past the locked up bars and trinket stands.  The S-Gates at SeaTac are shut down except for the duty free shops and the counters are all closed except for the few international flights heading out.

Twelve hours to Taipei.  I start a movie, preferably one I have already seen.  This puts my brain into neutral.  I watch "The Hangover" and wait for the meal.  For dessert I pop an Ambien and start a second movie, "The Grand Budapest Hotel."  I won't be awake to finish it.  

The doze comes on.  Neck pillow, butt cushion, blanket and ear plugs.  The Ambien kicks in and I go into a state that can't rightly be called sleep, but is not awake either.  In and out, in and out, shifting positions in a semi-dream state until the cabin lights come back up.  It is time for brekkie.  Almost six of the twelve hours have disappeared.  That's a good flight.

I know I'm going back to Asia because I have congee for breakfast.  Much better than a pre-fab mini-omelet.  Out of the darkness come the lights of Taipei, suddenly, appearing out of the blackness of the Pacific.  And then we are down, no flames, always good.  

Taipei is one of my favorite airports.  Big, civilized and well laid out.  My newest discovery was an outdoor smoking patio.  With three hours to kill I smoked a short cigar and chatted with a Montreal Ex-pat living in Saigon.  I love conversation with old Asia hands.  And yet more of the "What insanity are you Americans up to..."  I remain at a loss to explain it.  

Now it is time to drink coffee, watch the antics in the food court, and then saunter to my next flight.  A short hop to Bangkok.  The only grueling part of this trek will be lugging my bags throught the Sky Train and Metro to my super-secret lair in China Town.  I am packing far heavier than normal as I am schlepping more stuff back to Vienna.  Bad plan in a monsoon city, but it can't be helped.

So it goes.  The flying, the travel basics, all this feels normal to me.  I am back to what I am good at.  Next stop, rainy-season Bangkok.  As ever, Ciao for Now!

A Glimpse West

And I find myself under the glow of Mount Rainier.  "Curiouser and Curiouser," said Alice.  To go around the world, one simply has to keep going in one direction long enough.  Eventually one will end up more or less at the starting point.  So it is with me.

Vienna to Seattle, fifteen hours (who's counting) and into the waiting brotherhood of my circle of Seattle friends.  This was followed by a dash south to Tucson to see the Genetic Envelope and the Maternal Unit.  No closer to the end of the circumnavigation of the globe, I headed back north, stopping in the Sierra of California for some decompression time with friends.  

Back in Seattle, I helped a friend build a deck (What do you think Mr. N?  Was that downplayed enough?).  Why I did this is a mystery yet to be explained.  

The rest of the time is a blur of social gatherings with a final retreat to Hood Canal and good company.  In three days I jump onto the next leg off the journey, heading ever west.  After losing a day crossing the international date line, I will set foot to Bangkok pavement on Thursday.  My One arrives on Friday and we will then, in short order, disappear into eastern Thailand, the quiet of Isaan.  

Carve this.

This has been a disjointed and disorienting month, full of grand reunions with friends and deep pondering over the weirdness of this part of the world.  This is a disjointed blog entry as well, but one has to write about what one knows to be true.  Believes to be true.  Hangs on desperately to what might appear to be true.  

One novel is done and the task of publishing it about to begin.  The next novel is worming its way into my brain, fighting for attention.  I have slept in more strange beds in the last thirty days than I care to remember.  I am repeating the same stories, which is boring and futile, but socially necessary.  Surrounded by friends, I watch the USA slipping further into the theater of the absurd.  It is so very much like watching a slow-motion train wreck playing on a loop of film, over and over.  I simply cannot look away from the madness.  It is analogous to examining an infection on one of my own limbs and having to decide whether or not to lop the thing off to save the body.  Chaos, chaos, accept the chaos.  If the populace is willing to descend into madness, following the Pied Pipers of modern double-speak, I suppose that is one option.  I wish them luck.

Thailand, Thailand, a place to disappear.  I will become an observant traveler once more.  We will celebrate a new life, move forward, move on.  And then we will return to Vienna, Wien, back home.  I believe this trek has become the process of digging up roots and carrying them away for transplantation.  Or not.  Maybe it is just a longer goodbye.  

So, this is it.  I am sorry for your having to tolerate this nonsense.  I have three days to resume, to breathe in, breathe out, write, come back from the bewildering madness that lies so far beyond my control.  There is so much to do, so much to remember, so much to share.  

Details

One of the most frequent questions I am asked by folks in the USA is: "What's different about living in Vienna?" I usually take this to mean "other than the obvious."  The obvious, of course, it that things are old here.  Very old.  Folks were living here a long time before the Romans showed up to build a garrison and that was a very long time ago indeed.  In fact, archeologists using ground penetrating radar have discovered a Roman gladiator training facility just outside Vienna.  Excavation has not begun on this recent discovery, but it illustrates just how long civilization has existed here.

Within walking distance of our apartment, for example, are the Kammerstein ruins (pictured above).  A steep trail up into the Wienerwald will lead you to this site.  Built around 1250 by one of the local dukes, it was burned in the 1300's.  How do you burn a castle?  Set fire to the timbers on the inside and the walls collapse.   The point is, if you wind up and throw a rock in this town, chances are you will hit something that is older than the United States of America.  A lot older.

On my regular walk to the market, I pass buildings that are hundreds of years old, and some that just look hundreds of years old.

 

After living here for awhile, one sort of ignores the massive stone buildings that all of the tourists are busily taking pictures of.  It's a bit of fun, actually.  Ah, yes, ho hum, the Opera building.  Gee, I hadn't given that a second thought.  So when people ask me about the differences between living in Vienna versus the USA, I reckon that they mean the small things.  

Cars are smaller, as are parking spaces.  This is where my soon-to-be father-in-law parks his little car.  It's best to exit the Auto prior to his parking it.

Seriously, lots of things are other than what one would expect.  Here is my very far from scientific list:

Construction sites.  Even on large construction sites, it is fairly typical to see workers without shirts working in short pants.  This is so antithetical to all of the rules I am used to that it is a bit of a shocker to me.  This is simply not done on, say, a union work site in Seattle.

The Dinner Check and Tipping.  Yes, not a city in China.  The general practice for tipping a waiter is a bit off-putting until one gets used to it.  First, getting the bill is no small feat.   The Viennese love to linger and talk, whether over a coffee or a meal.  No decent waiter will ever bring a party the dinner bill without being asked.  In some cases pleaded with.  In fact, the wait staff have a habit of disappearing for a smoke or a brief sexual encounter just about the time your ass is finally falling asleep and you really do want to leave.  I mean, it's been three hours a the same table.  "Bitte, bitte, Zahlung, bitte?"  Once you actually have the bill, the waiter will hover at the table while you do a quick reckoning.  You must tell the waiter what amount to round up to and then he or she will give you the appropriate change.  There is no opportunity for private reflection nor is it permissible to simply leave the tip on the table.  Foreigners consider it hovering.  Wait staff consider it polite.  Adapt to it and do your math quickly.  Ten percent is solid tip.  I always tip higher than the typical Viennese so my regular cafe' folks are happy to see me.

Smoking and Dags.  Everyone in Vienna smokes.  And everyone has a dog.  While this is not literally true, you will soon come to believe that it is true.  As as aside, if you wish to meet a cute Viennese girl, there are lots of them.  This town is full of beautiful women.  If you wish to meet a cute Viennese girl who does not own a dog or does not smoke, good luck.  If you want to meet a girl who neither smokes nor owns a dog, well, I would suggest looking elsewhere.  People in cafes smoke.  Inside and out.  People in cafes bring their dogs.  Inside and out.  Get used to it.  The Viennese think their dogs are a lot cuter than you do.  

Public Transit.  You see, the thing about public transit in Vienna is that it is cheap, reliable, functional, safe, and will take you virtually anywhere.  In the USA, public transit is a last ditch effort to allow the poor some means of getting to work.  Big difference.  I love the U-Bahn.  

Apotheke.  There aren't really any "drug stores" here.  There is DM and Bipa, stores that sell hair color, soaps, shampoos, and shaving cream.  Then there are the Apotheke.  The Pharmacy.  Almost anything that we in the USA would construe as a vitamin, aspirin, pain medication or cold remedy can only be had at the pharmacy, the Apotheke.   Everything is behind a counter and you must queue up to ask the pharmacist for it.  The good news is that many. many things that require a doctor's visit and a prescription are available by simply asking for them.  The bad news is that things like aspirin and vitamin supplements come at a heavy price compared to the US.  

Holidays.  Every third Thursday on alternating weeks is a holiday.  Also second Tuesdays, the odd Monday and then all of August.  While this is not, of course, literally true, you will believe it to be so after a short while.  The Austrians love holidays and have a great many of them, often Catholic Saint's days, which everyone gets off work even if you are a devout atheist.  Cool, huh?  And in August, the town really does empty out, with the locals fleeing to the Adriatic or Italy, abandoning the town to the tourist who flock here in even greater numbers during that month.

Sundays.  Speaking of things being closed, Sunday is the day.  And all holidays.  Stores close on Sundays and holidays.  And I do mean close.  As in not open.  As in grocery stores.  Closed.  Period.  Restaurants, cafes, etc, are open, but forget it if you want to buy a liter of milk.  Some bakeries are open for a short time on Sunday morning.  The exception to the rule is the flower stores, which stay open for the Sunday cemetery visitors.  

This picture doesn't mean anything.  It was just time for a pictorial interlude.

Bread.  Speaking of bakeries, the bread is great here.  When you throw the above-mentioned rock, you are just as likely to hit a backerei as an old building.  Maybe even both with a little luck.  Bread is serious business here and although you can buy the pre-sliced sandwich kind of bread in the stores, I don't see why anyone ever would.  Real, fresh baked bread still seeping warmth through the paper wrapping.  Yes indeed.  Gluten free maniacs, take note:  You will suffer here.

Politeness.  This is a polite society.  When you enter or leave a small cafe' it is considered good manners to great your fellow diners or bid them farewell.   Formal greetings are always required before asking any question.  It can also be a grumpy society, with people ignoring each other on the street.  Greeting passersby with a big grin and friendly greeting can rattle the Viennese.  It's pretty fun.  Make sure you give it a try.  

Water.  No, you are not going to get a glass of water at a cafe'.  Unless you order a coffee and then you will get a small glass of soda or mineral water.  That's just the way it is.  Get used to it.  You're going to have to pay for what you drink. 

Bicycles.  Bicycling is a valid way for Austrians to get from point A to point B.  Bike trails, bike routes, and bike lanes are a ubiquitous part of the transportation system.  Woe betide the errant driver who so much as looks like they may get too close to a bicyclist.  The hard thing about it is getting used to people stopping for me rather than trying to kill me.  The only time I have been yelled at here is when I did not immediately plunge ahead when a driver stopped for me.  Forgive me, unknown Austrian person, I am used to being run down, not stopped for.

So, what is it that I miss about the USA?  Not much, really.  I certainly don't miss strip malls, which are blessedly absent here in Vienna.  One of the things that I do miss is decent corn chips.  The Austrians wouldn't know a decent bag of corn chips if it bit them in their Lederhosen. So, yeah, corn chips.  Upon arrival in Seattle next week, I plan on getting a full one pound bag of my favorite organic chips and stuffing my head into their crunchy salty goodness.  Then I'll start missing the bread.

So there you have it Friends and Neighbors, the little differences between living in the USA and living in Vienna.  Now you know.  As always, Ciao for Now!

Oh, yes, and they have flak towers here.  Bye!