Four squared

Most highschool friends seem to part ways over time, their friendships predominently due to living nearby or going to the same school or having parents work at the same place.  Rarer still are those friends met in early childhood that remain friends in adulthood. And I would venture to say that many of those remain friends purely becuase they have known each other for so many years that they are part of one's life like a sibling or a cousin, or a freckle, and not necessarily someone you would ever meet or connect with if you were to meet them now.

When I was 9 I moved to a new school, which can be a litte traumatic for the average child.  For someone as small and scrawny and painfully shy as I was, starting at a new school was horrendous.  Every part of that first day is still indelibly marked in my brain, and easily accessed should the memory be required.

There was another new student that day, a boy from Quebec, a handsome extrovert.  For some reason, he connected with me and we became friends. Four years later, he moved back to Quebec, and so began a very long, lond distance friendship. We wrote to one another as we grew up, regularly recording our young lives to a sympathetic audience of 1. 

After 14 years of letters, we had a face to face meeting again, along with girlfriend, a sparkling beauty.  Despite our different career paths, we all connected.

More years, more events, some good, some not so good.  I'm in London, they are in Moscow.  Another meeting, this time including my boyfriend Martin.  Connection.

More years, more visits.  Sometimes in Vancouver (we are there by this time of course), but more often where they are, which changes every few years. Moscow, St. Louis, Geneva, Toronto, and now Vienna.

Emails and skype calls are all good across miles and time zones, but it's those face to face contacts that set a friendship in concrete. He and me, her and him, us, she and I, no matter which pairing or combination.  Concrete, I tell you.  Concrete. 

 

 

Even Martin liked it

Having visited Versailles on a few weeks ago, it was too inviting an opportunity not to compare it to the Austria equivalent, Schonbrunn, the Habsburg's summer palace, Austria's most visited sight and a World Cultural Heritage member.

Quite baroque and splendid, it did indeed evoke Versaille's shape and scope if not quite its size.  Empress Maria Teresa was the one who really got the party started, taking it from a glorified hunting lodge to a magnificent palace with beautiful gardens.

Franz Joseph and Elisabeth, or Sisi as she was known, swanned around there, or as much as possible given Mother-in-law Maria Teresa's constant and suspicious eyes. Mozart made his first appearance there at age 6. The Habsburg empire ended here with the forced abdication of Charles 1 on November 11, 1918.

There is a Gloriette,
a fountain,


a lot of large statues,

and both private


and public gardens.
The sun was shining and it was easy to wander and bask.

There's even a zoo, a maze and a labyrinth (the main differnce between which seemed to be one you could see over the hedges at and one you couldn't).

Yeah, yeah, yea,.blah, blah, blah. Architecture, paintings, tapestries, fountains, so what?

What we were really here for was the Strudelshow!

As part of our entry ticket, we were invited to attend the hourly demonstration and tasting of apfelstrudel!

Oh, I'm so sorry. I slipped into German there.  For those of you who don't understand German I was referring to apple strudel!

In a very warm underground bakery we sat at tables to watch two young women make an enormous snake of pastry filled with dense apples flavoured with rum and sugar and cinnamon and raisins. They traded directions in German and English, and at every step brought out examples that they had made earlier.  Gosh, I thought I'd be able to make it in, what, about 10 minutes or so. 

Seriously, after no doubt hours of apple peeling and chopping and hours of soaking the pastry in oil, it is evident that the hardest part, to my mind, is being able to flip the dough over one's forearms and fists so as to stretch it to the desired size without letting it break.  I have a feeling my pastry would end up looking more like Swiss cheese than Austrian pastry!

It was also quite interesting to see them place the dough on a tea towel, before heaping on the dense apple filling.  Rather than trying to roll it (which I have never been able to do without making a horrible mess) they just gathered the ends of the tea towel and flipped it round. Just like that. And there lay a perfect strudel, looking like a small bolster glistening under the melted butter brushed on at the end.

At last we were given our samples. Warm, brown pastry filled with a fragrant centre that did not fall out in a heap in one's hand. Dee-lish.

Even Martin, who is notoriously uninterested in desserts, especially those that include fruit (considered a mere garnish) and who is thus a girl's best friend ("Are you sure you don't want a taste?  Oh, well I guess I will have to eat it myself"), I say even Martin deemed it delicious and ate up his entire piece without once considering to offer me any.

Oh yes, Schonbrunn is worth seeing my friends, yes indeedy.

people-watching

Public trasit is a wonderful way from which to view a city's populace, and vienna has wonderful public transit.  Old trams, new trams, buses up the yinyang, a comprehensive metro system and overground trains - we have taken them all.

And from my various seats and standing positions I have derive a profile of the average Viennese. the vast majority are dark haired and dark eyed.  I don'tknwo why that surprises me, given Austria's history that looked southward:  a Roman town first, much later an empire that stretched southward to include Hungary, and even a decisive battle with the Turks. 

The most striking Viennese are those with dark hair and blue eyes, or blond hair with dark eyes.  But even the blonds with blue eyes seem a darker sort of blond - a silver blong instead of a gold blond if that makes any sense.  Perhaps becuase their skin seems pale and transparent. Not too many roses on these cheeks!

They're all incredibly finely boned - you could cut wurst with their cheekbones - and rather delicate looking, almost wan.  There's a quietness and a wariness.  They take awhile to size someone up, looking over their entire person, and then look away when done, curiosity satisfied.  I used to think Gustav Klimt exaggerated his characters'features, but some of the people I've seen here could walk straight out of one of his paintings.  Even the men, whose delicate features seem almost feminine and catlike.

Smiles are rare, and conversations are short.  Coffee houses encourage thought and study - large poles holding newspapers and journals are available to read over a coffee or two - people spend hours here on their own or in couples and small groups, everyone reading from a different pole. No wonder this country has spawned so many intellectuals and artists, there is an inward quality to everyone here.  A lot of glasses, clothing that is on the conservative side, sensible shoes, hair that requires little effort.  If a movie wanted extras that looked like European academics to fill a background location, a lot of moncy could be saved by just setting up a camera anywhere in Vienna.  Extroverted, outdoorsy types need not apply.

A glimpse of Klimt

1892 was a heck of a bad year for Gustav Klimt.  For starters, his father died of a stroke.  Then his brother and artistic partner Ernst died. On a personal level, there he is, still a relatively young man at 30, having to look after his mother and sister, as well as his sister-in-law and niece.  And on a professional level, it is perhaps even harder. Despite the fact that he had won a Golden Order of Merit award for his contribution to art from the hand of Emperor Franz Josef himself, he was just about to be denied a Professorship at the Academy of Art.

No wonder he joined the Secessionists and became their president.  I would have done the same thing.

Well, no, I would not have done the same thing becuase I have nowhere near the talent that Gustav had, nor half his artistic vision. 

Vienna is all about Klimt.  We spent the afternoon gazing at his Beethoven Ode to Joy freize in the marvelous Secession building, itself a revolution to architecture at the time.  It really is a unique work, and it's wonderful to see it taken in hand and saved from its crumbling state, brought back to this building to be gazed upon by such as us.

His works seem to have been divided into three parcels, with the second parcel at the Vienna Museum, but the most iconic and famous one we saved for last, tucked in a darkened room on the first floor of the Belvedere Palace. 

The Kiss.

Is there anyone who has not seen this image somewhere?  Klimt used gold like no one else, and here is at his best.  He is able to make two bodies out of different patterns but otherwise are indistinguishable from each other, making them incredibly sensuous.  Which of course thumbed his proverbial nose at the conservative officials and society of the day who censored too much leg or back in paintings. 

What I didn't know and found fascinating was the male model he used was himself, and the female model was Emelie Floge, the sister of his deceased brother's wife!  Hmmm.

Actually he never shows much of any man (although the warrior in the Beethoven Frieze is resplendant).  I suppose living with sisters and mothers and daughters made him especially sensitive to the female figure, and he certainly seemed to be appreciative of female beauty in general.  That is, if the legendary large number of affairs he had are to be believed!

But who cares about all that?  Dust to dust, etc. etc. Societies change and what is outrageous in one is casual in another.  What lasts is the art.  And I feel lucky to be here and looking at this, right now. 

Spies in Disguise. Vienna. 2012.

32 degrees.  Feels like 40.

Not exactly what we expected from Austria, even though it is late August.

But we were prepared.  In this line, you must always be prepared.

Our targets were in sight. They look much the same as they did the last time, continents away. 

We have always been able to track them down.  No matter where they go, what job they take, what language they speak. 

After all this time it's easy.  We recognize their furniture, their artwork, their kitchen implements. 

And here in the darkness, under a golden half moon often obscured by clouds, we sit and talk in low voices.  The heat of the evening was interrupted with the odd breeze wafted down from the summer storm beyond the hills, flashes of silent lightning silhouetting the treed mounds.

Behind us is the ferris wheel in the Prater, famous for its part in the film The Third Man"  How ironic that here sits the third man, who has joined us at this time, in this place, merely a boy before. 

Conversation deepened when the candlelight was extinguished, voices more hushed, the information passed more pressing after the earlier chit-chat.  Plans were laid, and so we parted for the night. 

The mission continues.

A Day at Burgh Island - Such Fun!

 

 A 7:30am there is a knock at our door and a waiter brings in a tray of tea and biscoti.

What is the weather like? Darling, look out of the bedroom window to see it's fine.  Lovely! 

view from our window

We dress over tea and come down for breakfast in the room overlooking the causeway.  If it's fine we can sit outdoors but if it's foggy or wet we can get just as good a view from the table.

Tide beginning to wane

Someone must have checked out early

I think fresh squeezed orange today

The tide is beginning to turn, but the tractor is still necessary if anyone wants to get on or off the island.

What to have this morning?  Pancakes and grilled bananas?  Kippers and kedgeree?  French toast and creme fraiche?  A full Devon (i.e., a full English with white pudding as well as black pudding!)?

After breakfast we retire to the lounge and read the newspaper.

We need a bit of exercise so change and go off for a bit of a hike. Maybe along the South Devon coastal path.

Or maybe along the beach as far as the mouth of the river Avon.


The water is a bit chilly!



at the mouth of the river Avon



Beautiful Devon countryside



Must stretch when I can

Or maybe up and around the island itself.  We could have an adventure!

Down to the pool

A tennis court and 2 heli-pads!



Gull Cove!

the trail down to Gull Cove

What do we do now that we are here?



Make an inukshuk of course!

I wonder if Agatha really thought this one through?

No guardrails - I wonder how many children have landed on the rocks

this coast has the flattest, shiniest stones

Speaking of one the rocks - a quick half cider or local ale in the island pub.


A bit of ale at the Pilchard



At the heat of the day it's best to go swimming in the Mermaid pool, essentially an enclosed bit of sea.   Sunbathing too of course, with maybe a book or some conversation with other guests. We wonder aloud which of us will get murdered first.

The Mermaid pool being refilled at high tide



This would be Martin swimming and Jennifer not (too cold!)

A workout in the gym, or working in the library and then afternoon tea on the terrace.  A cream tea of course - this is Devon!

Oh look at the time!  Must dress for dinner!

 

the bar is open!

Cocktails first.  Outside on the terrace? On a bench in the lawn?  Or perhaps the Peacock Bar itself.  I tried a different one each evening.  Martin loves his bloody Mary (anyone know of any other savoury options besides Mary and Caesar?)

Jenny with Tom - Collins that is

a hat trick of Bloody Marys for Martin

This one was good but I can't remember what it is!

and always a slate of canapes. They look tasty don't they?  Ah, but don't forget this is England!


Dinner in the dining room is a black tie affair but really it's whatever you want - and you can never overdress!  Time to bring out the diamonds!

Three different choices of 3 different courses - must keep dinner as interesting as possible!



Lobster mousse



John Dory and crevettes

A sea of aqua salt and oysters on the half shell - a technicolour starter

Monk fish and puy lentils - with yam squits - mmm!



Duck with cinnamon squits

And for dessert - a berry baked Alaska or a local cheese plate?

Berry Baked Alaska



local cheeses

3 chocolate desserts on one plate- delightful!

The band is awfully good isn't it?  Another glass of wine? Thank you darling, I will, and then we must dance.  My feet are positively itching!



The Dining Room

dining room mural

Coffee in the lounge, perhaps a game of billiards and then to bed.  Now what shall we do tomorrow?  A bit of the same?  Oh, yes.  Quite.