My recent trip to Burgenland (the gently hilly southeastern corner of Austria) involved all kinds of local surprises. 

I actually discovered a couple native vegetarian dishes: Eiernockerl (big dumplings coated in scrambled eggs) at Gasthof Supper and Heidenmehldalken (similar to small, fat pancakes served with a yummy mushroom ragout) at Lagler (the same place where we distilled our own schnapps). Local wines (most notably welschriesling and the very fun-to-say uhudler) made for perfect accompaniments.

Near Rohr, we wandered through a moor (which was less marshy than I expected a moor to be) and met a small herd of moor oxen (Moorochse) that were recently brought in to graze in an area that is now a nature reserve (used to be used for intensive farming).

We had a stylish lunch at Mole West on Lake Neusiedl. This large, shallow lake is a popular weekend getaway for the Viennese.

We also took a quick tour through Wander Bertoni’s idyllic outdoor museum.

Bertoni is a sculptor and avid collector of all things egg-shaped.

The modern structure built to house his egg collection was rather unexpected.

And all around Burgenland, we encountered blooming fruit trees. Not a bad time of year to visit.

One of the destinations on my recent trip to Burgenland, Austria, was the Lagler hotel and distillery. Most of our brief time there involved eating and sleeping, but we did manage to squeeze in a couple of other fun activities, too, such as a morning swim in their adorable fake-grotto pool. But our visit was mostly about the schnaps.

I was smitten with the various types of fruit schnaps that we tried during a post-dinner tasting. “Schnaps” means something completely different in Europe than “schnapps” does in the US (where the definition is something like “syrupy-sweet artificially-peach-flavored liquid used to get high school girls drunk”). A true schnaps is a distillate with no sugar or flavors added. It’s clear, strong, and has a slight aroma of the fruit or plants from which it is made. It can be most delicious, especially the pear and berry-based varieties. Lagler also makes some whiskies that were unlike any other whisky I’ve tried before, and a couple of liquors for those who prefer the sweet stuff.

The highlight of our time at Lagler was making sour cherry schnaps in a tabletop distillery, which four of us ran under the watchful eye of Frau Lagler, Senior. Two of us had the task of monitoring the temperature so as to know whether the liquid dripping out was waste or tasty schnaps, while the other two were in charge of keeping the cooling mechanism (where the vapors were condensed back into liquid) appropriately cool. We accomplished this by constantly pouring cold water into it. Luckily this part is automated in distilleries that are not of the novelty tabletop variety.

After we had successfully distilled, Frau Lagler diluted our liquid (with the aid of a nifty floating thermometer-like instrument) to the appropriate 40% alcohol. We sampled our creation and then used a little copper funnel to pour it into individual bottles (no easy feat given how much schnaps sampling we had done up to this point in the evening). Our product was declared a success and we were each given a certificate bearing the title Top-Schnapsbrennmeisterin. Obviously I have already added this to my resumé.

I was off to Austria again this past week. This time around we had only fleeting glimpses of snow; most of the trip was spent in Burgenland, the southeastern part of the country full of gently rolling hills. Our first stop was Stinatz, a tiny village known for its hand-scratched Easter eggs.

The women (there are only four or five of them left) of Stinatz who make these eggs belong to a Croatian minority which settled here long ago. We visited one of the women in her home, where she sits at her kitchen table scratching designs in eggshells around the clock at this time of year. Erika Stipsits has been making these eggs for 40 years. She chatted with us while her hands stayed busy whipping around egg after egg, scratching patterns into the delicate objects as easily as if she were snapping beans or peeling potatoes.

The eggs are regular old white chicken eggs (also some goose, quail, and ostrich eggs), the raw insides blown out via tiny pinholes. The eggshells are dyed and then parts of the dye are scraped away with a dull knife. The traditional patterns are mostly flowery, but Frau Stipsits has been known to make the occasional deviation from tradition, whipping out an egg featuring the likeness of Hello Kitty or Spongebob Squarepants.

Decorated eggs such as these are hung on Easter trees, which are popular in this part of Europe. Frau Stipsits has quite the international collection of Easter eggs on display in her home.

Frau Stipsits sells the eggs directly from her home at surprisingly low prices. If you happen to be in the area in the months before Easter you can pay her a visit; just don’t show up too early, as she stays up late scratching eggs and then likes to sleep in a bit. You can find her at Hauptstraße 196 in Stinatz. You’ll know you’re at the right place when you see this:

Stupid spring, sneaking in and stealing my winter away. I won’t stand for it! I will find snow, and I will participate in winter activities.

Hooray for living near the Alps, where there is snow all year round. This past weekend we found some delicious spring skiing in and around St. Anton, Austria. 

About 2.5 hours away by car, one could easily visit St. Anton on a day trip from Munich, but we needed more snow therapy than that. We stayed at Hotel Dr. Otto Murr, located so close to the lifts that we could hobble there in our ski boots. The staff was super welcoming and helpful, and the small indoor pool was a nice place to relax after a day on the slopes (assuming you can relax when surrounded by a handfull of naked Germans and Austrians hopping in and out of various saunas).

The snow wasn’t so bad, hovering nicely in that space between too icy and too slushy for most of the day. We had many runs all to ourselves, and never had to wait in line for a lift. It was almost like having our own private mountain range.

On the second day we skied in Zuers (same pass as St. Anton) and apre-skied in Lech, one of the cuter Austrian ski towns I’ve visited (not to mention its fabulous name, which means “lick” in German, and forms the first half of one of my favorite German insults, “Lech mich!”).

The biggest downside I found to spending a weekend in St. Anton was the fact that I had this monstrosity stuck in my head the entire time we were there:

It has been so eerily quiet around this blog for the last couple weeks; I blame the fact that I’ve been spending all my time getting ready for this, my next group art show in Munich. You (and everyone you know) are invited to join me Tuesday evening (13 March) at 7pm for the opening. Eight international artists will be displaying work, a couple writers will be reading fiction, and Yelp will be buying the first round of drinks for those who check in on their app.

I will be showing several brand new not-even-seen-on-the-internet-yet mixed media works on paper, ranging in size from postcard to two meters wide. You can find a sneak peek of one of the portraits on my art blog, and subscribers to my mailing list got a look at the big Oktoberfest scene in progress. A couple of the pieces will also have interactive elements via QR Codes, so smartphones will come in doubly handy (he he, get it, “handy”?) at this exhibit – so if you’ve got one, bring it.

I’ve been happy to get to work with Yelp on this event. I’m thrilled that they’re making a push to establish themselves in the Munich market, because Munich could use them. Whenever we travel to the US, we like to use Yelp to recommend tasty new restaurants in whatever city we happen to be, but until recently their data for German cities was too sparse to be useful.

Back to our regularly-scheduled expat and travel blogging soon!

On a recent sunny weekend, we headed south for some mountainy winter fun (it’s the best kind of winter fun, after all).

Our adventure started in Garmisch, where we bundled up in our warmest hiking gear and walked to the Partnach Gorge (Partnachklamm). 

In the summer this gorge is full of waterfalls; in winter these become large icicles. They’re pretty.

It costs €2 to hike the gorge, but that wasn’t deterring the crowds the day we went.

I guess lots of people like giant icicles.

At the top of the gorge we were greeted by a perfect sunny winter day.

Luckily the crowd had no interest in hiking beyond the gorge, so we had the snowy trails almost to ourselves.

We continued our showy hike upwards for a few hours until we reached Berggasthof Eckbauer, one of the mountain huts typical of the region.

We feasted on apple strudel, germknödeln, and glühwein while enjoying the view out the window.

From the hut it was a short walk to the next part of our adventure. The sleds we had pre-ordered at the beginning of the day were waiting for us at the top of the Eckbauerbahn (if one wanted to skip directly to the glühwein and sledding part of the day, one could ride this chair lift up from Garmisch).

We were a tad jealous of the people on sled bikes (no idea what they’re really called); we had reserved too late to get the typical wooden sleds, so we had these lovely plastic thingies.

They did the job, getting us down the 3.5 kilometer sled run, and back to where we had started.

I love winter.

The best part about the crazy cold spell we’ve been having is all the natural ice skating opportunities that came with it.

So much frozen water, just begging me to glide around on top of it. How could I say no? 

The other day we went for a spin around the Kleinhesseloher See, a lake in the middle of the English Garden (Munich’s gigantic urban park). A couple inches of snow covered the ice, but skaters who came before us had cleared off various-sized areas all over the lake, leaving us a variety of private rinks to choose from.

Paths were cleared connecting various parts of the lake, allowing us to skate in circles around the two islands.

Technically, skating on the Kleinhesseloher See is verboten, but in a very un-German fashion, the ban is never enforced. Lucky for us.

The relative emptiness of the lake comes in stark contrast to the officially-sanctioned skating on canals at Nymphenburg Palace, which is equally picturesque but usually quite crowded. One can find out whether the ice is hard enough for skaters (and make reservations for Eisstockschiessen, the funny curling-like game played on the canals) here.

If you’ll be in Munich this Saturday, February 11th, please stop by and see some of my paintings at Munich Creative Group’s pop-up gallery. In addition to artwork from a variety of artists, there will be drinks, snacks, and live music. And door prizes! And entry is free! And it’s all indoors where there’s heat! (This last point is actually pretty key given the crazy cold snap we’re having here in Munich.)

I hope to see you there.

A typical ski day for a Münchner starts with a painfully early wake up. Well before dawn, you toss on your ski clothes and haul your gear to the ski bus, or if you’re lucky, the car. Grab some coffee and a pretzel from your nearest bakery (the only thing open at this predawn hour) and hit the road. 

About an hour into the drive you hit Austria, and the sun starts to come up. A stop at the large gas station at the border is often a must, so you can purchase a sticker to put on your car that lets you drive on the Austrian highways (we were once with friends who forgot to buy such a sticker, and the fine was a hefty one).

Sometime between 1 and 3 hours after your departure, you arrive at your ski resort of choice. This past weekend it happened to be Mayrhofen for us, in 3 hours due to traffic and bad weather. And then it’s time to put on those horrible boots.

Saturday was the stormiest ski day I think I’ve ever had, with the low point coming when we were some of the last skiers loaded on a lift that then had to be shut down due to high winds. We were stuck on a bobbing, stopped-more-than-it-was-moving chair lift for half an hour, after which we got to ski down in high winds and white-outs.

For some reason I have started this story with all the worst parts. You’d get the impression that I had a dreadful weekend, when in fact it was quite the opposite. Despite all its bothersome bits, skiing is awfully wonderful. I can’t think of a place on earth that holds more charm for me than a snowy Alp.

The ski area itself was quite agreeable – plenty of blue slopes with good lifts for me, plenty of off-piste powder for the more advanced among us.

In Mayrhofen we found some pleasant last-minute rooms (via the tourist info office) at Hotel Ländenhof. The charming bartender convinced us to have dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, and we were not disappointed (this is pretty high praise from me, as I often find Tyrollean food disappointing).

As a bit of an aside, this is what beds in Austrian hotels often look like: big square squishy pillows, two single mattresses shoved together, and no top sheets or blankets – just giant duvets which were surely designed for Arctic temperatures, because they make me sweat even on the coldest Austrian winter’s night. But that’s ok, because the next day I get to go out and play in the snow again.

And now for something completely different.

Tiring of our glamorous European lifestyle, we decided to hop across the pond for Christmas in the Deep South. It’s possible that our decision was swayed by the generous invitation of my parents to join them there, but in the end we found Charleston to be a most pleasant place to spend a few days (lack of appropriate Christmas weather notwithstanding).

We stayed at the Vendue Inn, which turned out to be one of those rare hotels with charm and attention to detail. Our room had one of the biggest, fluffiest beds I’ve ever seen, as well as a gas fireplace. (Even in December, we had to turn on the air conditioning to make the room cold enough to use said fireplace. Viva America!)

We arrived on Christmas Eve to weather in the 70s and snow machines sprinkling part of the sidewalk. Scott swears he heard some tourists debating whether the foamy whiteness was real snow.

Charleston’s old town is full of historic buildings, restaurants, cafes, and shops. Our cultural agenda for this trip was a bit short (we managed to miss out on everything from gullah lessons to the scary historical hooker tour), but at least I enjoyed some gallery hopping around the French Quarter. The art on display ranged from amateurish to excellent, and I discovered several new artists whose careers I’m keen to follow.

The only time we left the old town was to go visit a plantation. There are several open to tourists in the area, in various states of historical accuracy. We ended up at Magnolia Plantation & Gardens. My favorite part was the swamp.

We got quite acquainted with southern cuisine on this trip, from modern to traditional. Fried green tomatoes, grits, collard greens, and macaroni and cheese were featured on almost every menu we encountered. Situated on the ocean as it is, Charleston also specializes in seafood.

Our first dinner (we were a little tired for it) was at The Library, part of the Vendue Inn. Despite the slow and buggy cocktails that lead the meal, the rest of the dinner was delightful. Fried green tomatoes, seared scallops with crispy artichoke ravioli.

Christmas dinner was at Magnolias, where we stuffed ourselves on pan-seared scallops, blue crab bisque, shrimp & grits, pork chops, and giant side dishes of macaroni and cheese and sweet potatoes with marshmallows.

Another dinner was at Hank’s, a seafood place with a strangely NYC feel. Muscles in white wine and garlic, she-crab soup, scallops, pecan pie.

Lunch one afternoon was at Poogan’s Porch (pimiento cheese fritters, blackened flounder, crab cakes, okra, hoppin’ johns); another day it was Southend Brewery for crab cakes and pale ale.

The Rooftop Cocktail Bar offered lovely sunset views and mint juleps that went down ever so easy. The Gin Joint dazzled us with its creative cocktails, fresh eggnog, and giant balls of ice.

Seriously, I loved that ball of ice.