Austria

The Power of Language I was a couple of bucks short on cab fare, but as the cabbie told me he was from Iran, I laid some smooth phrases on him in Farsi. Next thing I know, he pulls up to my place and tells me not to worry about what the meter says I owe him. I had just come from Tunnel Bar, where Albert was wooing the crowd with his amazing magic tricks (cards and coins). We went to tunnel hoping to catch the Monday night jazz jam session, but we'd arrived too late. On a tip I got from Rob and Anna, I'd arranged to go to a heuriger named Zawodsky for wine and snacks, and Albert was the only couchsurfer brave enough to make the journey with me. Zawodsky is a local favourite, but not many tourists are willing to make the trek there (about a 25-minute walk uphill from Oberdöbling - the nearest subway station). It was worth it - we sampled eight different delicious wines (the pinot grigio - or grauburgunder - was unmistakably divine) and shared baked chicken, pork roast, stuffing, sauerkraut, pastrami, cheese and a pickle for under 30 bucks. It was all a nice bookend to my first evening in Vienna. I hadn't done much, really. In the morning I'd spent just enough time at Naschmarkt (the big, lovely, overpriced mall-like market in the center of town) to realise I'd paid way too much for breakfast. I made the mistake of going there hungry after doing my morning exercises. The plan was to buy some fruit for the day, but when I passed the first stuffed, marinated veggie stand, the apples and grapes took a backseat. Apparently "10 dag/1.20" means "1.20 per 10 ounces (or whatever the equivalent might be)" instead of "10 pieces for 1.20". OK, I didn't really think I could get 10 stuffed eggplants for 1.20 euros, but I had no idea that one (1) stuffed eggplant, one (1) stuffed artichoke, one (1) stuffed zucchini, two (2) stuffed peperoncino, one (1) spicy artichoke, two (2) marinated prawns, one (1) small loaf of bread, and three scoops of dill yoghurt would cost me 17 euros. I was too ashamed too question the price, since I'd spent five minutes hand-selecting my individual pieces of stufftnessesses, and there was also a bit of a language barrier. Farsi, sure. German, huh? I ate half of the overpriced breakfast, stuck my tail between my legs, and went back into the market to buy apples and grapes. I would have been better off buying everything at the supermarket across the street, but then I would have felt wise, what with another seventeen euros floating around in my pocket, and wouldn't have been able to savour the feeling that every day in life teaches you new lessons. I'd arrived in Vienna the night before in a fast car driven by Gabriel - a guy who taught me a lot about techno and punk music. My couchsurfing friend in Klagenfurt, Uli, found him on a rideshare website. He was a very nice guy - he even came to one of my concerts in Klagenfurt - and by the time he dropped me off in front of my friend Rob's apartment in Vienna, I had become a fan of The Streets, the Busters and Toten Hosen. Before I caught the disco train to Vienna, I was hanging out with my friend Rob in Klagenfurt. We've known each other since New York 2000. He's an amazing musician with a heavy choice of instrument (Hammond organ). We both played in the festival at Klagenfurt (he got me the job), and on Sunday, he cooked an improvised Bulgarian meal for his girlfriend and I. I won't reveal too many secrets, but it involved ground turkey, cumin, pumpkin oil and cinnamon noodles. I arrived in Klagenfurt early Friday morning on a train from Berlin. On the train I met a crazy sweaty guy who translates poetry either into or out of French, English, Russian and German. I was sitting in the bike compartment because I wanted to practise guitar undisturbed, but then he came round wanting to use the space to recite poetry out loud. After some discussion, he moved to a nearby compartment to read his Dylan Thomas, but not before asking me to mail some of my lyrics to his boarding home address so he could translate them. Uli (a couchsurfer) picked me up from the Klagenfurt train station at 12:30 in the morning, and the next day, Rob and Anna picked me up to take me to lunch. We had fried chicken salad, a huge baked potato (with real bacon slices on top of it!) and cheese and mint dumplings at Augustin. Then they dropped me off at my "hotel". The city of Klagenfurt had paid for my lodging in a Slovenian youth hostel just outside of the city center. It wasn't so bad - I could walk to my stage in just under 20 minutes, and it was quiet. Before I left for my gig on Friday, I had a coffee on the bench in front of the hostel with one of my neighbours. He didn't speak English, so we had a strange conversation in Dutch, Polish and German. He told me his work history, where he was from (which I couldn't pronounce, much less type), and then he asked if I had any bourbon. It was a conversation we would repeat for the next two days. I sort of felt bad for him, but I figured if he was the sort of guy who was asking someone he'd just met who barely shared a common language with him for bourbon, he probably was the sort of person who shouldn't be drinking. Like maybe his ex-wife or doctor had shamed him into asking only strangers for a drink. I played the two shows in Klagenfurt with a bass player named Chris Wendt. He's a great player, and a nice guy who also plays with a band called New Shoes Jazz Quartet. These guys put on a great show. During the festival, I also had a chance to see Rob perform with his Hammond meets Art Blakey project, and Los Mosquitos Calimeros, the Carinthian Gypsy Kings. On Saturday, Uli and I went to the market where I tried a wonderful leberknödel suppe (liverball soup). The broth alone was enough to replace miso soup as my second favourite soup. Afterwards, we went to the lake Wörthersee. I love swimming, but I'm no fan of deep water (in July I swam to the deep end of a pool and back for the first time in my life). I waded into the lake and started swimming with all the other little duckies. I knew I wouldn't swim out as far as they did, but I didn't know the lake would get so deep so quickly! I stopped swimming and tried to stand up, only to realise I couldn't touch the bottom. I started flailing about in the water, flapping my arms like a silly goose. Then I noticed some man sitting on the dock staring at me like I was hopeless, so I pulled it together, and doggie-paddled back to shore. In fact, I didn't stop paddling until my knees hit the rocks. I wanted to be certain I could stand up before I stopped swimming. After not drowning, Uli took me to Gipfelhaus Magdalensberg - a nice family-owned restaurant with an amazing view of the mountains bordering Slovenia and of the valley below. Here we had bretteljause - a plate of cold meats, patés, cheese and a hard-boiled egg. See the lovely photo! Tonight I play Cafe Carina here in Vienna, and tomorrow I'm off to Bratislava. More news to come!