Vienna

I love Vienna. I love Austria. I'm almost afraid to close my eyes as the train flies by the darkening countryside because it may be another almost-decade before I see it again. I have an odd attachment to the place.

 And you can see mountains from Vienna, just off in the distance, like I can back home. If you ever ask me about home when I'm in Chapel Hill, the conversation is guaranteed to contain the sentence, "I miss my mountains." I don't miss being in the mountains, though I enjoy it there as well. I miss my constant guardians, the beauty of my landscape, the silent wonder of my home. I miss my mountains.

But for maybe a week, I could pretend like I didn't have to.

I love the white buildings on the streets off of Stephansplatz, the beauty of Stephansdom, the grand feel of the Straatsoper, the regal feel of the Schonbrunn, the amazing works and grounds of the Belvedere. I love the street musicians and the street performers, the revolving door of fellow travelers we met at our hostel (though, admittedly, not unique to Vienna, but forever associated with its beauty in my mind), the vendors at the Naschmarkt, the characters brought to life on the stage at the opera. I am entranced with the city. I can't believe a day was sufficient before when a week will hardly do now.

So, a brief summary of my time here, with stories:

After a nine hour long train ride and one of our less successful transportation attempts (we got off a stop too early from the train [though, in our defense, the ticket was confusing and in German] but successfully found our hostel from the Ubahn station), we discovered the wonders of Turkish food and Christine introduced me the wonders of gelato. I'd make this into a recurring theme throughout this story, but suffice it to say we ate a lot of Turkish food, gelato, hot dogs (which really equal awesome sausages in baguettes) and drank a lot of coffee for a week.

Our first real day in town was Ascension Day, the 40th day after Easter when Jesus peaced out on the disciples to go chill in heaven. The shops were all closed in the old city by Stephansplatz, so we wandered down the Danube for a while before splitting. I went to go see Stephansdom while Christine went to go find internet to look up musical festivals and the like (Vienna has many options for musical festivals and the like). That evening, I ended up in Peterskirche, though those stories belong, in all their full glory, in another post.

The next day brought more walking through town as shops reopened and everything flooded with tourists. We sat in coffee shops and enjoyed the atmosphere and wonderful weather before going to the opera in the evening. That is also a story with a separate post, though, needless to say, I loved the opera and headed back the next day for another go 'round.



Saturday brought the wonders and smells of the Naschmarkt. There's fruit and fish and spices and pastries and so much food and jewelry stands and antique stands and things-that-should-be-antiques-but-are-really-not-worth-the-money-you'll-pay-for-them-because-they'll-have-to-be-restored-to-be-worth-anything stands and bags and dresses and instruments and restaurants and so much sensory overload.








The afternoon had to be spent in recovery in order to process everything from the smells and the sights and the people and the longer-than-expected walk before going to my second opera. Eugen Onegin is now on my list of books to read as I am now in love with the story thanks to the opera.










Sunday, which was yesterday, I went to church in Stephansdom. It was confirmation Sunday, which meant that the service that I walked into at 10, I walked out of at 12:15. A coffee shop to collect my thoughts and then off to the Belvedere with Christine.

I didn't know I had been here before. Maybe the art didn't make much of an impression on me. The grounds, however, did. I'm pretty sure I stood in the exact same spot and took the exact same picture before looking on my camera and thinking that I'd seen this somewhere before. Then I realized that it's in a small frame of mine on my bookshelf back home.

Then, since we can't live at the Belvedere and the opera started unfortunately early (darn you, Wagner, and your long operas!), we made our way back to the hostel. Sunday evening, dull though it often is, has a long tale of its own, telling stories and watching games of pool and singing along to Journey and the Jackson 5 with momentary friends. Sunday night was the kind of night that writers steal as inspiration for the starting scenes of their stories. Good stories, too.

So then Monday, today, the Mozart House, one of his apartments, listening to excerpts from his works and wondering about life in the musical scene in Vienna in the 19th century. It was here that Mozart composed the Marriage of Figaro, which floated around my head throughout the afternoon as we walked around the Imperial Palace, wondering about the life of the emperors and empresses, wandering up hills and around mazes.

I've had many moments in Vienna when I wondered if this was real life, like the actors around me aren't just putting on a grand play for my benefit. As an example, on Sunday night I came back to our room in the hostel to find one of our long-standing acquaintances, a girl attending a psychology conference, sitting at the small table in the room, staring into the eyes of one of the new additions to the room, a young man from South America who spoke English through a thick accent. As I quietly backed out of the room and shut the door, he said, "Maybe in another life..." and she replied, "Well, that's all we have..."

I would love to have another life where walking up and down these streets was a daily routine, where two nights at the opera isn't an absurdity, where I could explore the hills at the Schonbrunn and stare out over the city each and every day. Mozart called this place the best in the world and, though I haven't been far, I'm quite inclined to agree.