tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-129665042011-12-05T06:23:53.387+01:00Patti McCracken is a journalist who left the US with just a duffel bag (a big one). Along the way, she acquired a London Black Cab in England, a Jack Russell terrier in the Republic of Georgia, and lots of Traveler's Diarrhea and useless money from East European countries. She spends much of her time in rural Austria. Some of her articles can be viewed at <a href="http://www.pattimccracken.com">pattimccracken.com</a>Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.comBlogger8331100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-90222608838847926082011-12-04T21:12:00.000+01:002011-12-04T21:12:34.599+01:00

Only creepy, middle-aged men and little girls allowed down this lane.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-69957739367824200212011-11-01T20:15:00.001+01:002011-11-01T20:16:09.695+01:00

While my Webster University students were doing "Man on the Street" interviews at the Donauinsel, I was snapping pics on the bridge.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-51049780914527313012011-10-18T23:12:00.001+02:002011-10-18T23:17:00.319+02:00

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-14777587335757015812011-10-11T09:28:00.000+02:002011-10-11T09:28:40.197+02:00

Not unusual to spot a Roman ruin popping up out of the fields of Burgenland and Lower Austria

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-7515979543865042562011-10-02T15:20:00.001+02:002011-10-02T15:20:35.633+02:00

While Remi and I were walking this morning, we met up with Rupert the Farmer and his Jack Russell, Keeley. We walked along the path, while the dogs ran along beside us in the fields. After a few minutes, a bicycle came up the dirt path toward us, carrying Rupert's brother. The three of us made our way back toward Rupert's house, the two men debating everything from business to banks to politics

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-21163536326231562002011-09-29T11:10:00.001+02:002011-09-29T11:10:56.472+02:00

This is a fickle plastic cow. Some days I see her in the front yard, like this, but some days I don't see her at all. Wonder where she goes.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-192652624449641222011-09-27T20:44:00.001+02:002011-09-27T20:44:00.669+02:00

Isn't it: "see badly?"

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-19276546102959117692011-09-27T11:19:00.001+02:002011-09-27T11:20:34.374+02:00

Sometimes I walk Remi on a path just outside of Kittsee, on the Austria/Slovakia border. A few of these signs are posted, which in Slovak read: "WARNING state border." I'm assuming they're left over from the Soviets, since they warn rather than welcome. I'm told the fields here were riddled with mines about 30 years ago, but now hold apricot orchards; and farmers tend crops of corn and wheat.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-43360947981067441452011-09-26T18:31:00.000+02:002011-09-26T18:31:54.795+02:00

My journalism students at Webster University have to keep blogs as part of the class, so I guess it's only fair that I start keeping up mine again, too. This class is made up of a small but scrappy group of journalists who will be starting and running Vienna Voice--what I believe to be Vienna's first English-language online journal--news and features for the ex-pat community. Stories are busily

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-76686704485116728082011-09-26T17:59:00.001+02:002011-09-26T18:34:50.193+02:00

Five things I learned yesterday about Rust: 1) Of the 250 storks that summer there each year, a lazy group of four or five hang back each winter, knowing they'll be fed and cared for by the doting locals. 2) Fistfuls of Austrian gulden and cases of wine offered to a greedy emperor bought the town its autonomy within the Austro-Hungarian empire back in the day. 3) The townsfolk used to hide

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-46285958434235493872011-08-05T23:04:00.000+02:002011-08-05T23:04:10.185+02:00

Someone left the naked, blindfolded mannequin out on the porch again.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-16180432036704736932011-07-28T23:19:00.000+02:002011-07-28T23:19:42.257+02:00

It's true, most wine cellars are lacking a children's slide. Not so, this one in Prellenkirchen, Austria

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-26491139137694144872011-07-12T20:09:00.001+02:002011-09-26T18:50:30.035+02:00

Hungry for chips? Snickers? International outlet adaptor?

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-51252470366196258412011-07-06T12:37:00.000+02:002011-07-06T12:37:02.415+02:00

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-37751330820964396272011-06-30T18:48:00.000+02:002011-06-30T18:48:13.353+02:00

One needs a place to bathe worms.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-23182005404734709992011-06-30T18:45:00.000+02:002011-06-30T18:45:27.586+02:00

Cool. A place to store the kids.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-88725351463557784902011-06-26T20:19:00.002+02:002011-06-26T20:19:33.307+02:00

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-89116066252638935542011-06-26T20:17:00.000+02:002011-06-26T20:17:42.259+02:00

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-84527944110288917422011-04-28T19:34:00.002+02:002011-04-28T19:34:56.533+02:00

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-54047379462656062442011-03-06T17:08:00.000+01:002011-03-06T17:08:28.504+01:00

Sometimes I like to be the Garden Human for this gnome family. (FB Viewers click "View Original Post")

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-23167708012953584182011-03-06T16:41:00.000+01:002011-03-06T16:41:49.331+01:00

A couple of weeks ago I spent several days running around Salzburg for an assignment. Everyone had pretty much shut the lights off and gone home, as nothing was open, not even major hotels. So I did a lot of peering into windows, including this one:

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-22779453228088510432011-03-06T16:36:00.000+01:002011-03-06T16:36:35.796+01:00

Wanna "Blech"?

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-30836257361483301542011-02-07T14:28:00.002+01:002011-09-26T18:53:27.573+02:00

En route back from Munich, a friend of mine just called me from Branau, a pretty Austrian town near the border with Germany. He reported that he was standing outside of Hitler's birthplace, which is located right  next door to a Thai Take-out. Poetic justice.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-32861709201135996882011-01-13T13:49:00.000+01:002011-01-13T13:49:27.074+01:00

I get it. No parking. At all.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-54386709871553944162011-01-05T16:37:00.000+01:002011-01-05T16:37:09.226+01:00

The frozen pond outside a restaurant near Hainburg. The youngest kid appears to be about three, the oldest in his fifties. (FB viewers click "View Original Post" to see video)

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-25946566046130590722010-12-31T20:28:00.000+01:002010-12-31T20:28:41.742+01:00

A little known but delightful New Year's Eve tradition in Austria (as well as Germany) is to watch "Dinner For One," a brilliant but barely known British comedy sketch. As I recall, ORF (Austrian broadcasting company) plays it just before midnight. It has a place in the Guinness Book of World Records as being the most frequently repeated tv show of all time. Here it is, in English, with a brief

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-20136405308864180282010-12-30T13:59:00.000+01:002010-12-30T13:59:37.622+01:00

I've washed my clothes in "Barf" detergent in Tbilisi, eaten at the "Puke" restaurant in Czech Republic, and now freshened my breath with "Delete" gum in Turkey.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-61516446061889330812010-12-11T23:03:00.001+01:002011-09-26T18:53:56.073+02:00

Reeling from tragic news. Two friends, two violent deaths of their children.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-79862666228808168112010-11-21T22:20:00.000+01:002010-11-21T22:20:42.058+01:00

The first time I went to Vietnam, it was to Hanoi, the north of the country and the Communist stronghold during the war. I was there during the 30th anniversary of the end of the "American War." CNN and BBC had extensive coverage, which was 100 percent blocked inside the country. Long periods of dead air. On this most recent trip I was in Saigon. I was downtown one night and hopped on a "moto" (

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-69595172408402894932010-11-17T13:16:00.000+01:002010-11-17T13:16:00.732+01:00

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-13743695243872414012010-11-07T15:15:00.002+01:002010-11-07T15:15:54.352+01:00

A guy on a motorbike with a dead deer splayed across his lap.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-7711869756216297792010-11-07T13:01:00.000+01:002010-11-07T13:01:39.739+01:00

I'm home again, having been hurtled at 36,000 feet for 14 hours, from Ho Chi Minh City to Vienna. Whew. One of the first things I did was go for a hike with Remi in the village of Hundsheim (Dog's Home). Lots of hiking paths, pretty vistas and large meadows, where parachuters and gliders like to land. And ... just in case you need to toss out an old pizza box or other paper goods while out

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-6860684393826263032010-11-03T07:10:00.000+01:002010-11-03T07:10:08.821+01:00

My handy interpreter/fixer/assistant, Nhan, who also is my "left arm" (she corrected me when I called her my right arm, noting that I'm left-handed, and therefore to refer to her as my right arm would be calling her useless), informed me of the following: The Vietnamese believe in numbers. Each number is assigned a positive property--1 might be Love. 2 is Prosperity,  3 might be wisdom, etc. (

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-69152330495235171912010-10-31T14:49:00.006+01:002010-11-02T03:00:28.094+01:00

The Rex Hotel is in the center of Ho Chi Minh City. It sits on the same block as the Park Hyatt, the Intercontinental and the Caravelle. During the war, its rooftop garden was the gathering place each afternoon at five o'clock, when the military media men would give updates to reporters. The reporters would hear how most everything was going according to plan and the war was being won. The

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-70067767093720963732010-10-31T11:03:00.000+01:002010-10-31T11:03:31.213+01:00

In the Ben Thanh District, otherwise known as the 1st district. Generally, a street will be filled with predominantly one type of shop: one street will be the place for hat/helmet shops, another for shoes, another for printer needs, etc. This street is filled with vendors selling sign services, both general and customized: street names, shop names, Ladies Room, No Smoking, and the like.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-63831494828321912312010-10-31T10:55:00.000+01:002010-10-31T10:55:03.559+01:00

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-91961775634900282812010-10-31T10:53:00.000+01:002010-10-31T10:53:40.330+01:00

On a menu in Ho Chi Minh City.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-67766241692282860582010-10-28T15:28:00.001+02:002010-10-28T15:34:22.376+02:00

Noise. Get so tired of it. Noise Fatigue. Escaped into an indoor restaurant (where this photo was taken) and enjoyed a margarita. On the way home, relaxed into the chaos, sitting there on the back of the motorbike, watching all. There will never be enough layers of words to convey the layers of goings-on in Saigon.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-10824863933101906592010-10-28T15:15:00.000+02:002010-10-28T15:15:44.091+02:00

On a menu at the Ganh restaurant in Ho Chi Minh City: Oyster Porridge Jellyfish Salad Fish Head Soup

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-19675636771937335642010-10-28T15:13:00.000+02:002010-10-28T15:13:30.497+02:00

I'll stop in and say Hi to Miss Kitty for ya.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-38789005687970639892010-10-26T03:28:00.001+02:002010-10-26T15:22:42.478+02:00

I found the On/Off Switch for the ozone. It's located on Cong Quynh Street, Saigon... third floor, near the elevators. I switched it back to "On." So everything should be ok now.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-2036326903704981902010-10-20T16:38:00.000+02:002010-10-20T16:38:43.116+02:00

Day 2 in Saigon. About two blocks from my hotel is this "Foot and Fish Massage" palace. On the way there, nearly tripped over a ginormous rat who rivals Remi in size--the thing was huge. He was on a Harley. Anyhow, would like to know if fish prefer Swedish-style massage, hot stones, or what? Poll your goldfish and get back to me.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-60610340903971719952010-10-12T17:56:00.002+02:002010-10-12T18:07:41.673+02:00

Out for a drive with Remi, we came upon this marker in Berg, which is at the border with Slovakia. This marks the spot where the Iron Curtain was.  The stone was placed here by the Russians in 1945, who occupied this part of Austria in the 10 years following WWII as part of the Allied agreement. But the Slovaks had it much worse--forced into Communism for 50 years. The sign says, essentially:

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-90013876448653342242010-10-07T19:17:00.000+02:002010-10-07T19:17:12.809+02:00

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-20565036394287125492010-10-03T11:59:00.001+02:002010-10-03T11:59:17.009+02:00

(FB Viewers click "View Original Post") Nothing like an afternoon at the Pureschitz Guest House in Vienna. Photo Courtesy of Johnny Saunderson

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-55592908934128290302010-09-27T09:15:00.000+02:002010-09-27T09:15:38.519+02:00

(FB Viewers click "View Original Post") This sign along a footpath points the way to the "Hungarian Gate" wine tavern, owned by the Hubicek  family. The pine twig with the ribbon hung beneath indicates the tavern is open (not all wine taverns are allowed to be open at the same time, so they follow a rotation schedule agreed upon by all the vintners each year.) I like that I live in a part of

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-39127090570311264572010-09-24T18:10:00.001+02:002010-09-24T18:11:03.281+02:00

... should they be required to ride in a special bus? (FB viewers click "View Original Post)

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-29251330622934675142010-09-20T19:12:00.002+02:002010-09-20T19:13:16.965+02:00

(FB viewers click "View Original Post")As I pondered the Wide-Pelvised Floating Baby at a so-called Haydn exhibit in Eisenstadt (see previous post), I heard a lady shouting for help. In three languages. I followed the sound of her voice. Please help this naked French lady who is trapped in the floor of the Esterhazy Palace:

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-16108024981498074152010-09-18T17:38:00.002+02:002010-09-18T17:40:14.264+02:00

(FB viewers click "View Original Post") On display at the Esterhazy Palace in Eisenstadt, Austria, Haydn Exhibit: Wide-pelvised baby-in-a-cast floating above instrument.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-19817208215384899542010-09-12T09:24:00.001+02:002010-09-12T09:25:11.088+02:00

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-73296138699166090392010-09-10T13:57:00.000+02:002010-09-10T13:57:59.172+02:00

(FB Viewers, Click "View Original Post) If you want good camping, don't go to Donnerskirchen

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-6684254956951706682010-08-27T09:07:00.002+02:002010-08-27T09:10:57.609+02:00

(Facebook Viewers: Click "View Original Post) SUNFLOWER CLASS PICTURE, 2010 Voted "Most Popular" Nice Personality, Likes to Dance

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-41192044032941096532010-08-14T14:02:00.000+02:002010-08-14T14:02:29.345+02:00

A few nights a week we've been having spectacular thunderstorms. Fat raindrops slamming down on the roof, wind banging on the windows, angry thunder. Soul-cleansing thunderstorms for me, major trauma for Remi. Last night we had another one and Remi couldn't find any corner dark enough to hide in. She sat at the door of the garage and shook. I opened the door and she hustled to the car and shook.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-83194612633931849762010-08-12T19:21:00.000+02:002010-08-12T19:21:43.882+02:00

Kaisersteinbruch, Austria

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-88484918990710181342010-08-11T17:45:00.000+02:002010-08-11T17:45:02.985+02:00

For sale in Zurich:

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-18378337759898880662010-08-01T15:01:00.001+02:002010-08-01T15:02:32.174+02:00

It has a watermark with my name, but this photo was taken by my sister, Jude, in Norfolk, Va. She's an artist, but she's also an accomplished photog. And clearly has a way with animals, too.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-69683936610181512992010-07-18T19:58:00.001+02:002010-07-18T20:03:13.992+02:00

After two weeks of 100+ temps, the weather turned blustery and cool today, with overcast skies. Out with Remi the dog, I got this photo with a view of the Schlossberg ruins in the back. Sorry for the watermark, but there is a particular "fan" of this blog who likes to steal Hainburg photos. Whatever floats your boat, dude, but these come with a stamp.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-43746247103997510562010-06-26T22:06:00.001+02:002010-06-26T22:09:33.356+02:00

The race, such as it was, took place today. Teams of around 20 in each boat competed in 250 meter sprints throughout the day and some participants decked themselves out in full costumes. My plan was to go and take pics, maybe drink some beer and sit in the sun. But I got roped into paddling in the Danube. Most people were pretty toned down, but some went all out...

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-25166483001784296012010-06-19T15:38:00.000+02:002010-06-19T15:38:30.354+02:00

Last Friday I went to meet friends at a wine tavern in Vienna. You have to park your car at the bottom of a pretty steep hill and then walk up. So I did this--was running late so I scurried up the hill, puffing and panting and sweating. When I got there, I didn't see any sign of my friends. I called one of them, whose name is Uta. After some discussion as to where I was -- the Weingut Reisenberg

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-50632352517524305442010-06-14T13:29:00.000+02:002010-06-14T13:29:35.686+02:00

On a menu in Paris. Note red arrow directing patrons to that which sucks. Vienna. "The Spit."

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-34926279689064232052010-06-13T09:09:00.000+02:002010-06-13T09:09:26.504+02:00

Weingut am Reisenberg. The Heuriger (wine tavern), which undoubtedly has the most spectacular view of Vienna anywhere, anyhow. Last night a dramatic storm whipped up and we all ran for cover, enjoying the storm from inside.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-37976472281694693832010-06-12T09:11:00.000+02:002010-06-12T09:11:27.424+02:00

There's funky and then there's irritating. Should I drink a cappucino or darn my socks? Below, more images from Krakow:

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-21117333885131261842010-06-12T08:59:00.000+02:002010-06-12T08:59:16.781+02:00

You don't have to be a commie to get on this bus. I checked.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-45012819316890794392010-06-11T11:34:00.002+02:002010-06-11T11:34:57.501+02:00

A quick (and unfortunately shaky) look at Krakow's city center.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-81805201125049475662010-06-11T11:20:00.001+02:002010-06-11T11:21:16.084+02:00

Oh, yes. I've been to Hurtownia before. It's right after Painville, and just north of Willthehurteverendburg.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-21697203102769639892010-06-09T23:47:00.005+02:002010-06-10T00:05:01.344+02:00

(Inscription) To Dad: A literary masterpiece for a paternal mastermind! Love, Sherrie. Father's Day, 1967 A few years back my misinformed/confused family of landlords (you didn't get just one with this bunch), who were also spiteful and vindictive--decided to throw away thousands of dollars of my books while I was in Moldova for five months. And charge me for the pleasure.  Luckily, this

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-57607230193058146482010-06-09T22:55:00.005+02:002010-06-09T22:59:05.136+02:00

  Oskar Schindler Factory in Krakow, Poland. It will open as a museum June 11 I booked my train ticket --Vienna/Krakow--on the phone. I was given a reservation number by text message, and when I asked if I could pick the ticket up at the train station, I was given a very simple "yes." This is what you have to watch out for in Austria--sometimes they answer the letter, if not the spirit, of

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-14793532349218971972010-06-09T09:44:00.000+02:002010-06-09T09:44:16.409+02:00

When I first came here to Austria, a new friend was stunned... STUNNED, I say!... that I'd never heard of the Donauinselfest. It was like never hearing of the World Series. Or American Idol. Or Santa Claus. For some reason, it's not world famous, but maybe it will be after my article in the WSJ.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-11094227786377102832010-05-16T19:02:00.000+02:002010-05-16T19:02:12.977+02:00

Not a bad place to walk the dog, eh?

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-70793335868107950242010-05-10T20:50:00.001+02:002010-05-10T20:52:50.273+02:00

My friend Johnny the Cameraman just got back from a week in Athens covering the riots. One of the self-proclaimed anarchists bashed him in the head with a helmet (apparently anarchists are not media friendly). He didn't see it coming and took a hard hit to the forehead. But, he reports, there was a Greek dog (not Greek god, -- dog) who seemed to NOT shy away from the media. In fact, this hound

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-2655467066307761312010-05-04T12:34:00.005+02:002010-05-04T12:43:45.201+02:00

A couple of days ago I did something I've ALWAYS wanted to do: I hopped on a plane without any luggage for a quick weekend getaway. Destination: Paris. Reason: To join my family (my niece was in a dance performance at the Chatelet Theatre). Cost: Dirt Cheap, ala Ryan Air. I just tucked a toothbrush and a change of clothes into my handbag and was off. As it is, this is the ONLY way to travel on

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-47092746661050766912010-05-04T12:03:00.004+02:002010-05-04T22:46:27.076+02:00

I had to rely on the train when my car was in the shop not too long ago. Here's a quick look out the train window, looking at pretty Hainburg. (FB viewers, click "View Original Post" to see video)

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-38884668085665929822010-05-01T08:19:00.000+02:002010-05-01T08:19:46.177+02:00

If you're in Vienna next week, take the U2 to the Messe Wien (Expo Vienna) for the ViennaFair. I wrote about it in the Wall Street Journal this weekend. Had a great email yesterday morning from one of the Romanian gallery owners featured in the piece. He wrote me that a Parisian art collector called him, said she'd read my article on the plane en route to an exhibit in Munich, and had decided

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-35040220173475296082010-04-26T19:16:00.000+02:002010-04-26T19:16:04.383+02:00

Here's my first piece on the Austria presidential elections Sunday. And here's the second. Not much of a backstory, except my car is still in the shop, so getting to and from Vienna on these old, ambling, countryside trains takes more than three times as long as it normally would.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-22147690574822427112010-04-21T10:34:00.000+02:002010-04-21T10:34:23.431+02:00

(FB Viewers: Click "View Original Post") A few years back, I flew into Zagreb from Bratislava. The plan was to be picked up at the airport by the group I was working for, and then ferried over to the coast and deposited on a little island called Mali Losinj ("mali" means "little" in Croat, so I mean LITTLE island!).  No one was there to pick me up. I checked the bus schedule, and who woulda

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-30459213880210751342010-04-20T16:08:00.000+02:002010-04-20T16:08:26.342+02:00

FB viewers, click View Original Post Istria, Croatia Brioni Island was a favorite getaway spot of Austrian royalty during the empire. When Tito came to power, he used it as a type of Camp David/weekend retreat. There's a museum there that would make Norman Bates choke with prideful tears. It seems it was customary for visiting heads of state to show up with a llama, or a black bear, or maybe a

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-38354788116116473012010-04-19T09:41:00.000+02:002010-04-19T09:41:51.774+02:00

(FB viewers, click View Original Post) Porec, Croatia The following little story does not make me look good, so I hope I get some credit for sharing it: At the hotel in Porec, I awoke Day One in the wee hours to the sounds of pleas. Sounded like someone saying "help. help." I strained to listen more. "Help. Help. Help." And then I promptly fell back asleep. So there you have it. Don't count on

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-40474387557473138352010-04-08T19:43:00.000+02:002010-04-08T19:43:50.931+02:00

It gets very confusing when the light turns green. (FB viewers, click "View Original Post")

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-24068904390390498632010-04-08T08:30:00.002+02:002010-04-08T08:32:33.471+02:00

(FB viewers, click View Original Post)Awhile back (wayyyy back), I wrote a feature on Tom Johnson, former MLB pitcher (Minnesota Twins) who now works with Goodsports, an organization for kids in Slovakia. One of the perks of this job is getting to know the people I write about, including Tom and Debbie. I hung out with the kids a few times. Was really great to be around baseball again, and this

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-36588261668709600832010-03-17T23:07:00.000+01:002010-03-17T23:07:24.153+01:00

Many ask: How's the grief. ("The Grief," as I've come to think of it.) As in "how's work?" "How's the boyfriend?" "How's the new house?" "Patti: How's The Grief?" As if it's a separate compartment of my life. Something I tend to, like a garden. Or something I can pull out of a briefcase, snap open, snap shut. Or a separate entity, even--a companion. I suppose it is most like a companion. Quite a

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-23512549259745352312010-02-28T15:11:00.001+01:002010-02-28T20:48:47.527+01:00

I put this photo/video together for Dad on his birthday two years ago. The music is composed by my friend, Lucian Keszeg. (FB viewers, click "View Original Post") Salute, Dad.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-62627509867388238812010-02-14T13:41:00.001+01:002010-02-14T13:46:19.327+01:00

A few times a year I give seminars at Danube University in Krems, Austria. Was there again Saturday, working with a group of Austrian and German journalists--the subject was Visual Journalism. Coming home was a little bit perilous. I discovered a significant antifreeze leak just as I was leaving Krems. With bitter cold weather on snow-covered roads -- and about an hour and forty five minute

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-80238103847895608702010-02-12T10:59:00.002+01:002010-02-12T11:01:29.307+01:00

My article for the Wall Street Journal on the peak of the Ball Season (which is NOW!) is in today's issue. Some of the major Balls take place at the famed Hofburg Palace(where the Hapsburgs lived and ruled,where Mozart played for royalty as a small boy,where the Austrian president resides....). The Coffee House Owners Ball was the night of February 5, and took place at the Hofburg Palace. I

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-63903279150275214382010-01-22T14:22:00.000+01:002010-01-22T14:22:02.102+01:00

Wicked cold today. So cold, the horses were running around just to keep warm. That crying/whining/whimpering noise you hear is Remi the Jack Russell---upset because she wanted to be with them, instead of in the car with me. (FB viewers, click "View Original Post" to see video)

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-10539461828275567652010-01-22T13:48:00.002+01:002010-01-22T13:48:47.330+01:00

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-37951695283999491452010-01-21T21:48:00.004+01:002010-01-21T22:21:25.848+01:00

I have an article in Smithsonian Magazine, February issue (out now, or out soon), featuring a former Guatemalan gang member who is now a successful artist and teacher in Vienna. The magazine section takes a well-known photographer's iconic portrait and runs a "where are they now" story. This article features Carlos Perez, a former 18th Street Gang member in Guatemala who not only turned his

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-90760079051411847742010-01-14T12:08:00.000+01:002010-01-14T12:08:13.493+01:00

...this Czech store might be a good place to start. (FB: Click "View Original Post)

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-28494036284955612922010-01-13T14:08:00.000+01:002010-01-13T14:08:09.075+01:00

(FB Friends, click "View Original Post" to see photo) This was taken from the Charles Bridge, looking down onto the snow-covered street below. I could look at this photo endlessly--I imagine someone standing on the bridge 200 years ago, looking down and seeing the same scene

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-34197724280247708222010-01-11T17:24:00.000+01:002010-01-11T17:24:26.842+01:00

Facebook Friends: Click "View Original Post" to see video

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-40974082146006913992010-01-11T09:20:00.000+01:002010-01-11T09:20:27.891+01:00

Taken from a seat on Tram 22 near "Slavia" stop on Vladivostocka Street in Prague. We got nearly a foot of snow. This young mother soldiers on with her baby in the stroller and what seems to be a useless umbrella.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-54858373204845579702010-01-02T19:05:00.002+01:002010-01-02T19:09:55.429+01:00

I'm preparing to give a workshop in Prague next week. While refreshing my collection for my Keynote presentation, I found this among the otherwise fabulous Newseum collection of front pages. It's a head-scratcher, all right. It appears to be nothing but an ad-- a Welcome to 2010, courtesy of a coffee company. According to the Newseum Graphics guys, it really is the file that was submitted to

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-43529143494859029002009-12-31T19:05:00.005+01:002009-12-31T19:11:29.989+01:00

This 10 minute cabaret cult classic is a huge New Year tradition in German-speaking countries. The 1920s movie is unheard of in the rest of the world, including Britain, where it originates. But every New Year, just after the stroke of midnight, turn on the TV in Austria and there it is. And in English, too. Enjoy... Dinner For One

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-82943016320638534272009-12-31T13:08:00.003+01:002009-12-31T13:35:26.989+01:00

Hainburg, Austria, on a foggy New Year's Eve

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-86988181089368984832009-12-31T13:06:00.000+01:002009-12-31T13:06:36.912+01:00

The Schlossberg is too shrouded in fog to even see it today. But this was taken in better weather. That's Remi looking through a lookout. And presumably singing about it.

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-19791926202663369232009-12-17T21:05:00.000+01:002009-12-17T21:05:08.450+01:00

More on the Christkindlmarkts of Austria. I like the Spittelberg the best. In the evening, all lit up, it's gorgeous. And lots of locals sipping gluewein. A Peruvian friend teaching in Slovakia had her first ever sighting of snow this week. She said she was surprised by it--expected it to come down in huge snowballs, not little weensy flakes. I showed her around the Christkindlmarkts, trying

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-86636811317545233362009-12-14T23:25:00.000+01:002009-12-14T23:25:02.054+01:00

Edge of the Spitalgasse Christmas Markt, one of the best in Vienna The Christmas Markt on Mariahilferstrasse, Vienna's "Fifth Avenue." I had plans to meet a friend in Vienna tonight so I went into town a little early for some light Christmas shopping. No malls. Just street shopping and Christmas Markets (Weihnachtsmarkt). Too bad the photos here don't have aroma included--since they

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-13646768059640382082009-12-11T19:48:00.000+01:002009-12-11T19:48:01.250+01:00

A few years back, Sir George the Black Cab and I lumbered on over to the Christkindl post office in Styria (a region of Austria) to see what all the fuss was about--why so many little kids were sending their letters to Santa Claus there. I wrote it up in the Baltimore Sun. Copyright Patti McCracken Christkindl, Austria--It is a tiny little hiccup of a place. The wee dot that it is on a map

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-23225451530198913492009-12-08T17:41:00.000+01:002009-12-08T17:41:00.754+01:00

I'm not sure how I feel about buying a bag of "Negro"

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-873842340522222152009-12-06T14:01:00.001+01:002009-12-06T14:01:34.552+01:00

Krampus frightens a woman while St. Nick watches, (presumably helplessly?) through the window. Krampus is the devilish figure who travels with St. Nick. He is more or less equal to a parent's threat of switches and coal on Christmas if kids misbehave. To be clear, he isn't part of St. Nick's entourage. On the night of December 5th, European children leave out a shoe for St. Nick

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12966504.post-65029706935981320142009-12-06T09:46:00.000+01:002009-12-06T09:46:40.804+01:00

Stopped by an Adventmarkt yesterday, which had been set up inside an unused storefront on Hainburg's Main Street. They were selling ornaments, candles, homemade jellies, all to benefit cancer research. Ironically, I had to leave because I couldn't tolerate all the cigarette smoke. Oh, Europe. When will you learn, luv?

Patti McCrackennoreply@blogger.com0