Author: Stefan

Do any of our American readers know the British 1990s comedy series “Mr. Bean”? The one with that recurring gag involving the small, blue, three-wheeled car that Mr. Bean keeps pushing out of parking spaces so he can park there himself?

Well. In much the same way that car was Mr. Bean’s “arch-nemesis” this car is mine.

We have five free parking spaces around the corner here. All of them highly sought after. Sometimes, when I come home late at night, I start crossing my fingers in hope for a nearby, free parking spot. Quite often though, that’s not the case. Instead I often see that very car parked there and I catch myself thinking: “Well, after all I’ve obviously reached an age where I’m actually taking occupied parking spaces personally…”. And then I have to laugh, realizing what thought just crossed my adult mind.

Next I think: “Well, today my parking-space arch-nemesis might have won once again. But tomorrow…tomorrow I’ll be on the winning side again!”. And then I have to laugh out loud once more. Because I actually like that guy who owns, drives and likely also parks that car. Because we’re almost certainly going through the same thing. And because we both drive cars that are more than twenty years old.

Well actually…actually I’d love to meet the driver of that late ’90s Toyota Corolla in person one day! The person who put that wonderful and homemade “Made in Japan” sticker on it. Maybe he or she is as crazy with aged cars as I am? Just for a short, light-hearted chat about our two Japanese cars and of course the eternal hunt for free parking spaces over here. Yes, that would surely be a totally funny encounter.

WRC2+7C7 Gmunden

Yes, that’s very true. Undoubtedly. This is certainly not a sandwich.
Yet again I was too impulsive to end up in that little prop misstep.

But what’s the idea behind this obvious mislabeling? And why do I and my blogpost seem so oddly fixated on sandwiches in general?

The answer is this: I want to introduce you to a topic that has been vividly living my head ever since the early days of our blog, one that personally fascinates me immensely. It’s about how people from different cultures and countries communicate with one another and what unbelievably fundamental differences are existing “out there” when it comes to exchanging sensitive matters or feedback. So what’s out there to be discovered? I mean, besides that more or less commonly known Sandwich method of delivering feedback?

The origin of my fascination lies in the stories of an Austrian friend who, many years ago, began studying and working at Edinburgh’s university. She would repeatedly supply me with vivid anecdotes in which her very Austrian way of collaborating collided wildly with how the Brits and Scots are used to communicate with each other. Her honest and humorous, yet very direct and unvarnished way of giving feedback caused quite a bit of “transnational perplexities”, since in the United Kingdom understatement is the way to go when it comes to “serving criticism”: often it’s kept under the hood. a secret. if it’s expressed then it’s done in extremely indirectly and in a very, very polite tone. To let the reader’s know: that’s something highly nerve-racking for us Austrians.

In Japan I had another “awakening”. There everything revolves around harmony. A direct “no” is often a general taboo. The maximum level of critical expression is to remain in silence. Something that is perfectly normal there, but something that is, once again for us Austrians, deeply unsettling and easily perceived as ignorant or lacking appreciation.

In India, so I was once told, critical feedback is prefered to be delivered in a very metaphorical way: by telling stories. Instead of confronting a person directly, a story is told whose moral reflects the current situation.

In France, on the other hand, such an approach would probably often lead to maximum outrage, since debating with one another there is seen as a sign of personal engagement and genuine interest and respect.

Isn’t it a terribly complex world we are living in? In my opinion it is – but that variety of so fundamentally different approaches is also something very beautiful for me.

And what about the U.S.? What’s the culture of delivering sensitive feedback there? A question for yet another curious conversation with Sarah.

 

2M3H+2F Vöcklabruck

There, in the distance. On the left.
Legend says that it’s not just a simple mountain ridge.
It’s an enchanted, sleeping Greek woman. Long ago, she fell into disgrace with the almighty mountain king, who then decided to turn her into stone.

Nothing is mentioned about how long that sleep will or has to last.
And sometimes I wonder: Ever since that fateful incident – has she been waiting to be awakened – all this time?

 

WQ8X+XPV Gmunden

Errand-driven, haste, time management. It’s Christmas. City centers feel like surging flood channels. Anything goes: letting yourself be swept along, being carried with it, becoming part of it, being washed up at the waterkant of commerce, stepping out still. Earlier than usual, I feel tired this year. Queues and big corporations – nope, not this time. I will likely get another simple Bosna this. Eaten standing, outdoors – all while talking casually to strangers who might share a similar attitude about that time of the year. Or not. And remain a solitary gourmand. It’s my choice. And while that spectacle, unfazed, goes on, the decoupled me does some more thinking about love in general – entirely independent of that whole Christmas frenzy.

 

873Q+J7 Linz

There’s this dear, elderly woman in the nursing home where I work.
She walks around a lot, is forgetful, and finds it hard to settle down and rest. Additionally, she is one of those people who fall frequently – sometimes several times a day. I hardly need to explain that this often goes along with a great deal of work and much worries.

Therefore, the nursing team has initiated the following measures:
To improve her walking safety, we provided her with a rolling walker. In case she can’t find it, we highlighted it in bright colors to make it more visible. We also made sure she has good shoes – ones that fit well, have a solid sole with good grip, and that she actually enjoys wearing. For the not-so-unlikely event that she takes them off anyway, we gave her some “sticky socks” – so that she can still move around safely even without shoes. We also removed all tripping hazards from her room and improved the lighting conditions there, especially at night. Throughout all of this, we involved her husband as well, so that as many people as possible can keep reminding her how important it is to keep those things in mind and not fall – or at least not fall so often.

And then there are such moments like it happened last Saturday…when I saw these wonderfully mismatched pair of shoes innocently standing there, right next to her bed. I started laughing because it made me realize about just how little influence I – or we as a care team – actually have on her and that whole situation in the end. That control is often nothing more than an illusion. And that people, or life itself, somehow always find their own way – despite all the well-intentioned advices.

Above all, what matters most is that I somehow like this lady even more now. Because of her innocent and deeply human “punk attitude.” Apparently, she may not have been able to find much rest last night but instead she found two wonderfully different shoes from the “very fall-friendly” section of her shoe collection.

That, too, is one way love can look (yes, this topic keeps holding my hand).
That love can take deeper root – especially when people don’t follow even the most urgent advice.

 

2XWJ+F4 Eberstalzell

 

Come with me. Let’s sit secretly under a blanket and talk. Softly, intimately, maybe with a little pocket lamp.

Let me sincerely ask you a question. One I always carry with me, but which sometimes drifts into a more prominent light.
Why is it so easy to talk about the weather, food, work, or, let’s say, car brands?
But why is it so often so difficult to talk about something as personal as love and affection?
I mean: just as casually, just as openly – only with some more respect for the topic itself – and for each other. Of course, love… well, there’s so much more at stake with it than with all those other, far safer topics. But still…

So well, “Schatzi”?…What kind of word is that after all?

Well, Schatzi is the Austrian-German equivalent of the English “honey,” “darling,” or “sweetie.” It’s the diminutive form of the German word “Schatz” (in English: the treasure) and one of those terms that’s warmly used throughout Austria, Germany and Switzerland.

 

WQ9X+MH Gmunden

It’s a wedding. Two people found each other. Unfamiliar in one way, yet familiar in another.
A bride, a groom. Families and friends.
It’s all quiet. (except, of course, for a little toddler and two small children.)

And still, people listen within.
Thoughts emerge and get shared — with everyone, but especially with the newlyweds.

It’s intimate, authentic, unfancy — and funny too. (not just for the kids.)

But hey! What’s there? Something I need to say and share as well? Let me listen inside a little longer.

37VX+X8 Maria Enzersdorf

It would be a very intriguing and very unorthodox question to ask the customer service team at the local hardware store:
Is there such a thing as possessed amateur craftsmen? Could there be demons in the paint department? Or other sinister entities that are haunting old furniture?

Honestly — somehow I think such things might actually exist in one way or other.
Like when long-postponed projects start to “grown” in one’s mind over time. When ideas arise that require more effort than expected, ones that can’t be finished in just a few hours but demand proper planning – and thus begin to root deeper in one’s subconscious than something like changing a lightbulb.
And then, when the object of one’s project happens to be something that’s always in view, something that can’t be hidden away for a while — then, in my opinion, the “unholy trinity of a DIY possession” might be complete. That’s when certain tasks, work or even creative ideas gradually begin to take on a life of their own – sometimes, as in my case right now, even in my very own dreams at night.

So, what is it all about actually? It’s my old bathtub.
The one whose decades-old red paint has started to peel off for several months now, bit by bit.
The one that strictly refuses to let go of all layers of paint, as it can be seen on above’s picture.
The one that keeps reminding me, every time I pass by, that, contrary to all my hopes and plans, I really will need some electric sanding tools to finally strip off the final red spots there.
At this point, I’m almost waiting for it to start speaking to me in Latin or so 🙂

Well, frustration, unexpected changes of plans and delays aside — once again, maybe out of self-defense, I’m taking it all with a good dose of humor and the realization that I’ll be spending this year’s Halloween with my eerily, red-stained bathtub.

Happy Halloween to all readers!

 

WQ9X+XMC Gmunden

This could have become such an unbelievably exemplary, sprawling, enthusiasm-laden, and of course deeply profound blog article.
Me – being in London again.

It could have been all about pop culture: from David Bowie to the Sex Pistols, to Doctor Who, the Teletubbies up to Monty Python.
Or about history: from the Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell was all through to the present ongoings in the Buckingham Palace and then, with a funny twist, to Samuel Pepys’ truly outstanding and delightful diaries from centuries ago.
Certainly it could have also been politics: from my first visit after Brexit to the legendary yellow press over there – maybe also a few words about Margaret Thatcher – who knows.

But then I decided to take a whole different route and admit that it’s almost shameful how scandalously incomplete even this short list of references to this country, or rather this city, already is.
I thought: why fall into the same old trap and reheat what’s been covered over and over again by more famous and maybe more skilled bloggers?
Why not turn my gaze just a little to the details behind and beside it all?
To those places where life happens too, however absurd it may seem.

And that’s why I don’t want to dedicate this blog post to just any wonderful British thing but explicitly and respectfully to the English contribution to the diversity of window handles in this world!

Some countries open up by lifting parts of the window vertically upward.
Here in Austria, we tilt them open. At the top.
But here, in England, in the heart of Earl’s Court it’s the exact opposite. Windows get tilted from the bottom. Oi! So Glorious! I love it!

FRP2+85 London

Yes, the following blog post may very well be one that’s more of a funky insider’s joke than anything else. More than that, it’s an insider’s joke that likely only relates to German and Austrian people. And going even deeper: mainly to people who, many years ago, loved watching crime shows on local TV – back in the early ’90s, when, at least around here, there was no internet yet, and television was indeed the only medium through which you could experience the latest thrills.

Anyway, back then I always found it a bit suspicious how much airtime was devoted to countless of German crime series. To put this into perspective for any American reader: Austria had two TV channels and Germany had three that lucky Austrians could receive over the air. And every Friday and Saturday evening it felt as if three quarters of those handful of channels were only showing crime shows. Quite phenomenal, really – that apparent public longing to catch at least one villain a week!

Even though I wasn’t (and still am not) a big fan of the crime genre myself, there was one German production that somehow did draw me in from time to time. The show was called “Ein Fall für Zwei” (“A Case for Two”) and revolved around the friendship and cooperation between a defense lawyer and a private detective. The latter fascinated me in particular because he wasn’t the typical good guy or hero – back then I might have learned, through him, was an antihero was. That guy was short and not muscular in appearence, never too proud to spend more time in a pub than planned, and, in what felt like every episode, he’d get involved in a brawl or two. Yet he was always a guy whose rough edges, reliability, attitude, and humor somehow stuck with me. A man who wouldn’t give up easily, who always knew exactly what was unjust, who would not shy away from taking unorthodox paths to outsmart and catch the villain. A man his partners could always count on and who was always addressed by only his surname: Matula.

So the other day, I was driving home from work and couldn’t help bursting out laughing while waiting at a traffic light –  because, of all things, there’s actually a local garden center here that bears the very same name. Realising that it instantly triggeed some old TV memories in my mind and a certain sense of longing too – that today’s world would really need some more guys like him, like Matula.

 

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