spa visit in porkandcabbageland

Just finished the Indian washing, when 6 ladies came to stay for the weekend.  We planned a spa visit for Sunday.  There is a thermal bath in waltzcity at Oberlaa with an exceedingly good cake shop.  But we decided to see a bit of the countryside and headed for the town of Baden.  Beethoven used to escape to Baden for the summer and walk in the hills and drink the local plonk.  


Off we went on the public transport.  We took the underground which does not actually go underground very much.  And then we took a tram that calls itself a train.  The tram thing took us through the middle of all the ugly industrial estates at the south of the city.  Not quite what I wanted to show the ladies.  It took us about an hour to get to Baden. On the journey my guests were eager to know all about life in porkandcabbageland, how long we have been recycling our rubbish, how long people wait for operations (not at all), how the ordinary people live (well) and so on.  There were shocked gasps when I told that there are no curtains round hospital beds.  The ladies were all nurses.


Once there we made our way straight to the thermal bath and off we went.  We stepped into the first warm pool inside and followed the schedule of bubbles and jets in different parts of the pool every 5 minutes.  Next we headed outside to loll in warm water at 32 degrees with our heads in the freezing cold. Another schedule of jets and bubbles was to be followed.  As the bubbles appeared, one of the ladies regretted wearing a two piece swimsuit.  The bubbles inflated her top making her look like a fat lady from a saucy postcard.  We laughed.  The elegant Austrian ladies with their pencilled eyebrows and red lipstick and startled look from the hair pulled too far back laughed too.  


The final pleasure was the sulphur pool.  At 36 degrees it was as warm as a bath.  Warnings were posted not to spend more than 20 minutes in there.  Disastrous consequences for the circulation were promised to those who did not comply.  And so we dashed round that pool rather quickly. We looked forward to the benefits for our joints and organs.  Soon we had to dash out or risk paying an extra 1.70 for overstaying our time. 


Smelling of rotten eggs, we made our way to see the town. The house where Beethoven composed his 9th symphony, the elegant Kurpark, the flashy casino and - inexplicably - 3 open shops were viewed with appreciation.  


The map then guided us to the edge of the town to a typical heuriger.  I explained that there would be a buffet of food for self service consisting of pork and cabbage in many many forms and only local wine or soft drinks. The ladies chose their pork dishes.  Some of them opted for blunz'n (that's pork with blood and spices - a bit like black pudding) with cabbage. They liked it. 


As we were there a group of ladies arrived.  From their clothes and make up, I could tell they were Russian.  I looked to see if Ludmilla and  Svetlana from my yoga class were amongst them.  They were celebrating a birthday.  Platters were brought.  Of pork. We left before they started singing.


The ladies were thrilled to discover that our train back to waltzcity had an upstairs, they had been on all modes of transport on their various trips, but never a train with upstairs.  Our skin was soft.  Our hair was crazy.  We had had a lovely day.  Must do that more often.

Burns Night 2011 in porkandcabbageland

Dr. Who always seems to have strange experiences in familiar places.  Burns Night 2011 was a bit like that.  Here in porkandcabbageland there are some fans who organise a Burns Night.  There is even someone who has gone to the trouble of translating Burns into the local dialect.  So, off I went, dragging along my  friend for what promised to be an interesting experience if nothing else.   


There they were, almost 300 porkandcabbagelanders with a smattering of suitably kilted Scottish Ladies with their leader the redoubtable 86 year old Ruth. She had the frilliest blouse as befits her status as chieftain of the waltzcityscottishladies.  We had not ordered haggis in advance and so we had to order from the standard bill of fare.  We had pork.  And lettuce.  The evening started with Burns songs as set by Beethoven, Haydn, Schumann, Mendelssohn and others.  Then the haggis was ceremoniously piped in by the first waltzcity pipe and drum.  Oh yes, they have their very own pipe band.  A father and son. Not Scottish.  


Our neighbours had ordered haggis and we watched them shrink as if the haggis was going to jump off the plate and wrap itself round their head and press their brains out through their ears.  The haggis looked like its normal furry cute self.  However, it was served with mashed potatoes done the porkandcabbageland way - that is to say sloppy, very sloppy, like school dinner semolina.  Turnip is not a recognised vegetable in porkandcabbageland.  There are few recognised vegetables.  So, our haggis and potato flavoured semolina dish was completed with a spoonful of sliced carrots.  Once the first forkfuls of the puddin' race chieftain were tasted, the fear dissipated and they gobbled it up, as well they should.  


The next part of the evening was mainly Burns songs given the blues treatment and translated into waltzcity dialect. My highlight was one song done in German German, Swiss German, Waltzcitydialect and Lallans.  They have promised us a translation of Tam o Shanter for next year.  My friend went home and ordered Eddie Reader's Burns album.