I managed to take this pic while Hans, the waiter, was concentrating on ordering our wiener schnitzels on his little waiter computer. How d’ya like the new buck leather knickerbockers? They must drive the frauleins mad.
Anyway, back to the wiener schnitzels. You know how we’re constantly marvelling at how the Europeans manage to stay in shape, with books like: “Why French Women Don’t Get Fat”? Well, after some on-the-slopes research in Saalbach, I’m happy to report that one can’t necessarily say the same for ALL Europeans. In Zermatt, it was highly unusual to see someone with a serious belly, on skis. To give you an idea, it was like being in a sauna with five people wrapped in towels and one butt naked person – i.e. you’d notice. But here in Austria, I’ve lost count of the number of severe bratwurst boeps I’ve come across on skis – and I speak only of the tums that are defying even the puffiest of ski jackets. (An excess 5-10kg won’t show sufficiently in a ski suit for a social observer to group the skier amongst the bratwurst brigade). I’ve conducted this casual study only because I have long been fascinated with the whole why-French-women-don’t-get-fat phenomenon. So, using different groups of European skiers as my sample, I can conclude the following: if Austrian skiers are relatively porkier than their Swiss neighbours, it follows that cheese and chocolate is less fattening than schwein haxen (pork knuckle), schnitzel, apfel strudel, schnapps and beer, ja? Good news, except when you’re in the heart of the Austrian Alps. Here, ve have cold meat vir breakfast und dan bratwurst oder schnitzel vir lunch und vir dinner, ve have schwein haxen oder veal mit pork dumplings. Ironically, the conversation has turned to calorie counting at virtually every meal. I have to say that the topic is usually introduced by The Husband with his newfound awareness of health and fitness ahead of the Cape Epic. “Do you know that sausage is 70% fat?” he’ll say while munching on a frankfurter. “This has at least 1,500 calories”. Then, after the meal, he’ll be rolling on the bed, clutching his stomach, vowing never to go near another schnitzel so long as he lives.
Aside from skiing itself, the Austrians have come up with a novel way of burning calories while you wait in line for the ski lift. There is usually a little pub next to the lift, which blares out such catchy tunes, you simply can’t help singing along and doing a little jig in your ski boots. As cringe-inducing as the local folk/pop stuff is, at least the tune is forgotten as soon as you’re on the ski lift. Unfortunately, though, the local tracks are interspersed with a bit of Bananarama here, and a bit of Boney M, there. Actually, quite alot of Boney M. The favourite seems to be one of the their more annoying hits, namely, “Brown girl, in the ring, tra la la la la,” You know the one I mean? “She looks like a sugar in a plum…..blah, blah, blah TRA LA LA LA LA”. I’ve always thought the lyrics went: “Brown owl in the rain, tra la la la la…”. So I was curious (if a little concerned) to know what the heck “brown girl in the ring” refers to. Someone in the group then told us that the reference is highly racist, though this is a little known fact. Perhaps because of this insight, my evil side won’t stop playing the song over and over in my head. It’s as though Boney M has set up camp inside my head. I finally Googled the words to get the full story. As far as I could tell from Wikipedia, it’s the name of a game played by pre-teens in the Caribbean – sort of somewhere between ring-a-ring-a-rosy and spin-the-bottle, where the kids dance around a girl in a circle, while singing this delightful tune. Perfectly innocent, really. Once my conscience was clear, I figured I’d finally get this damn song out of my head. It was gone for a blissful two hours but then someone in the group started singing it out loud and now it’s back with a vengeance.
I could bang on about the delightful ski slope DJ’s here, but it’s 7pm and Boney M, the brown girl and I need to dash to dinner. Tonight, on ze menu, ve have eine “Farmer’s Buffet”. I have absolutely no idea what they farm around these parts but I’m pretty sure it’s not organic chickens. So I’ll be back in Jozi next week looking like eine kleine schwein haxen, but it’ll all be in the name of international research.