Maria, Elizabeth and Me

Accidentally chose a man's wig for Cordi - shhh don't tell her

Call me ignorant, call me culturally prejudiced and insensitive, but I'd never really rated Austria.  I'd never thought to myself "Gee, I really must get myself to Austria, and see where Mozart spent his formative years, while I'm dining on schnitzel and linzer torte".  Not once.  Ever.  I was wrong and foolish.  This place is the shiz you fuckers.  I like it here.  I like it a lot.  It's also good to be out of a hotel.  I'm also aware of how spoilt that sounds, as who doesn't love a hotel?  But all those "hellos" every time you step a toenail outside your room.  People barging in all the time to check the mini bar, clean the room, turn down your bed, put some mints on your pillow, give you some water.....Jeeze, I'm trying to sloth round in my undies people.  Plus every morning you have to get your shit together in a major way before you hit the restaurant for breaky.  Showers, hair, make up (lots and lots), clean clothes.  And then there's the children's-shit-together part which is a whole other level of uselessly pissing around bullshit.  You can't just have them breakfasting in their jim jams, dropping Special K all over themselves like at home.  It's a major operation, and once you get there, hotel breakfasts involve aprons - unless you want to have 'Get Dressed Part II' afterwards.  Bibs just don't slice that mustard these days.  It's full body coverage I need.  You don't want to get your clothes washed at a hotel - 1 pair of laundered child's leggings costs 7 euros.

In the museum quarter - lots of mulled wine drinking going on here

When we moved into our Vienna apartment we couldn't go anywhere for 24 hours.  I had washed every garment the four of us owned, and there was no clothes drier.  Even though we are shacked up across the road from the Opera House, I derived more satisfaction from viewing the piles of clean washing, and that is, in itself, extremely sad and pathetic.  It's been a while since I had a washing machine though - is it sort of understandable?  I must say though, this place is bloody cold.  The novelty of strutting around in my new coat has worn off and I'm back to bitchen about the daily high.  Thank goodness we don't have an entire European winter ahead of us.  How do people cope?  They're out there swanning around  in a couple of degrees looking all happy all the time.  Munching on kartofelpuffen and slugging glühwein (although that in itself could explain a lot).  That mulled wine stuff smells so much better than what it tastes.  But I guess it is warming on the way down, and quickly gets you spazza, and that's what it's all about.

I like this house of colours thingo

Getting her hot chocolate fix

Lipizzaner Horse

But back to Vienna itself.  The city is incredibly beautiful.  That Austrian Empire really hoarded some wealth for quite a considerable time and the effects are staggeringly amazing.  I was moved.  I still am. The shopping is also overwhelming.  We spend hours just wandering along peering at all the wares on offer.  They have gone mental on the Christmas displays as well, and we are just waiting for the day that the giant light displays hanging along the open malls will finally be switched on. There are also a myriad of incredible museums and art galleries.  Sadly we can't do justice to what's on offer.  We are too busy restraining our dwarf-like offspring who are fuelled on hot chocolates.  I'm not sure if it's me (most likely it's the hot chocolates), but they definitely seems more psychotic than usual.  No matter how many activities and fun stuff we do to please them, they revert to their former crappy behaviour within minutes of the pre-mentioned activity finishing. They are like "Queenie" in Blackadder 2 -  childish, mentally unbalanced, and with absolute power.  But like Queenie, they are also very funny.  Humour really goes a long way in redeeming a person.

Us, Prancer, Dancer and The Guvnor

Giddyup Cord

Creepy, deserted, partially open amusement park

Our schedule of activities has been as follows; horse pulled carriage rides through the old city with a driver I was tempted to address as "Guvnor"; pony rides at an almost deserted and creepy old fashioned amusement park.  This place was particularly amazing because they had an authentic old fashioned carousel.  Now in this instance I'm not talking mechanical, I mean actual carriages all in a circle pulled by real horses walking around and around (hard to make out in photo background).  We've been up early watching the Lipizzan (Dancing Horses) do their morning exercises to classical music.  They do them prancing around in an incredible giant hall with  chandeliers all over the ceiling.  We've also had two sessions at the Children's museum - Zoom - one in a giant sandpit (Chalky's waking nightmare) and one sliding through tunnels and fighting babies for toy control in an Ocean display.  Cordi lost to a crawler.  We've strolled endless Christmas markets, where even more glühwein is consumed than usual, and drunk a million hot chocolates.  But my absolute favourite was back to Schönbrunn, where we spent hours in the children's section of the palace.  The wig styling room was a highlight, as was playing in the Royal Nursery with old fashioned toys.  But best of all was the Imperial Princess dress ups from the late 1700s - complete with hoop petticoats, gowns, lace sleeved jackets, wigs, gloves and fans. I was tempted to dress up too in the adults section - until I spotted one of those drab, geeky English mothers really getting into it.  Not quite ready yet to have something in common with English Jill, not quite.....

Really feeling the Princess thing

Really bad tantrum when she had to take it off

Cordi becomes attached to a rag doll in the imperial nursery

Valli works a style in the wig dressing room

She claims she's having fun- I'm just not feeling it

Bounce Chickadee

You wholesome freaks......I love you

Sadly for myself, I've had to abandon my intended trip to Salzburg. It is a drive of 3 and a half hours (at the bare minimum) to get there, and thus the same back.  Plus, my intention of dragging everyone on a bus for a four hour tour of Sound of Music sites just isn't going to wash.  I really am that much of a geek, but Chalky isn't.  My dream of dressing him in a pair of lederhosen with matching braces and a feathered hat into the bargain aren't going to translate into reality - maybe for our wedding?  If he really loves me he'll do it.  I've been doing my research on the real Maria Von Trapp as well, and it's heartbreaking.  I wish I'd never started.  I've found out things that Julie Andrews can never know.  And my grandmother - from her this must be kept a secret forever more.  Namely, the real Maria was actually violent and mean, and she enslaved the children into singing for money once they arrived in the US.  It's too horrible to contemplate.  Sweet little movie Maria is a lie everyone.  A lie.  She didn't even love Baron Von Trapp, and felt disgusted about sleeping with him following the wedding.  Also they didn't flee from the Nazi's, hide in the convent  and escape through the mountains right after winning the National singing contest.

The real Maria.....euuuuugggghhhh

In reality, they left openly by train after they were asked to sing at Hitler's birthday party.  The children weren't called Liesel, Frederick, Louisa, Brigitta, Kurt, Marta and Gretel either.  Also, Baron Von Trapp was really nice and didn't ban singing from the house, so in actual fact, Frauline Maria taught them shit.  Forget Do Re Me, they already knew how to sing.  I am crushed and deluded.   Well all I can say is shove off the real Maria Von Trapp Bitchface.  There will never be any Maria for me than Julie Andrews with her bowl haircut, and feisty but lovable attitude.  An iron has entered my soul today.  Its doubtful I will ever recover.  I will have to watch the entire movie for the 500th time at least 20 more times to clean my mind from this despicable discovery.  I will cry myself to sleep singing Eidelweiss tonight.  Not Lonely Goatheard though - too upbeat.

Chalks will be happy there's more piles of rocks to view

Instead, we may take a shorter journey to Slovakia, where I can perhaps indulge one of my more macabre fascinations.  I have always been interested in the story of Elizabeth Bathory, and upon hearing that her castle was a mere hour away from here, her tale has intrigued me all over again.  I would love a trip to the ruins of Cachtice Castle.  Let me tell you all about it.



Elizabeth Bathory was a Hungarian noble woman who was born in 1560.   She was married to an influential  military man - Count Nádasdy's in 1574.  But upon marrying 14 year old Elizabeth, the Count  took her name.  That says a lot.  She herself, was descended from a rich, powerful and noble Hungarian family, and owned countless property and titles in her own right.  Now this is where it gets interesting.

Erzsebet Báthory

Elizabeth is said to have been the most prolific woman serial killer of all time.  She has been accused of murdering more than 650 young women over a time period of 25 years.  Because the ruling classes had absolute power in those times, it is said that she could treat the peasant classes as she wished.  Well, as she wished was pretty dam insane if historical records are accurate.  There was cruel torture, eventual murder, and what earned her the name "The Blood Countess" was her reported tendency to bathe in the blood of her victims.
This blood bathing apparently started one day when she beat one of her servants and the blood splattered across her her hand.  According to legend, Elizabeth's skin appeared younger where the blood had been.  Thus, it was on for young and old.  The murders were plentiful and cruel.  Elizabeth sourced her victims from the local areas, enticing them to her castle with well paid work.  Some of the methods she apparently used to murder and torture peasant girls are recounted in gruesome detail.  And that shit is sick.  Long periods of constant torture and abuse, burnt genitals, iron hooks, needles, making victims cook and eat their own flesh (what the....?).  Sometimes young women were stripped and taken outside to the snow where they were doused in cold water until they died.  Others were hung upside down and bled so that showers of blood rained down upon Elizabeth.  She was also said to have flown at her helpless victims on occasion, and ripped their flesh with her teeth.  Heartwarming stuff.  She was obviously the motherly type.  Although, finally, it all came to an end.  She was eventually caught in 1610, and her punishment saw her completely boarded up in a room in her own castle (with a hand sized hole to shove food through).  She eventually died after four years.  Apparently the people of Cachtice don't like visitors snooping around the castle, and coming to the town of Cachtice to revel in it's gory chapter in history.  It's not exactly easy to get to either.

Did she, or didn't she?

There is however, another side to this more common, and reported version of Elizabeth's story.  This is not acknowledged by many sources, but I think it is extremely interesting.  Apparently, the King at the time was heavily indebted to Elizabeth - who was the richest most powerful woman around (and we all know how some men hate those strong women types).  It wasn't until Elizabeth's husband's death that these accusations were brought against Elizabeth.  All evidence was gained under the torture of her "accomplices" who were all put to death.  Elizabeth was not able to defend herself, and against her own wishes did not attend her own trial.  She was locked away, never to be heard from again.  There was also the issue of her religion.  She was a Protestant at a time, when the Catholics were trying to rid the lands of them.  Presumably the King didn't have to cough up the bucks he owed her once she was disposed of as well, so that was convenient for him.  Also, there is absolutely no record of any names of the 650 + young girls who met their supposed grisly fate at Elizabeth's hands.  Many of the later victims were also supposed to be daughters of the lesser nobility, sent to Elizabeth for elocution and etiquette  lessons.  It's strange that their names, at least, weren't mentioned in the historical records.
There are reports of the castle being haunted though.  Not by any of the young murdered girls however, but sightings of Elizabeth herself - hands outstretched.  Makes for fascinating speculation.  I feel another historical novel being ordered from Amazon.......

Anyway, if we visit the castle I'll be sure to let you know of my worldwide significant findings, and my evidence that shows that the Blood Countess was set up.

Kind of like gnocchi without the potato

Well I guess I better go and whip up some spätzle for the girl's dinner.  Then I can shove them off to bed and live my life in peace.  And watch Sound of Music (a.k.a The Great Lie).  After all that Blood Countess stuff I need a trip to the land of make believe.....these are few of my favourite things of late; (Please sing along to the correct tune)


My Favourite (Austrian) Things

Kids in pajamas all ready for bed
Hot bubble baths and a bottle of red
Books about Sissi and when Julie sings
These are few of my favourite things

Road trips to castles and sausage in bread
Intriguing tales of countesses now dead
Mass window shopping and gawking at bling
These are a few of my favourite things

When the kids scream
When they shit me
When I'm feeling mad
I simply remember my favourite things and then I don't feel so sad*

*(emotionally sad that is, however, regarding pathetically sad - after actually publicly displaying my song writing skills, I now feel worse).

The only Maria

Sweeeeeeeettttt Suite Dude

No matter how cold it is, they just won't keep those jackets on

Do you copy?  This is Evil Queen Bitchface, coming to you live from her suite.  Yes!  I won I won I won!  I don't even care so much about the room, it's far more the principle.  Although it is a seriously good room, and  I am congratulating myself most heartily on this occasion. Unfortunately, it is in fact my last night here, so in actual fact I did pretty shit.  But I think my dogged determination to get a freebie is a big turning point in my life.  I look forward to many more.  I've been trying to analyse my turn around.  I think it's basically this.  Before, I really wanted your average stranger to like me, to think I was a swell gal.  The over friendliness, the putting myself last, the "they look too busy to ask for another coffee" attitude to life.  That shit is over.  Now I don't care if they all hate me, I want my cappuccino hot you fuckers,  HOT.  And not reheated in the microwave.  A new one.  NOW.

do your jacket up you little minx

Not again!

Vienna has grown on me.  Initially I was really feeling the Italian/Austrian difference, and not in Austria's favour.  I missed the warm character and enthusiasm of the Italians.  And of course, the general atmosphere.  I also missed the coffee, and surprisingly the filth.  Austria was so clean,  it's people so cool.  Bordering on snooty.  Now I'm growing fond.  I forgot how nice it was not to have to engage with everyone you passed by.  It's also a great improvement that there are toilet seats on every toilet.  That's one thing I forgot to discuss about Italy.  Where are all the fricken toilet seats?  From Venice to Sicily, all you get is a rim.  For me it's ok, those upper thigh muscles need the workout that comes with doing the hover.  But for my three year olds.  That shiz don't fly.  I think I've seriously done my back in from holding them over the bowl.  Plus I've copped a significant amount of urine on my hands (Just when you thought those days were finally over.....).  One of them hates the Mummy-held-hover, so I must clean down that filthy rim with anything I can get my hands on, before her pure little backside presses into it.  But I couldn't help but wonder about the mystery of  Italy's toilet seats.  In my opinion, it's a right, not a privilege to have somewhere to sit.  Even if you have to craft yourself a little layer seat of toilet paper over the real seat so you don't get AIDS, I still want a seat dam it.

It was in the train station next to the Vatican that I finally discovered what happened to Italy's toilet seats.  I couldn't believe my eyes, there were actually seats in some of these toilets.  However they seemed to be sort of rotting away.  On further inspection it seemed that the seats were made of a woody cardboard sealed in a kind of vinyl material.  However, this wood-like substance had began to expand and burst through the outside vinyl sealant.  Thus exposed, the toilet seat began it's descent towards oblivion.  It all became clear.  Once there were toilet seats throughout Italy, but over the passing sands of time they had all since disintegrated into nothing, and nobody had bothered to replace them.  Why bother when they will just become sawdust once again.......Although you could say the same thing about showering, and also wiping your bottom......

Guten Tag Little Rats

Yep, Austrian toilets sure are clean, so are the streets and the public areas in general.  The people are impeccably dressed, but in my opinion, lack that flair for looking simultaneously scruffy and amazing that so many stylish Italians have.  There aren't many fatties here though.  The older ladies are bringing it home with tight butts in leather pants.  That seems to be the dress code at this hotel.  So far I've noticed that the only people staying here seem to be gangs of mature women cackling in the corners, and groups of business men browsing newspapers.  Not one child.  I feel a little embarrassingly out of place.  Especially considering the table manners my little sweeties possess.  Thank god I like them again though (my children, not their table manners).  This blog was going to start off in this type of vein;
"Children take everything good in your life and trash it.  Actually they take everything good in the world and shit all over it and then make you eat it".
That's pretty child hating stuff right there.  I guess that happens when you suddenly become a single mum in a country full of pricks.  But of course I'm not a single mum.   No where near it.  In times like this, I really get down on my knees (figuratively of course, the floors are a bit dirty) and give all those mums admiration.  How on earth do they do it every single bloody day?  I'm exhausted after three.  Luckily for me and them (mostly them), the hatred for your offspring doesn't last long.  It must be built-in biological default program.  As before you know it, you're posting 130 pictures of them on facebook and telling funny stories to anyone who'll listen, about how one led her "dog" through the streets on a "lead"(jacket belt) today.  She refused to answer to "Valli",  and would only bark in reply to her dog name that Cordi invented.  The "dog" kept stopping to sniff things.  I shut the game down after "Dorius" ate a piece of bread off the street and sniffed an actual dog's piss on a pole.  I'm serious.  People were staring anyway, and upon viewing that little display, their amusement soon turned to horror.  I became a target for scorn due to child negligence. And breeding grotty little freaks I guess.

You will see the palace, you will pose in front of the palace, and you will love the palace

7 year old Marie Antoinette in 1762

I tried to get the girls out of our previous tiny room as much as I could, and took them off to do activities.  It's always so much more effort than what it's worth.  How much do they complain about everything?  It's phenomenal.  And they always over-react.  A high pitched screech sounds out - you run from the bogger with your pants around your ankle to be greeted by "I can't get my shoe off".  Fuck you kid.  We did see some sights of Vienna though.  A trip to the Schönbrunn Palace (which was the summer palace of the royal family of Austria from the mid 1500s until 1918) was a pleasant outing.  I even managed to get the girls to hold it together through 40 rooms of restored palace treasures and furniture.  I was loving it.  I saw the room where a 6 year old Mozart had given a performance to Marie Antoinette and her mother in 1762.  Having visited Versailles before, and always being fascinated by the French Queen's life at court, as well as her downfall - which of course led to her eventual beheading at the hands of the revolutionaries, I was losing my load to see where Marie Antoinette grew up with her fifteen brothers and sisters.  They have done some incredible restoration work there, and you can see tables set in the dining rooms and all the furniture, the beds, bedspreads, the paintings, the ballroom.....What a history nerd I am. Love it.  I am also dragging the girls into my obsession as there is a part of the palace where children can dress up as royal princesses and set an imperial table for dinner.  It was closed for our visit, but never fear I will be back within the week to have them play "Queenie".  Oh, and after four days in Austria, I totally get why poor old Marie Antoinette supposedly said "let them eat cake" - The cakes here are insane.  INSANE.  And everywhere you look is cake.  The breakfast buffet is jammed full of it, and the streets are packed with cake shops.  The girls keep licking the glass in front of the displays in these shops.

But despite Marie Antoinette being a royal princess of Austria, The Austrian royal of the moment, is the Empress Sisi (Elizabeth) who was Empress from 1854 until 1898.  There is Sisi crap all over the joint. The girls have Sisi colouring books, and I eyed off the Sisi "violet chocolates" in the supermarket tonight.  Apparently candied violets were her faves.   I even bought myself an historical novel about her.  Briefly I will outline a few interesting facts;

A 14 inch waist needs some serious corsetry

Sisi was the daughter of Duke Maximilian Joseph of Bavaria. He was an amateur zither player (a musical instrument like a sitar), who once climbed the Great Pyramids. He forced a group of his servants to climb behind him, yodelling, so he could pretend he was climbing the Alps. He returned with three severed mummies’ heads and a group of children he bought at the Cairo slave market.  Must have been an interesting homelife for young Sisi.

When she was 15 she married her cousin and became Empress.  She was obsessed with her beauty and in order to preserve it, she slept upright in a steel frame, while wearing a leather mask on her face.  This mask had slabs of raw veal underneath, pressing onto her skin.  She also slept in clothes that were soaked with vinegar.  Mmmm..... nothing like the smell of vinegar and raw meat to give you a sound slumber.   Not to mention being upright and strapped to metal bars.  Sisi also had a gym installed in the palace, and did her exercises compulsively for hours everyday - this was in the 1800s remember, ladies did NOT sweat.  She had extremely long hair (down to her ankles), and after her hairdresser finished arranging it (for three hours daily), the terrified woman had to present any hairs that had fallen out in a silver bowl to the reproachful Sisi.  She rarely ate, and if she did, it was the juices squeezed out of meat, and sometimes milk and eggs.  She was completely obsessed with remaining thin and was horrified by fat women.

The Empress was a bit of a tragic figure.  Obviously mental, and often depressed. She had poor health and travelled excessively, being constantly away from her husband and children.  Later, her only son was involved in a suicide pact with his 17 year old mistress, and his death devastated Sisi, and is said to have been the beginning of the collapse of the Austrian monarchy.  If that wasn't enough, poor Sisi was stabbed at the age of 60, by an anarchist with a small sharpened file.  Her wound was so little, that blood leaked out of the tiny hole in her heart before anyone realised something was up. Her last words were reported to be "It is nothing".

None of this was eluded to in the Sisi colouring books I bought the girls...It was all about the horse riding and outfits......hmmmm.  Still stuck on the veal slabs in the leather mask while encased in a steel frame????? Me too.  It's very Hannibal Lector. Imagine if you were a palace guest and took a wrong turn into her bedroom on the way to the toilet.

I know I put my meat mask around here somewhere

Let's see, what else have we been up to.  Sausage eating.  Horse viewing - no carriage ride yet, but it's on the cards.  They pull real glass coaches.  See, this is the great thing about having children.  You get to do all the lame activities you would never be caught dead doing, and pretend it's all for them.  The other good thing is that whenever you need to go to the toilet you just barge into a cafe or hotel with one of them in your arms and say "Please, my little baby girl needs to use the toilet" with a look of desperation in your eyes.  They never refuse, or try and make you buy a drink or anything.  Just as long as the girls don't pipe up with "No I don't Mummy, you need to". It will happen.  I dread that day.   Rightio, what else? Ah yes - the imperial zoo at the royal palace.  Reported (by itself) as the "World's Greatest Zoo". However, it was, in fact, your typical crap zoo.  Basically it sucked and you leave with a heavy heart about seeing the elephants freezing their trunks off and wandering round in their own filth.  Why do I do it?  What an idiot. That's why zoos are still in business.  The girls enjoyed seeing a little red squirrel hunting through the leaves next to the cages far more than any of the animals. Elephants really stink you see.

Fish just don't inspire much sympathy do they?

Yesterday we visited the Butterfly Gardens.  The girls seemed so excited before we went in.  Once we got in though and the huge things were flapping around them, they were screaming their bloody heads off and chasing them, trying to slap them down.  It didn't bode well with the other butterfly enthusiasts, who were relaxing on wicker chairs and revelling in the experience.  Plus it was a million degrees in there.  The sweat was running, even though the coats had long since been off. I was carrying all coats, scarves and hats. When you're unprepared for it, that level of heat can really mess with your enjoyment of the moment. Why don't they mention the temperature issue in the tourist information?

I'd promised that butterflies would land on their heads.  Right now seriously pissed off it didn't happen

When we finally made it home. we were blocked from the door by a huge group of Palestine supporters having an anti-Israel rally.  They were really going for it.  They even had a bit in English that I could chant along to if I so desired.  It went something like this "Let Palestine be free, from the rivers to the trees"  Or was it seas?  It was enormously loud, and basically their message was "Fuck Israel.  Israel Sucks".  While it sounds like they are simply saying "Free Palestine", and your average person is like "Freedom? Yeah I can dig that"; what they are really saying is, "blow Israel off the face of the earth then we can have all the land from the rivers to the trees/seas".  Apparently it was a "Day of Rage" though, so I was expecting the Molotov's to be brought out again.  But it filtered away to nothing.  Call that rage?  Pathetic.  At least break a few shop windows, get arrested, something.

Shut up chanters.  I'm trying to read about Sisi's meat mask

Anyway, because yesterday was a day of sobs, it put me off doing much today, and as I said we had this suite that I wanted to make the most of.  Made myself a few nespressos, put my feet up on the glass table.  Watched everyone go past from the giant balcony, all freezing their stubby little noses off.  There was even an X-box with all Disney games and stuff to keep the girls occupied.  I've never used one before.  It was extremely entertaining watching them swing their arms, trying to hit rubber chickens into giant purple bubbles, and brush panda bear cubs with funny patting motions.   But Papa is back tomorrow, and we move out of this glorious short lived pleasure into an apartment.  We have decided to stay put for a little while and spend 10 days in Vienna.  Driving around and visiting place after place is brilliant, and of course an incredible privilege.  But sometimes all you want to do is stay home where it's warm, and eat cake.  And do your washing.  Oh gawd the washing.  Besides, if I don't get out of this hotel soon, the masses will turn on me and it really will be off with her head.  I can feel popular resistance building. The trays of treats have stopped coming to our room.  The manager ignored me at breakfast this morning.  The bitchface stare is losing it's power.  The Queen's short-lived, yet brutal reign of tyranny is coming to a close.  I must say though, it's been great while it lasted.

Can you believe the rolls are this big. Obviously the pigeons scored that afternoon

Ciao for Now

Cord goes all Vatican

Absolute power for 21 years and still can't crack a smile

Is there anybody who visits Italy that comes away not loving it?  I would find it hard to believe.  What's there not to love.  Apart from Mussolini I guess.  And even if there is something you dislike, never mention it to an Italian.  Even more so if it's anything about the food.  They will injure you.  I actually felt really miserable about leaving Italy on the day before we went. Who knows when we'll be back.  It's been such a good good time here for the last two months.

We had an intense drive from Venice to Rome, most of it in the dark accompanied by pelting rain and lightening.  We arrived at 1.30am.  Nasty.  We stayed at a hotel that was actually part of an Arab chain (whatever you do, don't mention Israel).  It was new and shiny, and lacked the typical ornate shabbiness many old school Italian hotels specialise in.  Our last couple of days were spent shopping for a new suitcase so we could deal with the issue of looking like a pack of gypsies.  I had open supermarket bags spilling dirty washing, sticker books and toys as part of our glamorous luggage set.  As we surveyed the grottiness of our possessions, which were sitting in the lobby in Florence a few nights before, we couldn't help but notice that every passerby had a look of disgust on their face upon glancing in our general direction.  Thank god nobody tripped over any of it.  I wouldn't have been able to take the embarrassment of helping someone pull my un-laundered "high pants" off the heel of their Gucci pumps.

God really is watching

See - a lot of effort went in here

And in addition to a little bit of last minute buying, we also made it to the Vatican City, where Chalky could defile his heritage so that I could soak up the Sistine Chapel.  We fucked it up though, and it closed just as realised that we took a wrong turn into St Peter's Basilica.  St Peters was a bit of alright though.  All in the name of the lord (should that be a capital "l"?).  Those religious types were so keen to impress weren't they?  Are any new churches being built these days, and if so, do they put that much effort into it?  I don't think church decor is what it used to be frankly.  Standards have slipped.  Inside the Basilica, Cordi started doing a sort of thrusting dance to the church music.  Not sure if that counts as disrespect.  It wasn't on the chart at the door that tells you what you aren't allowed to do, so she was probably in the clear.  To shift attention from the dancing (Valli had joined in with a spinning dance and kept falling over with a really loud "OHHHHH" which echoed), I showed the girls some nuns doing their prayer thing.  They started screeching "Where are the MUNS??"  "Why's that MUN wearing that white thing on it's head???". Forget I said anything you unsubtle little bastards.

Your average nun or monk always looks so out of place in the outside world.  You always think "I wonder what kind of church-ish thing they're up to".  But not in the Vatican.  Priests saunter round like they painted the Sistine Chapel themselves, while gangs of nuns seem like the cool kids on the block.  It's their world in there, and they are not afraid to act like it while the rest of us fumble round and get refused entry from the prayer zones.

Maybe the Pope had toilet paper stuck to his shoe during his address

I've never seen a priest look this relaxed

We had a final incredible meal on our last night in Rome.  Chalky had chosen a place very close to our hotel, but devoid of tourists.  Except for us.  We were getting death stares because we had our children out so late (and they were grubby, really grubby - they had black stuff on their faces that I hadn't noticed until we were in bright lights).  But worse than that, was my footwear.  I had just had a free pedicure at the hotel and didn't want to destroy it, so was wearing those thongs they give you.  I didn't know we were going somewhere special.  There were so many dirty looks in the direction of my feet.  Although appearing casual on entry, it was, however, an eating establishment where everyone was dressed like they were expecting the queen.  The girls kept needing to go to the toilet, so I had to do the walk of shame to the back of the restaurant several times.  The man sitting behind us actually looked down at my twinkle toes and made an "euuuugggghhhhh" face.  All I can say is thank goodness I removed those bits of tissue they put between your toes.  I nearly wasn't going to. Though at least the tissue would have explained the thongs I guess.  Instead of just thinking I was lacking in style and self respect.   Great meal though.  Of course.  At least now we've left I can get on with trying not to split the seams on my wedding dress.  Italy is not the place to try and exert will power when it comes to the food.  You will fail spectacularly.

I got you to the airport- what's your problem?

Our taxi ride to the airport was appallingly terrifying.  I was so glad I'd been to the Vatican right before the day of my anticipated demise.  There could have been some leniency there.  The driver was driving as fast as he possibly could in thick traffic.  He was swerving in and out of cars at such a high speed, that it would have taken one tiny unanticipated lane change from a fellow driver, to see us compacted into a small cube of metal.  I couldn't watch.  I didn't want to see my last moment coming and be unable to do anything about it.  All the while he was doing this crazy driving shit, he was coughing his guts up.  I mean he was really working the gorby extraction hard.  In between gorbies, he was also giving Chalky (who was sitting in the front) a detailed explanation of some of the buildings on the outskirts of the city.  I spent my time mentally willing him to put both of his hands back on the wheel, and both eyes on the road.  I've never been more relieved to arrive at a destination.

Upon arriving in Vienna, I said goodbye to my sweetheart.  He had to go and keep the show running at a business conference in Budapest.  Right now he is shacked up with a bunch of computer nerds talking hardware.  I wonder if they do activities at this conference.  At one such event he went to, in Denmark, they all had to break into groups, and row long boats around a moat while wearing Viking horns.  They also had to fight each other with clubs (encased in fabric so the nerds wouldn't cry for their mummies....not you Chalky and Simon).  Then they had a feast at a long table afterwards.  I think mead and goat was on the menu.  I've been to Budapest once.  Just for a night.  We went out to dinner with a friend and his Hungarian girlfriend and told them we wanted to try the local cuisine.  It was suggested that I order a turkey leg stuffed with chestnuts and smothered in cherry sauce.  It was quite possibly the worst thing I have ever put in my mouth.  I actually feel sick when I recall the flavour.  Basically if you're going for the food, I'd suggest McDonald's.

Out of my way knobs....

But anyway, here I am in Austria on my little old lonesome for four whole nights.  As the rat pack went nutty on the plane, all I could do was whimper to Chalky "Please don't leave me with them".  He laughed.  I wasn't joking.  He left me with them anyway.

My very first impressions of Vienna  =  extremely clean and orderly at the airport; hideous scenery from airport to city.  The worst collections of smoke spewing factories I have ever accounted.  There were so many of them.  What the hell does Austria manufacture anyhow?  They can't all be making sausages.  Upon getting into the city, the building are pretty and the streets are clean.  The driving is normal - ie. I no longer feel as though I'm going to die and/or kill someone.  The taxi couldn't make it to the door of the hotel as it was across a huge central plaza - pedestrians only.  I was in shock.  I had the majority of the luggage and there was no chance in hell I would be able to move even half of it alone.  I had to abandon children and all worldly possessions, and make a sprint for the doorman at the hotel's door.  I was praying the driver didn't have connections in a child smuggling ring (again counting on my Vatican trip here for help).   There was nobody there.  When I got back to the taxi,  the dude had already unloaded all my stuff onto the pavement - complete with both children still strapped into car seats,  Valli was asleep, Cordi was howling.  I had to convince the driver to help me to the hotel (with ten euros of bribery), and then wake Valli up for the walk.  Now she was howling too.  Between the two of us we carried/wheeled 2 large suitcases, 2 small suitcases, two car seats, two sobbing three year olds, a handbag and a large kids accessories bag, for 100 metres through crowds of people.  Not great.  As we got to the door, the doorman walked passed and simply said "Reception is on 6th floor".  WHAT??  FUCK!!!  So I said to the doorman "Aren't you going to help me with the bags?" .  He ignored me.  The taxi driver had dumped and split, so I had to try and get everything into the lift and up to the 6 floor, and then unload it all by myself.  Valli and Cordi were now screaming their heads off.  I was sweating with fury.  I really let them have it at the front desk.  It was actually an enjoyable rush.  Thank god I don't have any real form of power, I would abuse it so badly.

The Austrians do cake very very well

Anyway, there was a lot of sucking up, sending of champagne,  bowls of strawberries with chocolate pots for dipping, and plates of cakes to the room.  The kids went mental with joy.  I was unmoved.  As I said before - I'm trying to undo two months of food related damage from Italy, and not usually into sitting in the dark by myself drinking cheap champagne after the girls have gone to bed.

This morning I asked to see the manager about a couple more of my "grievances" - namely the dreaded drilling noise pounding into the walls for an hour the night before, and being given a voucher for afternoon tea in a crowded bar filled with people smoking (would have loved it when I was 20, but these days I just can't bring myself to let the girls eat sandwiches through a haze of tobacco).  When we came home today, there was more cakes and nuts and chocolates with sucking up notes stuck to them.  But fuck that.  I am going all the way.  I asked for a free room upgrade this morning and while I was told it was not possible and have been given a free dinner in the restaurant, I will not rest until that upgrade is mine.  I'll also take the dinner too thank you very much.  See, I told you the power has gone to my head.   I am on a relentless mission for freebies and special treatment.  Chalky has trained me well.

I, however , will take it much further.  The evil queen will bend her subjects to her unusually heartless desires, and will not rest until supreme power had been achieved, and nobody dares to stand against her.  That will only be the start of my campaign of terror.  All people shall fear and love me, or feel my wrath as I lay vengeance upon this once prosperous land and crush all those in my way with unspeakable acts of violence and bloodshed.  My name shall be on the lips of those who die at my hand, and in the hearts of those who I allow to live in order to spread my glorious name...........Or, they could give me a room upgrade.  It's up to them..........

My bestest bitch face ever

Venice Underwater

Grand Venice

There is no doubt about it.  Venice is a unique and wonderful place.  The mere idea of it seems unbelievable - an ancient city, floating on water.  No roads, only boats.  Historical buildings, treasures, incredible beauty and character. The history of it is fascinating.  It started as a Roman city, because it came into existence as residents from nearby Roman towns fled from Hun invaders and escaped to the swamp lands.  The exact year is unknown.  However, the first church is said to have been dedicated in 421AD.  And so, out of the swamps, this remarkable city began.

More immigrants entered in the 568, and from the 9th to the 12th century Venice developed into a city state.  It also became the wealthiest city in the world for a considerable time.  This was solely because Venice controlled all trade routes coming through Europe, the Middle East and Asia.  The incredible architecture and interiors of the churches, piazzas and palaces all reflect an enormously wealthy city.  That was until Christopher Columbus brought the Americas into the equation, and the Portuguese navigated a new trade route around the Cape of Good Hope - remember Magellan from school history class - the one with scurvy who ate rats and leather when supplies ran out?   Following this, Venice's influence began to wane, and it's wealth began to fade.  Although it remained an exporter of agricultural products, it was no longer the wealthy centre of world trade.

The four images above were taken at 6am before tourists (by Chalky - as if I'd get up then)

Mock funeral 2009

And this is how Venice appears today - a once rich and vibrant city frozen in the past.   Wandering through the streets alongside canals, walking over bridges, and boating along it's grand canal and waterways, you feel as though you are in one huge museum.   There are certainly the tourists to prove it's attractiveness to the gawker in all of us.  Twenty million people spill into Venice each year.  The streets are jammed packed with tour groups and visitors from every nation of the world.  Absolutely jammed packed.  And it wasn't even high season when we were there.  In fact, there are so many tourists, and Venice is so attractive to foreign investors, that very few Venetians live in Venice anymore.  Most of the population has moved to the mainland.  Residents held a mock funeral for the death of their city in 2009, when the population numbers declined to under 60 000.  Shops essential for day to day living have long since been replaced with stalls selling Venetian masks, coloured glass trinkets and Pinocchio marionettes.   Despite the media attention Venice's "funeral" attracted, nothing was done.  The tourists keep on flowing, and the residents are pushed further and further out, as yet another historical home becomes a B&B.

Another bunch of suckers shell out 100 euros for a gondola ride

Don't do it, please don't do it!

Venice is frequently referred to as the World's most beautiful city, and also the most romantic city.  It is both of these things.   Even when you are shoved out of position by Russians wearing carnival masks while you're trying to gaze out over the Rialto Bridge you still get misty in the eyes.  Even when your daughter is sticking a chewed up piece of sausage in your hair whinging "I don't like it" while you're trying to admire an incredible facade, Venice affects you.  It is so incredibly photogenic, so special that you want to capture it in your mind's eye forever.  Which explains all the visitors.  There is so much to see there, so many things of beauty, art and culture to gaze upon, so that it's impossible to get round all the wonderful places in a mere three days.  And if you just want to wander the streets, that is sometimes more enjoyable.

Walk you little terrorists, walk

Oldest teahouse in the world - nearly 300 years of operation

Venice back streets

We gave it a good try though.  And I thought we were extremely optimistic dragging a couple of three year olds around palaces and museums.  Surprisingly, they were amazingly well behaved.  It also helped that I finally discovered the secret weapon, beloved by parents for generations, who are skilled in the art of child control.  Santa Claus.  I now completely understand why parents made up the big fat gift giver, and even more so why they keep it running for as long as they can.  I remember when Angie Boden dealt the crushing blow to my parents by filling me in on the Santa Claus thing.  My Mum even denied it, so desperate was she to keep some sort of control over me.  It was no use.  The death knell had been sounded.  The jig was up.  I clearly remember my fury.  Not that Santa wasn't real, but that I'd been good for so long for absolutely no reason at all.  By god I was pissed off at my parents.  These days of course it all makes sense.  Just one threat to call the "Christmas Father" and tantrums and tears are transformed to sweetness and smiles.  It's addictive.  Apparently these days I have the big fella on speed dial, but I suspect I may have gone too far.  Every time I picked up my phone they start screaming "Noooooo Mummy Nooooooooo, I'll be good I promise".  It's a little embarrassing.  I started singing them "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" the other day.  That song is evil.  It was obviously written by a parent who was completely over the little prick they brought into the world.  How about the bit that goes "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake" - that's pretty creepy stuff really.

Looks cute?  She's just shoved her sister out of the frame - see the stink eye?

Cordi - making the most of centre stage

Anyway, armed with Santa on speed dial, and a handful of mini mints from the hotel bowl at concierge, we were able to do grown up activities, instead of spending three days buying Pinocchio puppets, re-tying on masks, eating gelati and sitting in tourist pizza restaurants like many other poor suckers we spotted.  What was even grander, was that it was my sweatheart's birthday on our last night in Venice.  A babysitter was booked, the colouring books were removed from my handbag and the parents were released from their shackles.  Oh my god, it was great.  Dinner was so relaxing.  We didn't have to worry about keeping water glasses way back from the edge.  No fellow diners gave us the side eye of hatred.  We were free, free, freeeeeeeeeeee!  Following our charming meal at a little restaurant chosen by moi, we walked around the corner and down the canal to our second surprise - the Venice Jazz Club.  Chalky loves jazz.  It was exceptional.  However, I couldn't help reflecting and commenting to Chalks, that while we were sitting with a bunch of old people, sipping on amarettos, wearing woollen jackets, and listening to music from 1950; a large chunk of our friends and relations were at the north Queensland eclipse festival in their undies going mental, off their heads, and acting all young and shit.  How times change.  Oh, and what total nerds we are.

Romance of the Nerds

From our hotel room - meant to be a street down there

As we walked home through the streets we couldn't help but notice that many of the streets had been replaced by raised wooden platforms.  "It's the aqua alta (king tide) Senora", the hotel manager informed me on later questioning.  "This happens in Venice during the winter form time to time, Senora, but don't worry, it will be back to normal by 11am, in time for your departure tomorrow".  We awoke to wind, rain and a king tide like no other.  Venice was even more underwater than normal.  The water levels had climbed to their highest point in over 20 years.  The entire lobby of our hotel was underwater, and outside people were wading through the streets with garbage bags tied all the way up their legs.  Shops were flooded.  The boats couldn't pick anybody up, as they weren't able to fit under the bridges due to the extremely high water levels.  It was fucking chaos.  The rising waters did not stop the flow of the tourists though, who were still trying to sight-see their way around the now underwater city.  They were compressed onto tiny raised platforms around the edge of the piazzas, pushing and shoving each other, and terrified that they were going to fall in the water.

This platform washed away not long after Chalks took this one

Pissed or mental?

I could not believe the people who had stripped off and decided to take a dip.  For one, it was freezing cold.  And secondly, the water was filthy and it stunk.  There is no chance I would let a drop of that seedy liquid near any one of my orifices.  Yuk.  The trouble was however, the waters weren't receding.  We wanted to leave.  It was no place to be hanging out with a couple of shorties.  But the boats still couldn't get in.  We were stuck for the time being.  The hotel's ground floor restaurant was also flooded.   Unfortunately we had optimistically checked out - I was hungover and could have done with an extra nap.  So the girls and I were stuck on the first floor peering over the balcony into the lobby while Chalks went out to see if there was another option.  There wasn't.  There were also a lot of hotel guests trying to get out of Venice like us.  Everyone was sloshing around the lobby, the staff were trying in vain to sweep out some of the festy water.  Again, fucking chaos.

The hotel had never flooded like that before - they were caught unawares.  We managed however, to get a lucky break.  A boat made it up to the hotel door, we were there, the doormen grabbed our bags, we carried the kids, managed to get all our stuff into the water taxi, and we were off. Our boat went under the bridge - the driver crouched right down and we made it under there with a centimetre to spare.  Out of there.  I think we were extremely lucky.  Apparently 70% of the city still remains under water.  It's a strange concept - the flood of a flood.  Because that's basically what Venice is normally- a flood.  Lots of the water that flooded the city on Sunday morning comes up through the drains and pipes.  No wonder it stunk.  People are now stuck there, and still the bad weather continues. I think tomorrow will be worse.  Poor poor Venice.  Floating in the refuge of a bunch of filthy tourists.  It is heartbreaking.

Taken by us the day before

Same place same photographer post flooding

It got worse

As we arrived back at our car parked in a multi-level carpark on the outskirts of the city I had a few tears.  As much as I was fascinated by the history and beauty of Venice, I couldn't shake that uncomfortable realisation that I was also further contributing to the rape and eventual demise of such a wonderful place.  With the residents all but gone, and those left who are catering solely to the needs of the tourists, what is to become of Venice?  It will remain beautiful that's for sure.  But a city without it's people loses it's flavour, it's culture, it's vibrancy and it's soul.  All it will be is a beautiful relic.  No longer functioning and alive, but forever an historical artifact to be gawked over by the hoards that flock there.  Will it be allowed to continue?  Will Venice finally meet it's demise at the hands of millions of oblivious murderers with cameras round their necks?

Murders! Filthy murderers!

As we drove away, leaving the flooded city behind, we talked about how strange it felt to be driving again,  and back in the "real world".  Going to Venice really is like a break from reality.  It's so quiet for a start.  There are no cars, no regular shops - like supermarkets, and not much nightlife once the tourists hit the sack.  It's an unreal world.  And despite the floods, and the uncertainty, and the tourist trashers, it is still a magical treasure.  Of course it will recover from this latest setback, but as to how things develop in the long term who knows.   I hope the city planners and officials have the interests of the city and it's original residents at heart, so that the Venice doesn't lose it's own heart, forever. It would be such a waste, and even more of a terrible tragedy.

Canaletto's “Venice, a View of the Churches of Redentore and San Giacomo”