We woke up on Thursday of last week to an unexpected snowstorm. “How nice!”, I thought, “One last chance to enjoy a little snow before we get started on spring for real.” Because, you see, Vienna isn’t really like the Washington, DC area, where I’m from, which can pretty much count on getting completely slammed by a major March snowstorm at least every other year. Winters here, although cold, aren’t particularly wet, so we don’t really get all that much snow. (Your mental image of snow covered mountains in Austria is perfectly legitimate — just not for Vienna. You’re thinking of the Alps . . . which are further west.)And, what snow Vienna got this year, we mostly managed to miss with travel — the biggest storms this year came while we were (ironically) skiing in the Alps, and while we were in Italy. So I was happy to enjoy our last winter snowfall last week.
But, not so fast. Let’s not get excited. Spring may officially arrive in just a few days, but when we stepped out of B’s school this morning after dropping him off . . . it was snowing again.
I love winter, I really do. I love snow. I think it’s pretty and white and sparkly and makes everything more beautiful and creates this lovely, hushed, glittering, snowglobesque (I just made that up) environment that I LOVE to spend a few days inhabiting. But today’s relentless mix of rain, snow and sleet did nothing but my turn my wistful attention towards Thursday and the first day of spring. Seriously, I got rained on, snowed on and sleeted on all during the 10 minute walk to my German lesson tonight (and then again on the way back).
And yet . . . we’ll be in Salzburg for the weekend where . . . they’re calling for snow.