Autumn 2017: Vienna

Vienna is a glorious imperial wonder… but it is also home, and family, and what singular good fortune that is.

This year’s Viennese visit was a succession of contented hours spent curled up like a cat in a cozy corner dreaming drowsily, enjoying Disney movies and birthday parties with rambunctious little girls, having too many cream-topped cappuccinos and slices of homemade cake, leaning out the window to fill my lungs with European air, being entertained over cultured dinners with friends from the artistic diaspora, and pleasant rambles around the neighborhood to reacquaint myself with proper pedestrian ways.

The first time I hesitated on the crossing despite the fact that the light was already red (a sensible precaution where I am from, because most motorists drive like they are color-blind), my cousin snorted at me. It’s safe, you’re not back home anymore. This is Austria. 

I made a few tourist stops also, starting with a visit to the Zentralfriedhof, on a crisp, clean fall day perfect for sober meandering on leaf-strewn paths through tasteful marble monuments to the dead.

Sounds strangely macabre, doesn’t it? But in the hallowed clearing of the Musiker section, surrounded by such immortals as Strauss, Brahms, Schubert, Mozart (well, he just had a marker, really, the actual grave is somewhere else altogether),  under the gaze of mighty Beethoven, all I felt was overwhelming awe and immense gratitude.

Thank you for getting me through university finals, I sniffed at one. And thank you, sir, for your music, I snuffled at another, wishing very strongly I had brought each of them a posy to lay at their grave.

I spent the next day with family at the Prater. There were throngs of cheerful families, ruddy-cheeked toddlers bundled against the cold, jovial tourists in national dress and high-spirited teens. We went for a stately whirl on one of the world’s oldest Ferris wheels, the Reisenrad,  and had stelze washed down with beer and apfel spritzers for lunch, under the beady-eyed gaze of the resident pigeons.

I even found time to visit the Gothic St. Stephen’s Cathedral, which curiously enough was hosting what looked and sounded like an evangelical event – all the concert lighting and  catchy church pop music and brightly enthusiastic Christians handing out cards that said God wanted to talk to me. And I attended an Opus Dei mass at St. Peter’s Church. It felt like living a moment caught in the past as we stepped out of the beautiful little baroque jewel box at twilight, with a horse-drawn carriage clattering past.

***

Left Vienna for Paris via Austrian Airlines. The airport was a flawless model of Austrian efficiency, with automated airport processes that ensured virtually no human interaction till I passed the boarding gate.

Returned two weeks later via Milan aboard the same prompt airline, marvelously contented from all the spoiling and cosseting in Italy, laden with bags of Turinese confectionery,  and had to fend for myself again, beginning with finding the right train (the S7, which happened to be leaving in a few minutes) and the right stop.

I’d been flustered by almost missing the train and totally forgot I had Qando Wien for this, so I resorted to Google Translate for What is the right stop for  Landstrasse?

Me to seatmate: Ciao, scusi *shows phone display, forgets this is an Austrian train, not Italian*

Seatmate: *is probably surprised at this bilingual approach but gets up to point at right stop on the little  monitor by the door anyway*  Wien Mitte. 

Me: Ah! Wien Mitte. Grazie – I mean, danke. Danke schön. 

After the effusive charm of the French and Italians, the Austrians’ brisk coolness was certainly… a change.

***

Before I could go home to the gracious flat in Seidlgasse, there was one last important stop to make at the supermarket. Yes, folks, it is very provincial of me to admit I filled up my generous Eataly bag with vittles and drink, but how else was I going to get all those chocolates and cheese and Leberkäse back to my tropical island?

***

The Emirates flight back to Dubai was a perfectly self-contained bubble of civility, and the fussy flier was happy.

I shall return, as always.