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Things were a little messy this morning, after last night's big crawl. I woke up rather hung-over, to find that (after 3 privileged nights) I'm now sharing my room with 4 new people (2 Aussie couples from Melbourne), who informed me upon arising that I was snoring my head off all night (hey, they should kiss my a$$ — I could have done worse). Plus, I went downstairs, to find my beanie randomly hanging on a hook in the kitchen (WTF?). Anyway, a good Snowbunnys breakfast cured me a bit, as well as giving me my voice back (must have been all the passive smoking at Flannigans that robbed me of it — gawdammit Austria, could you please enter the 21^st century and pass some anti-smoking laws!). And heading up to the Kitzbühelerhorn, for another day of skiing, was more than enough to complete the curing process.

I've been to cities that never close down — but I haven't yet found a town (anywhere in the world) without an Irish pub. Congratulations, Ireland: us Aussies only have ourselves everywhere on the planet; you guys have taken world conquest that one step further. Flannigans just goes to show that Kitzbühel (and the Austrian Alps) is no exception. Flannigans is loud, it's smoky, and it's packed every night of the week. This evening — after our enchiladas — Jake and Mitch continued their après-ski tour of the town, by bringing the gang over here. These two Aussie brothers are incredible: they walk into Flannigans, and half the pub is rushing up to talk to them — seems that they're best mates with everyone! Flannigans has a fairly large contingent of "regulars": and if you hang around, you soon get to know most of them. This really is a very gemütliche place, after all.

Americans don't have Boxing Day: WTF? According to our American friend Margaret, there's nothing at all special about the 26^th of December, if you're residing in the USA. It's simply "the day after Christmas". I always assumed that it was more-or-less a worldwide thing, celebrated by most Christian countries. Or by most protestant countries; or at least by most English-speaking countries. But no: apparently, Boxing Day is only recognised and celebrated in England, and in a few countries in the British Commonwealth — Australia, New Zealand, Canada and South Africa, to be precise. Just goes to show: you learn something every day. Especially when you travel.

If you think Alpine Austria, and you don't think enchiladas, then think again. This evening, Jake and Mitch showed Kade, Margaret and myself a Mexican restaurant here in Kitzbühel, called "La Fonda" (no, all you Napoleon Dynamite fans, not LaFawnduh :P). They serve up a mean portion of enchiladas here: the best I've eaten outside of Mexico. Next time you're in Kitzbühel, don't miss out on the famous Austrian tradition of Kitzbühelerenchiladen — chorizo ist gut, ja!

Hammerschlagen is a game with a simple set of rules, and a very difficult gameplay. In this centuries-old German / Austrian social game, you have a tree stump (with its surface flattened and smoothed), you have a hammer, and you have a bunch of nails. Each player takes a nail, and hammers their nail a few millimetres into the stump. Then — using only the thin, axe-like side of the hammer — each player in turn attempts to whack their nail all the way in. For this evening's après-ski in Kitzbühel, we kicked off the night with a visit to Chizzo (an outdoor bar in the main street of town), where they have a Hammerschlagen area set up. Jake and Mitch introduced the rest of us to the game: here in Kitzbühel, the rule is that the loser (the last person to hammer their nail in) shouts a shot of Jäger to everyone else who played. Check out the video.

Gemütliche is a very special word indeed. So special, in fact, that despite its not being Spanish, it calls for a one-time revival of the famous Palabra Del Día (lit: "Word of the Day") tradition, that I bet you thought was long-finished on this blog. Gemütliche means "cosy". It means comfortable. It means warm and fuzzy and cute — and all in that distinctive, Germanic, central European way that can't be found elsewhere in this world. I've heard the word gemütliche used many times, here in Kitzbühel; and I'm not surprised by this at all. Kitzbühel is possibly about as gemütliche a place as you could ever find: small, proud, beautiful and cosy; and extremely Austrian. And like so many other highly expressive German words, gemütliche also found its way firmly into the Yiddish language, and subsequently into modern Yiddish-peppered American English — which is why I've known it for as long as I can remember.

Jake and Mitch are two Aussie brothers, one of whom has been to Kitzbühel before (and who just can't get enough of it), and who seems to know everyone in town. These two are absolute champions: they're utter bogan knobheads, and they're fond of getting wasted well beyond the limits of regular mortals; but they're also ridiculously friendly. They rocked up to Snowbunnys this evening, where they'll be staying for a few weeks, while they try their hand at snowboarding up on the mountain. At least, they might try some snowboarding — assuming that they can make it up the mountain, which is only possible on the rare occasion that their après-ski sessions finish before the sun rises.

After two days of learning and practicing, today I took Craig, Sarah and Kade up the big mountain, and showed them what a real ski run looks like. Since this was their last day in Kitzbühel, it was also their final opportunity to give the slopes a try. For the first time in my life, I found myself an "advanced skier" amongst newbies (I'm accustomed to the reverse being true), and the burden of teaching (rather than of being taught) fell on my shoulders. It was an interesting experience; and — as long as you're able to be patient — quite a fun day.

Jägermeister is a strong German liqueur, that for some reason has become wildly popular all over the Western world today. It tastes pretty bad (it was originally invented for medicinal use), but makes up for it with its legendary effect. I haven't gone near any Jäger for most of my trip: but here in Kitzbühel, everyone seems to be drinking an awful lot of the stuff — especially in the form of "Flying Hirsch" or "Jägerbomb" shots (i.e. Jäger and Red Bull together). It sure as hell ain't Aussie — and it's not Austrian either (although Red Bull is) — but Aussies in Austria can't get enough of it. Personally, I can take Jäger or I can leave it; and I don't see what all the fuss is about.

Christmas lunch was cancelled today, on account of having better things to do; but we made up for it this evening, with a fine dinner of roast chicken. Craig, Sarah, Kade and myself feasted on chicken breast (originally frozen — they were out of fresh chook), crispy potatoes, corn cobs and various vegies — with a side of seasonal cranberry sauce. Sadly, the roast (as roasts do) took much longer than expected to cook, so we were bloody starving by the time it was ready. Shots of Jäger and several card games comprised dessert.