Copyright © 2018 All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. ISBN 978-1-54394-120-3

Forward

Four years ago, at age fifty, I found myself divorced, broke, and living in one of the most expensive cities in the world: Newport Beach, California.

I had been married for twenty-four years to the father of my two children when I asked for a divorce. The marriage had long been an unhappy one. I moved out of our home in the vineyards of Temecula, California and into a small apartment in Newport Beach. I had lived in Newport before my parents moved us inland when I was thirteen years old. My father thought Newport Beach was a materialistic community with shallow values, but later, as an adult, I must admit that I was attracted to the idea of moving back to the affluent city of my early childhood.

After the divorce, my son Kevin went off to college in Northern California and my daughter Christina moved in with me temporarily. She was attending the local university and dating her high school sweetheart. Things were going pretty well for both of my children.

After a few short job stints, I ended up working at a boutique on Balboa Island in Newport Beach. My income was barely enough to cover my monthly expenses, and the divorce left me without any alimony. I was living day-to-day, hoping everything would work out.

Then, in a period of one month, Christina lost both her job and her boyfriend. Frustrated with life, she wanted to get away from it all and booked a ten-day trip to visit a friend of hers who had moved to Germany. Two days before her flight, her friend canceled the visit, and Christina was left with a round-trip ticket to Germany but no place to stay. She remembered that a professor of hers had moved to Graz, Austria. She contacted him, and he said that if she took a train from Germany to Austria, they could meet up at one of the city’s many affordable hotels, and he would be her tour guide. It sounded great, so that’s how Christina ended up in Austria instead of Germany.

A few months after Christina’s return to Newport, we discussed our mutual longing for a simpler life and a way out of the rat race that dominated Newport culture. Christina proposed, “Why don’t we sell everything we own and move to Europe?” I thought about it, and realized that there really wasn’t any reason to stay in Newport. After all, I had found the dating scene in this beach town less than ideal. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say that my interactions with a few gentleman callers convinced me that my father might have had a point about the place.

Besides, I had lived in Southern California my entire life, and the thought of living somewhere completely different intrigued me. I did my homework on the options for living abroad, but what mattered most to me was that wherever we ended up needed to be safe and affordable. I wanted a pedestrian-friendly city so we wouldn’t need a car. Good weather, nice people, and unique architecture would be great as well. Christina’s Graz met all of those requirements. German was the language spoken in Graz, and I concluded that I would pick it up best just by living there.

So it was decided. However, just five months before we were supposed to move, Christina was accepted into veterinary school in Dublin, Ireland. “What do we do now?” Christina asked. I told her, “You go to Ireland. I will go to Austria.”

I received mixed reviews when I told friends and family about my decision. My family thought living abroad would be good for me, and they were very supportive, saying, “If anyone can do it, it’s you!” But mostly, people thought it was just short of crazy to pick up and go to a place so far from home, in a part of the world I had never been.

Which brings me to the title of this memoir. When I brought up Austria in casual conversations, people would ask “Australia?” and I would say “No, Austria.” I heard that a lot, actually. I didn’t know why that was, but when I finally got to Austria, I found out: I saw key chains and souvenirs that stated, THERE ARE NO KANGAROOS IN AUSTRIA. Apparently, it’s a common and rather silly misunderstanding, but it stuck with me and I developed a certain attachment to it. As an American in Graz, there were times when I felt (and probably seemed to others) like a misfit -- a kangaroo in Austria.

I spent the few remaining months before my departure selling everything I had. My Mercedes was paid for and I had some nice furniture. In the end I had enough money to at least start a new life. Finally, on March 4, 2011, I got on a plane with five 50-lb. suitcases and headed to Austria.

As for the current enterprise -- the account you’re now reading -- I never set out to write a book. I just wanted to keep my family and friends updated on my progress, so I wrote emails when the spirit moved me and I thought the news was worth relating. As it turned out, those emails were passed around pretty broadly, and people I had never met started asking the senders for more. Friends suggested that I turn the adventures I had enjoyed sharing with them into a book. What follows is the result. I hope they give you as much pleasure in reading as I found in living them. Here goes!

Arriving in Graz

It was a cold winter morning when I arrived in Graz. The trees were bare, and it was raining just enough to get my suitcases wet. I had booked a hotel located within walking distance of the center of the city. I made a two-week reservation hoping that in that time I could find a place to live. I found Hotel Mariahilf online and it looked quaint and friendly. It was located near the Mur and the Kunsthaus, a landmark museum. When I walked into my hotel the manager, Dominik, a twenty-five-year-old Austrian, greeted me. You should have seen his face when I walked through the door with my pile of luggage. He struggled with what to say and was amazed that I had traveled with so much stuff. He had blond hair and blue eyes that twinkled when he smiled.

We worked together to shove everything into the tiny elevator and send me to my room. The hotel was charming. My room was on the top floor with two small dormer windows that were set too high to see out of. I stood on the bed to look outside. I loved the many red rooftops that were sprinkled about. I had two beds, so I used one as extra storage for my things and quickly got everything squared away. I looked around downstairs and found a quaint dining room that served breakfast every morning. The lobby was small and had a steady flow of travelers.

The first night was great! I went to the pub directly across the street, and when I opened the door, the thick cigarette smoke that came barreling out blew me away. I walked back outside and went to the restaurant next door. This one had less smoke and three elderly men playing live music. The place was really rustic, with wooden picnic tables and wood floors. There were black-and-white photos and other memorabilia mounted on the walls. There was an old woman wearing an apron who greeted me with a menu. She didn’t speak any English, and the menu was in German. I looked around the room and saw someone eating a grilled cheese sandwich at a nearby table. When the waitress returned, I pointed to the sandwich, and she understood. When the singing trio learned that I was from California, they burst into a rendition of “You Are My Sunshine.” Before I knew it, the whole place was singing to me and I just clapped and smiled. My father used to sing that song to me when I was little, so I was pleasantly surprised to hear it in Austria. I had come all this way to find something new, only to be reminded of my childhood. I found that comforting.

The next morning at breakfast, I met a forty-five-year-old woman named Mitra. We quickly realized that we both spoke English, so we decided to share a table. She said that it was her first time in Austria and she was there to teach yoga classes for a few weeks. She had big brown eyes, dark skin, and long dreadlocks. There was something intriguing about her. In her eyes I saw a spiritual woman comfortable in her own skin. She had a peaceful way of talking that made me feel I could trust her. We talked for a while and made plans to meet in the lobby at 6:30 p.m. to go out for dinner.

At 6:30, I met Mitra and another hotel guest named Christine. Mitra had met the twenty-three-year-old earlier, and she was visiting from Germany. The three of us grabbed our coats and headed out to find someplace fun to eat. The sun was beginning to set and the city lights were calling.

I hadn’t journeyed far from the hotel at this point. I was learning the area nearby and found a small market, a few cafes and shops. Nothing looked particularly exciting or noteworthy. This night with my new friends I walked across a bridge and into the center of the city called Hauptplatz. Hauptplatz was a beautiful square with large Gothic buildings and Renaissance courtyards. The buildings were painted in many different colors and were all lit up like Disneyland. We marveled at the beauty before us. I didn’t realize that all of this was just over the bridge; I was ecstatic to see it unfold before me. Mitra was swept up in the moment, and with her arms open wide she spun around the cobblestone streets like a little girl. Christine and I found her excitement contagious and the three of us skipped down the street laughing. As I look back on this first experience now, I realize that even though we were three very different people, we were sharing the same intimate delight.

We decided on Stern, a quaint restaurant surrounded by shops and cafés. We were seated in a back room that was lit by the many candles that were placed on tables, windowsills, and ledges. Christine talked about her life in Germany. She was a student studying abroad in Graz. She was very shy and reserved, and I got the feeling that her family upbringing was strict. She chose her words very carefully. Mitra talked about life in India, and seemed to have a polar-opposite personality compared to Christine. Mitra spoke as though we were sitting around a campfire while she amused us with her stories. She described a time when her family didn’t have any money and she was married off at an early age. I couldn’t imagine what that would be like or living in India for that matter. I talked about my dream to make a new life for myself in Graz. I shared with them my hopes of obtaining a visa and a job. We were so engrossed in our conversation that the rest of the world didn’t exist. There was just our passion for life and focused interest on each other. It was such a lovely night as we wondered back to the hotel, talking and laughing.

The next night I ventured out on my own to a small restaurant around the corner. There I had a glass of wine with a large plate of pasta. As I looked out the window, I saw a full moon beside an incredible clock tower. I saw streetlights flicker as the sweet people of Graz rode by on their bicycles and couples walked their dogs, hand in hand. Inside, the music playing was The Phantom of the Opera’s, “Music of the Night.” I was enchanted and hoped never to leave this poem.

Dominik

I knew I couldn’t live in a hotel for too long, so I needed to find a place to rent. Dominik recommended his realtor friend Gerard. Gerard agreed to meet with me the next day and show me some flats in my price range. I liked him right away. I guessed him to be in his late thirties and he had a cheerful disposition. I thought it was nice of him to help me free of charge. He spoke English and we discussed what I was looking for. I wanted something close to Hauptplatz. There I would be near everything the city had to offer. Banking, grocery stores, the opera house, restaurants, everything I wanted would be in walking distance and the tram passed through every ten minutes. He spent the day showing me different flats, and by the end of that day, I had found the perfect one for me. The building was constructed in the early eighteen hundreds. From the sidewalk, we walked through the stone-and-brick lobby of one building, through a garden, and into my building. A quick climb up the concrete steps, turn left, and there was my flat.

It was small, but charming. The ceilings were twelve feet high and the windows were unlike any I had ever seen before. The first set were mounted on the outside of the building and the other on the inside, creating a window inside a window. The doorjambs were two feet thick, and all the floors were wood. The owner had remodeled the inside with all new kitchen appliances and fresh paint. The lighting in each room was a light bulb hanging from a wire. I needed drapes, rugs, a bathroom mirror, a closet, a bed, a couch, etc. I couldn’t wait to move in!

I stayed in the hotel for an additional two weeks while waiting to finalize the lease on my flat. Dominik had been kind enough to offer me the hotel’s best suite free of charge until my flat was ready. The suite belonged to the Honorarkonsulat der Republik Kasachstan. Apparently, he wasn’t in Austria very often, and I got to have it all to myself.

One night after I had been out sightseeing, I ran into Dominik in the hotel lobby. It was around midnight, and the lobby was empty. He stopped me before I made it to the elevator, and he had a bottle of champagne and two glasses in his hand. “Would you like to join me? I need to sample this champagne to see if I want to serve it in my hotel!” This sounded a little suspicious, but I had no reason to doubt the man’s intentions, so I thought, “Why not?”

We sat down in the comfortable seating area near the fireplace, and he opened the champagne. He was really cute, but he was also only twenty-five years old. He flirted with me while we drank champagne, and I have to say I was enjoying the company. Then, suddenly, he looked me straight in the eye and asked me to have sex with him. Just like that! I told him as nicely as I could that although he was very sweet, I only dated older men. He seemed surprised by my answer, but I kept insisting, and when I stood up to leave I leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. This seemed to appease him, and off I went to my Honorarkonsulat suite. What struck me about Dominik’s proposal was how matter of fact or simplistic it was. It was no big deal for him to suggest sex. His delivery sounded like it was just the way Europeans, or at least Austrians, conducted them selves. I also remember his face. His expression suggested that he expected me to say yes. I felt that this attitude might be something I would be dealing with in my new world.

Mitra

Mitra and I continued to meet every morning at breakfast. Whenever possible, we would meet later somewhere for dinner. I loved listening to her talk about her daily experiences in Graz. She told me that she had never really wanted to visit Austria. I asked her “why not Austria?” She then told me that she couldn’t understand how the Austrian people could stand by and allow Hitler to destroy so many lives.

Broad assumptions like that, it seems, have a way of being tested. Later that day, an Austrian woman involved with the yoga studio where Mitra was teaching invited her to a private dinner party. She attended, and when that night passed I saw Mitra at our usual breakfast table. I grabbed my coffee and joined her. She looked different. Her face had softened and betrayed a hint of sadness. “What happened at your dinner?” I asked.

She told me that it was at a very large home with an elderly woman as the hostess. There were approximately ten people in attendance and Mitra was the guest of honor. The food and conversation were interesting, and coffee was served towards the end. As the hostess stood to clear the table, Mitra asked her this question: “How could your people stand by and let Hitler devastate your country?”

The elderly woman quietly sat down and answered. “I was a very young girl when the Germans invaded. I remember one day in particular when I was standing on our balcony. I saw three German soldiers in the distance and they were forcing a neighbor down to the ground. I ran inside, grabbed a couple of oranges, and threw them as hard as I could at the soldiers. When I returned home from school that day, my house was empty. The Germans had imprisoned my family, and I never saw them again.” Mitra looked at her with tears in her eyes and apologized.

We sat quietly, finishing our coffee, realizing how little we knew about Austria and how much there was to learn, how painful the process of learning itself can be. There are the large, sometimes terrible facts you can find in history books, and then are the intimate, lived histories of the individuals who acted and suffered in perilous times. Both need attention if we want to come close to knowing what it was like to go through something like World War II.

After the big dinner, Mitra had two weeks left of her yoga seminars. One day, she insisted that I attend one of her classes. She traveled the world teaching yoga, and was considered to be quite the expert. I had never taken a yoga class, and frankly, I was never interested. I didn’t know what to wear that day, but Mitra reassured me that a tank top and comfortable pants would be fine.

Well, I showed up at the yoga studio and instantly felt like a fish out of water. Everyone there was wearing leotards and running around barefoot. Mitra greeted me with a smile, but before we could talk, people wanting her attention surrounded her. “Can I get you a glass of water, Mitra?” “Do you need any tea?” “Is the temperature of the room okay?” It was like she was a celebrity. I was surprised to see people treating her with such reverence. I had seen her name on posters and newspapers in Graz, but had never given it much thought.

There were approximately twenty-five people in the class that night. Mitra stood at the front of the room with an interpreter by her side. She spoke in English, and her instructions were translated into German.

We warmed up with some stretching and then moved on to yoga positions. I was completely awkward and almost fell down. I couldn’t get my body to extend or find any balance. Everyone else was doing yoga positions with ease. After about forty minutes, we were instructed to lie down on our backs with our eyes closed. We took some deep breaths and, through the filter of translation, were instructed to relax. The lights were dimmed, and Mitra lit a small candle. She then rang a tiny bell and began to issue a hum that soon turned into a monotone singing. I could feel myself begin to relax, and I felt her voice travel through my body. Suddenly, in my mind, I found myself soaring over fields that were glowing with golden light. Next, I was racing over the ocean and then above a desert. These feelings and images were quite unexpected, and I really couldn’t explain them, didn’t know what to make of them.

The lights came back on and we all stood. I wondered if anyone else had had that same experience. Later, I told Mitra about it, and she said that what I had experienced was something many people in yoga reach for and only a few ever achieve. I am thankful that I hadn’t heard about it before that night, because my mind would have gotten in the way and it never would have happened. But then, that’s how I’m told yoga works: ultimately, the idea is just to “let things happen” rather than making them happen. You can’t force a feeling of freedom. I had gained some insight into myself that evening, and it was good to be reminded that not every piece of insight comes as painfully as the one Mitra found in questioning that old Austrian woman.

There’s painful and then there’s just plain awkward, and the latter is the theme for my next experience in Graz. A few days after the yoga class I attended, Mitra asked me if I had been to the Wellness Center. I told her that I had not, and she said it was a relaxing place with many saunas and pools. “You’ll love it!” she said.

We took the tram towards the mountains and got off at the entrance to a large building. We paid a small fee to enter and headed for the dressing rooms. Right away, I noticed that everything was coed. In the locker room, Mitra and everyone around us started taking off their clothes and putting them into the lockers. I looked over at Mitra, and she was naked. She told me to hurry up so we could get into the water.

I didn’t want to make a big deal about it, so I took off my clothes and quickly wrapped a towel around myself. Little did Mitra know that I was uncomfortable wearing a bathing suit in public, let alone being naked.

I didn’t grow up in a naked house. Meaning that some households are comfortable in the privacy of their own homes to be seen naked by family members. This was not the case in my household. I remember walking into my mother’s closet one day and she was half dressed. I could feel the awkwardness as she rushed to cover up. While in high school gym class, shower time was horrifying for me. I managed to get through four years of locker time with out ever taking a shower. Even in my twenty-four year marriage I never walked around the house naked. The insecurity of not looking good enough always haunted me.

Wrapped in the protection of my towel, we walked down a hallway that opened up to a very large room filled with pools, waterfalls, saunas, and Jacuzzis, just like Mitra had described. The very high ceiling was a glass atrium. Men and women of all ages were walking around naked -- swimming naked, reading the newspaper naked, eating a burger naked. Not a stitch of clothing on any of them! My head was spinning. My thoughts raced from oh my God how did I end up here; to how could these people be comfortable being so exposed. They were so nonchalant as if it didn’t matter how anyone looked or if anyone was looking.

Mitra left me to go sit in a sauna, and I stood there trying to find an escape route. I saw a bubble filled Jacuzzi to my left and slowly edged my way in that direction. There were two people settled in and I was going to try to be the third. I averted my eyes hoping that if I didn’t look at them they wouldn’t look at me. I was hiding beneath the bubbles and gradually started to take a look around. The woman closest to me was in her sixties, overweight, and sagging breasts. Her head was tilted back and her eyes were closed as she blissfully soaked in the warm water. I on the other hand was in the fetal position with my arms wrapped around my tucked in legs. It occurred to me that if I saw anyone I knew I would be devastated. What if I ran into Gerard, my cute young realtor? “Oh hey, Gerard! How you doin’?” I would die!

After about forty-five minutes of not moving, I started to settle down. “This isn’t so bad,” I thought to myself. “See how relaxed everyone looks?” There was a large regular swimming pool approximately ten steps away. I really wanted to get over myself and make it to the other pool. This would mean that I would have to stand up and walk naked in front of everyone. I was completely aware that no one cared about my presence but it was still a lot for me to process. I gathered up enough courage to get out of the Jacuzzi. With each step my mind exploded. Am I walking too fast? Do I have bad posture? Am I standing out like a sore thumb? I made it to the pool and soon I was up to my neck in water. I saw a mysterious cave that had red lights in it, and I decided to investigate. It wasn’t very large, just an empty cave with some built in seating. When I swam out, there were two men in their late thirties just sitting on the side of the pool with their feet in the water. I swam by, pretending it was something I did every day, and hoped they didn’t notice me.

Eventually, Mitra showed up at my pool, and I asked her if she was ready to go. We had been there for two hours. How much time can you spend in the water, anyway? We went back to the dressing room, and I was proud of myself for trying something new. Just when I was thinking that this really was such an innocent, natural way to live, a man in his late forties came up to me as I was putting on my last piece of clothing. He put his hand on my back and said, “Hey, where have you been? I didn’t see you in here! Want to go have a drink?” “Slimeball!” I thought.

Mitra and I left and went back to the hotel for the night. I am glad I tried the “naked sauna,” but it wasn’t something this modest American would do again. Maybe that’s a good thing or maybe it’s a bad thing, but that’s the way it is.

It Takes a Village

success.