Comfort zones

I have found a new comfort zone.
Or actually, two.

I recently had the chance to spend a few days in a very, very small village somewhere in Southern Styria, with a confounding number of protected species in the garden surrounding the holiday home I stayed at, and the usual regional load of excellent food and wine.

Some of the people I stayed with are very close to me, and the rest were nice new acquaintances. What can I say, I swam in a river, I ate well and drank well (with moderation), the weather was extremely lovely (though of course, a few degrees too hot), there were fireflies in the evening and butterflies in the morning, and wherever I turned, all I saw was mostly green countryside and only a few houses and farms.

I experienced what I can only describe as a full-body unclench. Friends, to be honest, I applied for a job there within 24 hours of returning home. Unfortunately, the new state government, as many do these days, is severely cutting back on spending and funding regarding wildlife conservation, very obviously out to blame wildlife and species protection as well as climate protection for delays in approval procedures for large infrastructure projects, and slashing funding and exchanging people in relevant positions within the environment agency with more opportune personnel. So the signs and portents aren’t too auspicious for a job change. And I am still not sure I even really want it. But regardless, I had some much needed days of feeling almost human again in this beautiful place. Some much needed sweetness in life. So now I know one of my comfort zones lies in Styrian vineyards, in the heat next to a river I can swim in, with a gaggle of lovely straight women who have lived and seen some things, and have tough, tested and lovely souls. I envy the men who have the great fortune to be their partners a little.

As I write this, I am sitting in a hotel room in Dürer’s hometown, on the first leg of my second journey to Austria this month (July). I decided to go by car because there are a few items I need to give away, bring back with me, or deliver. As the drive is a long one by European standards – about the time, I think, you’d need to get from Brisbane to Sydney – and because I am exhausted, I wanted to take a break about half-way. Hence the overnight stop. I managed to visit a café one of my countrywomen owns here. It is lovely, with quirky names for the drinks and food, and decorated with oddly familiar items that remind me of my grandparents’ households. Things like old adverts for products, maybe, like my grandparents’ old shop decoration, and a certain kind of glasses and cups. And although my stay is brief, I think I will manage to stop by and fuel up on coffee tomorrow before I drive on south. It’s not in one of the tourist hot spots, but a mostly residential area, and when I sat there with the owner today many passersby stopped for cake or coffee and to have a brief exchange with her. I was sat outside, blinked into the sun and enjoyed its warmth on my bare arms, stretched my tired legs out underneath the table and swapped stories with a fellow expat gay countryside lady.

I felt anxious and shitty when I headed out from where I live (home?), which is a bit of a standard setting with me still as I write this, until I had driven south long enough to hit the Thuringian Forest, and the lovely swells of the landscape of Franconia. And then, boom. As soon as I could see the first noticeable elevation, the rise and dip of woody hills, the winding up and down of the motorway, I felt an immense surge of relief. So, as well as with the so-called Styrian Toscana, the rolling hills in general seem to really do it for me at the moment. The gorgeously funny audiobook about horny violent sapphic pirates crooned on and on about curves and arses and buttocks and full figures and wide hips, not to forget tits, of course, and the landscape seemed rather sympathetic.

Now it is evening, still light outside, I have showered and eaten and I simply cannot bear to get up and leave my hotel room again. I think I need to come back and stay for a few days soon, because I want to see however much of the city is still authentically left from medieval times – not much, I was told, the city was heavily bombarded in WW II and whatever is nowadays still looking like in the olden days of Dürer is actually reconstructed. There is some club night on somewhere, but all I can say is: I am sitting here in my boxers and vest and watching a rerun of CSI Miami and it calms me right the fuck down. It soothes me to the bone. I am transported right back into in my first apartment, being a student again and managing the newfound loneliness of it with the gems of early noughties serial TV. And now, returning to this feels wonderfully harmless and quiet. My own company is getting more and more enjoyable, and I feel safe to myself again recently, when I can unwind from money troubles (yes, still, and still ridiculous) and rest my weary soul away from the admin at work. Oh and in case you are wondering how I can afford to stay in a hotel room, calm your boobs. There are ongoing cuts and austerity measures in my life now. I am displeased to say, I will not be able to launch business on this page until I can afford to pay for the services I need. But I don’t want to whine. I had a good and interesting conversation with a sympathetic, engaging woman today who knows some of me by sheer dint of growing up in the same region. I feel composed and safe right now.

I could murder a pizza and a couple of beers though. And the audiobook is so fun and unapologetically salacious, I am almost positive I could also, possibly, even handle a horny sapphic pirate right about now.

My audiobook recommendation for today is accordingly Britney Jackson’s fittingly named ‘Lesbians, Pirates & Dragons’ series. No need to thank me, I know I am doing you a great favour. I feel I shall be karmically rewarded. Eventually.

As always, Mia