Travel Writing: Rob's Rome Ramble
Travel Writing 2, The Return of the Wit: An Athens Adventure
Travel Writing the Third: Preview Prague
4, Too Travel, Too Writing: Croatia Crusade
Which brings us here, four wild and madcap recaps later, to Part V (because we all know, only the biggest and baddest of sequels get their title finished in Roman numerals):
Vienna Venture.
Or to give its full title: Verily! Very Valiant, Verbose and Veracious Vacating Visitors' Vivacious and Victorious Visitation, Validating Vast and Venerable Vienna.
("Let me simply add it is my great honour to meet you, and you may call me V." - V, V For Vendetta.)
Also while I'm still on the very cusp of beginning the actual narrative, let's just get this out of the way:
This means nothing to me...
Ohhhhhhhhh...
VIENNAAAAAAAA.
Rest assured, that song came up a lot during the trip. Not as much as I'd expected, for I am the type to beat a dead joke into the ground until it's reusable as compost, but still often enough.
And of course, let me introduce the main characters to this fable, indeed the same two heroes from Preview Prague. They are me, that is to say myself, I, your humble narrator etc., and Ariel, beloved partner, travel companion, and all-round miracle who somehow managed to fall in love with this bizarre storyteller. Indeed, Ariel and I were celebrating our Two Year anniversary this time - 365 days since Prague's celebration, and 730 days since I sent the first message on Tinder which brought us together.
Right, that's the mushy stuff and preliminary jokes out of the way. Let us begin...
Saturday 09/02/2019/Sunday 10/02/2019
Ignoring the fact that our flight, and so our holiday, did not truly commence until Sunday 10th, I feel the need to recount this bit. If not for the sympathy of others, or merely their understanding, or as a warning to them; or as a way to vent my frustrations. But in short, our holiday retelling could begin on Sunday, were it not for the stresses caused.
We had the booking. We had the transfer sorted. We even had the travel money this time. All we needed to do now was check in, an online affair these days, which became the most stressful element to the holiday, and multiplied because every section of the check-in was strenuous. Check-in, seats, luggage, even the payment at the end. Then, even the check in at the airport was stressful! After getting up at 5:45am (otherwise known as oh by the multiple gods of light and daytime WHY am I awake at this hour?) we got to the airport, had to queue needlessly in one queue, to be sent to another, to wait before a desk attendant who conveniently failed to meet our gaze, to then be advised we hadn't needed to queue at all. So if anyone happens to find the 40 minutes I lost, I'd rather like them back.
For legal reasons, I shall not name the airline which we used, though they are an anagram of Rainy AR. In fairness to Ayn Rair, or their side company we were using, the flight itself was fine - if very loudly air-conditioned - and ended with the smoothest landing of my entire life. I've been on trains arriving in stations with more hassle. It actually took Ariel a moment to realise we had landed.
Baggage claim was a breeze, and due to our hotel's location, we had decided to forego the transfer and instead caught a direct train from the airport to the train station, whereupon we'd catch another underground train to our chosen abode.
I was, by now, free to listen to Ultravox's eponymous classic on repeat.
So, my initial reaction to Vienna? It's like Germany, but slightly more camp. They do speak German (if a more personalised dialect) but our train driver over the speakers told us to "live long and prosper and may the force be with you" - some fandom lines got a bit crossed, there - and the conductor then appeared. I fumbled for my wallet and train tickets, to which he said "No, slowly, slowly, I am no policeman," at a verbal speed which suggested he had a spare decade. He then proceeded to effectively dance over to the door to let us out. I followed Ariel out, already loving the experience, and grinning like a loon.
We then had to catch our connection. Handily, ticket machines could be switched to English mode: "Buy ticket" literally translated to "Yes I will buy ticket now" so apparently Austrians consider us quite generous when it comes to wordage.
By a decent balance of my guesswork, and Ariel's determination, we got where we needed to be. Yes, we may have gotten lost getting out of the station and yes, we may have mistaken another platform for the way out, but we got there. Hotel Prinz Eugen. 4 stars. Our home for 4 nights. That's essentially 1 whole star per sleep.
It had one fine, fancy-ass foyer and reception - to the point where Ariel double-checked we'd come to the right place. This was revealed to be a bit of a front, as our actual hotel room outright denied the existence of the 21st century. Rest assured, the NON-flat-screen TV is alive and well, and was taking up half of our dressing table. Still, our new abode would do us fine, and we were comfy. We were also hungry, and in need of dinner.
Quick Tip for any other Vienna Visitors, especially those who arrive on a Sunday evening like our good selves. Unlike our English heritage, of working retail workers until their limbs fall off, Vienna has not abandoned the notion of closing on Sundays. Ariel had discovered that all supermarkets are closed on Sundays; as we discovered, so is pretty much everything else. I'd wanted to visit the city centre, see it all in lights while we devoured Viennese cuisine, but there seemed little-to-no reason. In fact, several minutes later, we were struggling to find anywhere to go and eat.
So what did we do?
What would anyone else do?
Oh yes. Thank you, Google Maps. Ariel found somewhere, having typed 'restaurants Vienna open NOW.' He found an eatery, no exaggeration, one whole minute down the street. (Having also discovered that our hotel's WiFi didn't get on with TripAdvisor, which I felt was rather ominous.)
Our chosen venue was called Restaurant Böhmerwald. We were the third party dining there, soon becoming four parties when joined by a group of old women who, we later learned, were staying in our hotel! Böhmerwald's decor motif was a strange mixture, between German bistro and Bride of Chucky. Dolls everywhere. I half expected to wake that night to find one of them standing over my bed, wielding a cleaver and humming "The Teddy Bear's Picnic."
>>>Congrats! We've completed our First Tangent!<<<
The menu had two whole pages dedicated to Austrian dishes, so naturally, I went straight there and set up shop. Ariel had schnitzel, with cold, pickled slices of potato(?) I had a traditional Austrian goulash, which was delicious. Not quite as good as Prague's, in its little bread-bowl, but lovely all the same.
Schnitzel was an interesting revelation. I know two things about schnitzel:
1) It's included in The Sound of Music's "My Favourite Things":
/and crisp apple strudels/doorbells and sleigh-bells/and schnitzel with noodles
2) You don't serve schnitzel with noodles. Lazy lyrics, Oscar Hammerstein II!
(Both facts 1 and 2 come from the usual deposit of my wisdom, QI.)
I can't articulate what I expected it to be, but what I did not expect was, effectively, an oversized, glorified chicken nugget. (Or accurately, veal, pork or turkey - which is what Ariel had) A thin steak of the chosen meat, breaded and fried. What we over here tend to see in a Happy Meal.
We then tried to visit "Fifteen Sweet Minutes" round the corner, for dessert, but ultimately found it closed. We returned hotel-wards, for reading, and sleep.
Monday 11/02/2019
You may remember from Prague, I'd had to reset my usual holiday waking hours. Holidaying with my mother, we would wake as early as possible, to be out as early as possible, to then see as much as possible.
In Prague, Ariel took a more relaxed approach and we tended to be out and about a little before noon.
In Vienna, Ariel - having by now experienced and adjusted to the "9 to 5" sleeping pattern of life - split the difference and we adopted a sleep schedule somewhere in the middle. We were adequately rested, and keen to get sight-seeing. We were also quite acutely aware that Vienna was bigger, and therefore had more sights to see, than Prague.
(Admittedly, our sleep and rest were also hindered by a screaming child in the room next door, parented by a mother who rewrote the definition of the word 'placid'; and somebody unthinkably hoovering.)
Breakfast was, of course, a hotel-provided buffet and, on my part at least, rather inventive. I came away with bacon, sausages, peppers and sweetcorn, with a side of tinned pears and yoghurt... Meanwhile, Ariel sampled all sweets and confectioneries. (He would not discover the Nutella and pastries until Day Two. They were safe. For now.)
And so, our first day in (Ohhhhhhhh) Vienna began. We caught an O tram into town, and found ourselves in Stadtpark, wherein I noted hundreds of benches, all of them unoccupied. And yes I know one does not visit foreign and gorgeous cities to notice the public conveniences and seating arrangements, BUT, there were that many that I noticed. Enough for everyone in Vienna, it seemed.
Further into the park, we happened upon a golden statue memorial to Strauss. Copenhagen is known for its little mermaid statue. We'd just accidentally wandered up to Vienna's equivalent.
I desperately tried and failed to recall the musics of Mr Johann Strauss before us (FYI: Blue Danube, known to most as the tune from 2001: A Space Odyssey).
Ariel and I politely and semi-patiently waited for the Eastern tourists to finish their child's Strauss-themed photo shoot.
In front of the statue, next to the statue, posing, not posing, with parents, without parents, parents on their own..."Oh, they're done, no, wait....oh yes, behind the statue, silly me." Fortunately, they soon left, so we took our pictures and carried on to inspect a nearby bridge. Seagulls below us seemed to be enjoying bobbing along the river's current.
A short walk northwest put us outside the Palais Colburg (Colburg Palace).
...turned out to be a hotel.
A very expensive hotel, but a hotel nonetheless. So, Vienna had a spare palace, it seemed. One that was not needed, and so could be privatised. Certainly, it put our hotel to shame.
From there, we wandered deeper into the heart of the city, nearing downtown Vienna. We happened upon the Vienna State Opera building, a striking and suitable shell for any operatic splendour held within.
Take the Sydney Opera House. (Not literally. Pretend it's Monopoly.) SOH is so obviously famous but is one amazing building among many other plainer ones - a rose, in a grassy meadow. The VSO house was simply one jewel, in an entire city of diamonds. We'd passed a palace/hotel just to get here, down streets of marble, and polished sandstone, and gold leaf, and sculpture after sculpture. On the streets for less than an hour, and we'd seen palaces, temples, cathedrals and so many other wonderful, decadent sights to see.
Including, the Vienna National Library and Papyrus Museum. Which, much like everything else so far, we stumbled upon quite at random. Or rather, we found the back of it - the other side shall come later. Ariel, meanwhile, had spied the Schmeterling Haus, the Butterfly House. As an avid fan of the fluttering beauties, he requested we venture inside. I agreed, perfectly happily. Butterflies radiate an air of serenity about them, and always adorn the most wonderful colours.
And, they are an important symbol in BioShock 2...
Schmeterling Haus was a small, incredibly humid section of faux-jungle tropics, contained within downtown Vienna. Almost like an urban oasis. Within, all multicoloured and multicultural denizens were free to fly about the place at will - though mostly opted for space just in front of my face. They could enjoy some chopped banana and had an extensive collection of flowers to land upon. Ariel and I enjoyed ourselves immensely, breathing in the heavy air, and the colours, and the silence, and the beauty of it all.
In the tranquility and peace of the place, we took to our own personal quietness, where I - as always - began to dream new ideas for stories I'd never considered before.
To then retract to a previous point, we ventured back outside and around to the right, to the front of the Library/Papyrus Museum, having accidentally found Vienna's Museum Quarter. Here, Vienna's Art, Natural History, and other miscellaneous museums dwell in one knowledgeable neighbourhood. "Later," we promised ourselves. Museum Day was to come later. Know the city first, then know its culture.
Next, we saw the Vienna Parliament museum. Or, what we could see of it, anyway. It was under restoration and mostly behind partitions, scaffolding, and the occasional crane. What we did see, however, put our London Parliament to ABSOLUTE shame. It was a whole plaza, like a miniature sea-level Acropolis, of Grecian temples, including one with a frontage the same size as the Parthenon itself. Outside this stood a gigantic marble and gold-leaf statue of Athena. Ariel and I stood in wide-eyed shock and envy at this unimaginable splendour and opulence, with me seriously considering a career shift into Viennese government.
Following that road, which still wasn't done of sights to amaze us, we saw a Gothic church in Rathauspark, where a large ice-rink had been set up outside, complete with a central area for free-skating, connected to side-paths and routes for anyone fancying a detour adventure. We wanted to skate - or in my case, to be able to skate - but carried on.
We soon came to Stephehsplatz (Stephen's Plaza, not Stephen going splat, as I first thought), location of Stephansdom, St's Stephen's Cathedral. Another gigantic structure of Gothic design and old stones, standing out among the new, clean marble, like a Goth among croquet players. At this time, the front was being guarded by a group of security. Unsure of what, if anything, was happening, we pressed on with every intention of returning later on.
Lunch that day was held in an Italian restaurant. Here, I mixed my very own Nationality Cocktail, by eating a Greek pizza in an Italian restaurant in an Austrian city. And it tasted good, after I'd made the mistake of biting through what I'd (wrongly) assumed to be a pitted olive. My teeth are strong enough to bite through an olive stone. Every day's a school day...
A brief stroll took us back to the main promenade; essentially, a large ring-road that encircles the very centre of Vienna. In short, if you go to Vienna, you will find yourself on the promenade at least once, if not much more often. Be careful though. While it is mainly foot-traffic, cars and bikes can - and do - come onto it. We found a nice bench to rest our aching feet, and while away the time people-watching. Or, in my case, pigeon-watch. Gary, Beatty, I hope you resolved your differences.
While we sat there, Ariel's gaze had fallen upon an array of cakes and other baked goods, through the open doorway of a nearby shop. I agreed to venture in. I was on a perpetual hunt for sachertorte, a chocolate cake, and effectively the famous recommended dessert of Vienna. We then unknowingly entered the bakery of an entire supermarket.
Friends, family, and others, back home we know of Waitrose. We know of Marks and Spencer. But neither Ariel nor I - and I am partial to a Waitrose lunch when feeling particularly...wealthy - had seen anything like this. Julius Meinl, it was in an entirely different league.
Imagine your typical American Christmas movie - Julius Meinl could be the perfect set piece without even having to change anything. I had never seen any shopping experience quite like it, it was actually, accurately, magical.
And of course, we bought some junk food. Mainly wafer biscuits, which I'd developed a taste for back in Prague. With our miniature feast of sugars, we held a small picnic outside the Vienna Clock Museum, a place I very much wanted to visit, and helpfully,
CLOSED ON MONDAYS. "Later," I promised myself, for the second time that day.
From there, we blindly meandered through alleyways and side streets, eventually coming to a long market square - or rectangle, in this case - bordered on all sides by tall buildings. Entirely empty, apart from what turned out to be the Judenplatz Holocaust Memorial. An interesting structure, consisting of layers of the same, ridged blocks. Ariel pointed out that the ridges made it look like books. A quick read of a nearby info point proved him right. Endless copies of the same book, to represent the number of victims. The engraving at the front read: "In commemoration of more than 65,000 Austrian Jews who were killed by the Nazis between 1938 and 1945." We paid our silent respects and left a few minutes later.
A brief stop off at a nearby Merkut got us some uniquely flavoured Fanta, and we happened to leave just as a gorgeous clock overhead struck 4pm. A short walk further down the road brought us to the Teddy Bear Museum - nothing too official, just a window display of various, historical, huggable bears, plus one or two unfortunates whose faces suggested they'd survived an exorcism.
Nearby, I - ever the nerd at heart - spied a comic book shop. I purchased nothing, but browsed happily all the same. Outside, Ariel and I shared a nice, long chat, sipping our Fantas, discussing (among other things) the inequalities and effects of imbalance on passivity in terms of the heterosexual relationship paradigm.
And, what we fancied for dinner.
We made our plans not long after; for our dessert, at least. While we sat and chatted, I entirely interrupted Ariel at one point by grabbing his arm and staring pointedly at something. He took the hint, and watched, for at that moment a couple wandered past clutching Trdnelnik - that beloved sweet treat we'd savoured in Prague. We abandoned our conversation and followed the couple's path, back the way they had come. Their snacks had been barely touched, hopefully meaning it was close by - and sure enough, we found it on the nearest road. Austrians called it Prügelkrapfen, we finally learned its English translation: chimney cake, which made a lot of sense once we'd read it. It is effectively a chimney-shaped hollow roll of pastry. We're nothing if not literal.
Thus, we had our dessert plans, but still needed something for dinner.
It was still quite early, so we returned to Stephensplatz and freely entered the Cathedral.
It was beautiful, utterly gigantic, half-closed off to the general public, and a section of Holy Ground where Ariel and I both blasphemed and, forgetting ourselves entirely, shared one quick kiss. We strolled about the place, watching tourists light candles, hearing the gentle hush of conversation, and one year on from our first experience, we were once more exploring an incredible feat made in the name of faith.
It is also where I found, but did not keep, a discarded tube of lipstick; and where I also reached this realisation: "I am not a man of God, but even I know not to take a 'selfie' in His house." Ariel took a moment to light a candle, for his grandmother back home - for she is one of God - and soon after we took our leave.
I requested a quick visit to a nearby bookshop. Prague did their bookshops better, I feel, though I do acknowledge that one bookshop does not represent the entirety of Vienna's reading material. I did manage to identify Stephen King's Cell - known in Austria as Puls.
Dinner was eventually had, and much enjoyed, in LeBurger - points are available for correctly guessing what we had to eat. You could even choose and create your own burger, choosing everything down to the toppings and sauces. I selected a pre-defined Italian chicken one, dripping with pesto, alongside a mango milkshake.
>>>DING! Achievement Unlocked: Tangent Two<<<
Those who know me, plus several who don't, will also know that I love the works of author Neil Gaiman. He is the genius behind my favourite series ever, Sandman, and has also written the originals of screen adaptations, such as Stardust and American Gods. Most know him for Coraline, the kid's film which is also a fantasy film, and a horror film, and just plain magnificence. In the film, eponymous heroine Coraline is lured into a 'mirror-world' of sorts, a retelling of her home, but with colours, and brightness, and too much love. And, sumptuous meals. During her first family meal with her "Other Mother," Coraline requests to drink a mango milkshake.
There, my obsession began. First I thought, "a mango milkshake, how absurd." It took me too long to realise we also have banana as a flavour, and strawberry. How can another kind of fruit be so shocking to me? Then, I decided I wanted to try one for myself, only to find that no company makes them, and no restaurant serves them - except Gourmet Burger Kitchen. They served it a short while, before discontinuing it, and the whole ONCE I got to try it, I enjoyed it.
But I had quite literally tasted the forbidden fruit. I wanted more, made even worse by the simple fact that I couldn't. In England at least, mango milkshake was a distant legend, an old myth equivalent to the Fountain of Youth, a delectable artefact that I was not to have.
In Vienna, I spotted it on the menu, and that was it. That was my choice of drink. And it. Was. WONDERFUL. I can't confidently comment on whether Coraline enjoyed her drink in the Other World; but if it was anything like mine, I'm sure she loved it too.
Then, for our evening of delicious delights was far from over, it was time for Chimney Cake!
(Eh. The English equivalent is so dull. I'll stick to Trdnelnik.)
While we waited eagerly, for our treats to be ready, our Trdnelnik vendor sparked up a conversation:
V: Where are you two from?
A/R: England.
V: Ah, England, yes. You are leaving us, yes?
*cue my stomach dropping into my feet. I know little about Brexit - the same can be said, it seems, for most of our own government - but I know that back home, it leads to arguments, falling out, and Nigel Farage getting to reappear on television. Me, I just wanted my Trdnelnik.
Ariel and I are, by a grand extent, not Brexit ambassadors, but we listened and learned that Austria, overall, isn't too fussed/worried/affected by Brexit. By the vendor's own admission, Austria is out of the way, behind several other countries (France, Germany, Belgium, Switzerland) and has little to be concerned about. We chatted amicably, laughed our sad laughs, and when given our Trdnelnik, he said: "I hope that this helps with the pain." Smiling, we left and returned to Stephensplatz to enjoy our nostalgic treat, and enjoy it, we did.
A brief interlude in a nearby tourist shop, looking at music boxes and magnets and the like, Ariel became aware of the "Church of St. Charles" and decided what could be, and what would be, the last stop of the day. We strolled south, and with agonised feet and aching legs, we reached the Church.
Now, I would dearly love to include some pictures of it, but it was at this precise moment in the narrative that my phone ran out of battery. Ariel's, meanwhile, had suffered an early death back by the Parliament building, and like two dedicated soldiers, we had gone on without it. So now we were phoneless, Apple-Map-less, and somewhere which was not our hotel. I didn't panic, exactly. But I didn't not panic, either.
Ariel bravely led us to a nearby Metro station, found us a train going the right way, and eventually, got us back to shelter - whereupon a serious recharging act began.
I was coming to absolute terms of just how much I rely on my phone, even though I consider myself to be better than some people I know.
"I'll just check the time - oh, my phone's dead. Ooh, I could take a photo - phone's dead. Better check the map - phone's dead." Bloody technology reliance.
Anyway, our legs and feet hated us - I learned the next day that we had walked over 20,000 steps - and by sheer exhaustion, I managed to crash out before 9pm. I'd just got comfortable to check my phone and suddenly it was morning time.
Thus ended a fantastic first day.
Tuesday 12/02/2019 - Our Two Year Tinder Anniversary
Screaming child. Hoover. Breakfast buffet - no pot of chocolate/hazelnut spread was safe, no croissant could be any more smothered.
Our designated Museum Day. Naturally, we returned to the Museum Quarter, and the Hofburg Palace, with every intention - at my request, of course - of visiting the National Bibliothek Prunksaal, the National Library. As we know from Prague, I'm a sucker for old beautiful libraries, baroque reading corners, and any kind of awe-inspiring tribute to all things printed. Thus, we wandered into the first building with a sign saying National Bibliothek and summarily arrived inside...the wrong place.
We spent €12 each, to instead enter the Vienna Museum of Ethnology. In fairness, even in the wrong location, we did enjoy ourselves. It began in one exquisite entrance hall of polished, shining marble.
Moving on from there, we learned about culture through the 14th, 15th and 16th century. We saw a map of just how much England colonised the world. (I apologise for my ignorance, here. I knew it was a lot, but I learned that it's like, A LOT a lot. I thought Americans as land-grabbers, but Christ almighty.) I also discovered that humour hadn't changed much since the 19th century - a colonist's wife had used old cartoon cut-outs to describe her husband's endeavours abroad = our modern-day equivalent of ironic tags on Instagram posts. (I was about to say 'funny captions in photo albums' but for the life of me can't think why anyone would keep photo albums anymore...)
I read a story about a man called Hussam, which means 'sword' and so he got one for free; I saw a beautiful if horrific painting of two tigers fighting over a downed man; and learned about an ancient wartime artefact - a puppet head, meant to represent the war god Ku, and fertility god, Lona. Truly, a deity able to make love, and war.
Further on I came to stop at an exhibition of puppets, which put me in mind of a school play I was part of, in Year 6 (estimate age 10 or 11 years.) Ariel joined me, thus sparking our second intellectual chat of the holiday, this time involving memory. (For context, the recollection I was struggling to uncover was a Year 6 play of both shadow puppets and 3D ones, possibly based on Journey to the West. This information comes from home research, after the holiday, and still isn't 100% reliable.)
Ariel and I also got drawn in, like true tech-loving millennials, into a screening of an anime show called Miss Hokusai. The plot was quite ensnaring; I meanwhile was amused by a Japanese show, dubbed into German, and subtitled into English. Now that, my dears, is multiculturalism.
Truth be told we ended up spending 2+ hours in what can only be described as The Wrong Place, but we did enjoy ourselves. If I may quote from the one true God, Bob Ross: "We don't make mistakes. We just have happy accidents."
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| Panoramic view of the Papyrus Museum & Library |
We turned right out of our museum, into what was undoubtedly a library. A modern one, mind, with Vienna students, IKEA furniture and items written in the 20th century. At least, that's what we saw from behind some glass, and could certainly not see baroque beauty and ancient Austrian texts, as we'd been led to believe. We weren't the first ones to make that mistake, either. Literally outside the main doors was a box of leaflets, explaining to all who cared to read it that the place we ACTUALLY wanted was the State Hall, with directions on how to get there. This we realised, though not until after Ariel had tried to register, to get into the contemporary library. Somewhere on a Viennese database is the details of an Essex boy, trying to get the library card that would never be.
Anyway, with our passive-aggressive, we-get-this-all-the-time maps in hand, we trekked further, past Hofberg - seeing yet more architectural wonder along the way - and into the State Hall.
This is what I'd been after. Some of you may recall my awe-struck and slightly teary encounter with a gorgeous library in Prague; well, move on over Czech Republic. Vienna was something else entirely. The room was long, tall, full of bookcases numbered and reaching beyond 20 and each of them full of old, leather-bound reading material; and while words are my thing, I hear pictures can speak a thousand of them:
I totally did not cry. Totally did not. Nope. Not even a little bit.
Our feet were cross at us once more, and it was time for lunch. We returned to the promenade and essentially dove towards the first sign saying "restaurant." It turned out to be a greasy spoon diner called Mama's, who gave us our chosen meal of schnitzel and chips. It was a fairly dry meal, rather basic, but tasty and just what we needed. Here, our plans to see the Natural History and the Art museums came undone, as the Natural History Museum is helpfully CLOSED ON TUESDAYS. Still, we didn't despair, merely swapped our plans about and quickly got on a tram to Belvedere Palace. This was a request of Ariel's, his princess nature no doubt wanting to check out the competition.
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| Front view |
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| Garden view |
We also, against quite unfathomable odds, bumped into one of Ariel's friends from back home. He was staying on the opposite side of Austria, on a year abroad, but had come to Vienna by way of a night train. Ariel's surprise was, I feel, well deserved. We all hung out awhile, whereupon Ariel's more Austrian-adept friend helpfully corrected a multitude of our pronunciations. We ultimately parted ways, as he needed to catch another train back, and Ariel and I were to celebrate our anniversary. (Tinder anniversary, anyway - love and official Boyfriend-hood came later, in April)
I seem to have no further notes from Tuesday. Presumably, a short commute and a long sleep!
Wednesday 13/02/2019
Museum Day Part 2: The Dedication
Four museums, and only one day left to go. We woke, semi-earlier than normal, as two men on an important mission. One of travel, of education, of determination. Our first stop, the Sigmund Freud Museum, helpfully located one long tram ride away from our hotel.
Given that Freud lived and worked in Austria, until World War 2, and given that I studied psychology at AS Level, and Ariel studies it for his degree, it's safe to say we both had an invested interest.
I will say, with a hand on both my Timelord hearts, that I adored the Sigmund Freud museum, and will forever sing its graces. Freud's actual living quarters and office, before he moved to London, have been re-purposed into a small museum dedicated to his life - with the entrance and waiting area preserved exactly as it was. Pictures on and around the walls show what his study and treatment rooms had looked like - cluttered and chaotic - and an excellent audio guide is provided, free of charge. I was particularly intrigued by his desk chair, and reading position:
"He was leaning in this chair, in some sort of diagonal position, one of his legs slung over the arm of the chair, the book held high and his head unsupported."
I went away with a desire to give it a try!
But my absolute favourite part was the video room. Old, old footage, taken from family and friends' short clips and recordings, are played on a continuous loop, narrated by Freud's daughter, Anna. I loved watching it, not just to see the man for real, in natural environments, working and among colleagues, and not posing. But I adored the chance to see the history of it. This wasn't some documentary's falsified reproduction, nor still images, but an actual video of the actual man. I was humbled, even quite emotional, to be able to see the preserved screen-sized window into the past, to watch something from a previous century and still think "this is real. This happened. They are real people, standing there with real hopes and dreams and lives, and there is one of the most important men of psychology." I cannot recommend the Freud museum enough.
Next on our tour was the Uhrenmuseum, the Clock Museum, not closed this time. It is a narrow, 3 storey building with excessively creaky floorboards, as well as some truly exquisite timepieces. Being a Timelord at hearts, I have an unquestionable thing for clocks, beautiful ones at least, especially the astronomical ones that tell so much more than just mere 24-hour time. Plus, we had just so happened to arrive at 11:50, so ten minutes later on floor one, we enjoyed a priceless moment when several grandfather clocks - all noticeably not in unison - announced different middays. My favourite item had to be an ornate, gold and glass sand-timer - one I would be proud to measure my remaining time in Death's storerooms.
This place also provided excellent inspiration for my Doctor Who fan-fiction, The Unknown Timelord, so I did do rather well out of it.
We then returned to the Museum Quarter, Art and Natural History awaiting us, and had lunch in what transpired to be a restaurant chain called Wienerwald.
(Which I believe translates to 'Vienna World' because around the city, Wiener tended to mean Vienna, often then shortened to Wien, which was written all over public transport. I, of course, read it as Wiener World, and yes, two gays did eat there.)
((A secondary, back-home Google reveals Wiener to mean 'of Vienna'.))
(((Apparently wald means 'forest'...)))
ANYWAY, Ariel and I once more plucked our choices right from the 'traditional' page. He had cordon bleu (essentially, schnitzel stuffed with ham and cheese - translated by me as a quiche lorraine chicken kiev) and I had tafelspitz - boiled beef, roast potatoes, and creamed spinach. I could take or leave the latter bowl of green goo, and decided to leave it, but Ariel seemed to enjoy dunking his chips in it!
I also requested strudel for dessert, the other Vienna stereotype, and yes, much like Croatia, I could not help but relieve the strudel scene out of Inglourious Bastards.
It was so nearly museum time, though not before we'd gotten quite distracted by a horse-headed accordion player, busking outside the Art Museum.
This is in no way meant to add or detract anything from this story, it is simply the truth.
Then, at last! Museum Day volume 3: Kunsthistorisches Museum, the Museum of Art History. (And if you happened to extract a naughty word from the first 5 letters, bravo! You are just as immature and dirty-minded as I.)
We strolled through ancient civilisations - three, in total. Egyptians became the Greeks and the Greeks, typically, became the Romans - all the while we experienced more history, beautifully arranged than we'd ever expected. I myself became enthralled with items such as a Sarcophagus of Persephone, and countless figurines of Heracles and Zeus.
About 2+ hours of this later, we finished that side of the museum, with another side and a whole other floor to do. I admit, I was starting to flag, but we managed to get through some of the opposite side which turned out to be Christian art history. This is certainly not my forte, nor my chosen period of history, but I did get to see a lot of gold. A lot of Adam and Eve statues. Some more elegant timepieces. And one particular piece of pottery which would have taken Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore more than one play-through of Unchained Melody:
A quick pause on a bench outside - to rest our feet, cut short by painfully cold weather, which happened altogether too often during our holiday - and we then endured the short distance to the almost entirely identical museum, directly opposite.
Convenient! Other cities, take note.
This was the Naturhistorisches Museum, the Museum of Natural History. Like the typical and absolute sci/fi geek that I am, I stood wide-eyed and enraptured in the first few rooms, reading up on how the Earth came to be, just how long it takes to make just one star, and how each of us are made of stardust.
That's the sort of history I love the most: the beginnings. Beginnings are great. Naturally, they're enticing, and exciting, and dripping in infinite possibilities. By the end, usually the wrong people are dead and the 'wronger' people have won. But when the world was young, and we noisy little people were but a distant nightmare, the very first stories began - and they are the ones I'd like to hear.
Upstairs, there was a long trail of taxidermy-ed animals, from throughout the animal kingdom. Predators captured in dynamic poses; amphibians preserved in jars; shoals of fish suspended on cables; roomfuls of birds.....
And, the setting where I almost caused Ariel to reconsider our entire relationship:
* we've just entered a room devoted to buffalo, bison and other wildebeests *
Rob: * barely able to speak through suppressed laughter *
Ariel: Do not say whatever it is you're about to say. Do not. Nope. I'm not having it.
R: What...heh, what did the buffalo say, when his child went off to school?
A: No, it's not happening.
R: B...bison.
* cue Ariel wordlessly going off into a quiet corner, to sit and ponder upon all his past choices which led up to this moment *
** I meanwhile am trying not to cackle with laughter in this quiet museum **
Still, he stayed with me - if begrudgingly - and we finished our tour of stuffed animals with glassy stares, ending with a row of stereoscopes. These all contained 3D images of jungle scenery and other, worldly sights. Captain Clever here remained adamant that they weren't working and were blurry...until I realised I'd taken my glasses off to look through the lenses...
It was time for our final meal, and so we ventured onwards and upwards, to Ulrick's. I shall sing their praises, too. It was quite hipstery, which these days tends to work, and it was packed. Despite this, our enthusiastic waitress insisted on giving us a table without a reservation. She seemed prepared to wrestle existing diners out of the way to get us in, we were pretty impressed. The service was friendly and fast, and the food was phenomenal. Ariel and I both had the same thing, a Caesar salad flatbread, sort of like a leafy pizza. It was delicious, and after our hearty and filling lunch earlier on, it was suitably light, and not too filling. We enjoyed it immensely, to the point that we hardly said a word during the meal.
(This does happen between Ariel and I often, food-lovers that we are.
Ariel: I can tell the food's good.
Rob: How?
A: You haven't said a word since it got here!)
And though we were in and out of Ulrick's in about 40 minutes, what time we did spend there, we liked.
We took our last tram-ride back to hotel, our stomach's quite nicely filled, but our hearts heavy. We both expressed a wish that we weren't leaving just yet. We had done a lot, but still far from everything; and yet, our final night had almost entirely run out. There remained little left to do but pack, and check into our flight.
(This in itself was another cause for stress and irritation - thank you, Yanir Ra)
Thursday 14/02/2019
I'm all for early flights myself, as I detest waiting around, but I admit that I struggled to shake the feeling of "morning-after-a-one-night-stand." We'd loved Vienna, visited much of its beautiful form, enjoyed its delicacies and grace, shared in its history; and then proceeded to sneak out early on Valentine's morning.
We woke early, breakfasted, checked out, and waited for our transfer.
To Bratislava airport.
Which is in Slovakia.
Before 1pm that day, we saw three different countries.
Our transfer was a posh Mercedes, driven by a charming hipster, who managed to almost kill us only twice during the journey. (Ariel was asleep for one of them; I was fortunate enough to panic about both.) "Not as good as it could be!" Our driver had said. I, and my furious heartbeats, were inclined to agree with him.
Then, as always, there remains little to say. We checked in - with some issues, thank YOU Nyir Aar - we flew, Ariel read and I updated travel notes, we baggage-claimed, and we headed back home.
Our evening from there consisted of a takeaway dinner and some well-deserved sleep.
~ * ~
As we know, I like to end my travel blogs on a Moment of Reflection. This, what marks the end of my fifth holiday rewrite, shall be no different.
So what can I say, about Vienna? Well, to compare to mine and Ariel's first anniversary holiday, it was more opulent, and decadent, and other fancy words ending in -ent which effectively all mean 'swanky', than Prague. It was also larger, and richer, and more culture-soaked than Prague. It was stunning, and gorgeous, and awe-inspiring, and downright wonderful.
I still prefer Prague, though. I'm a humble man, of many quirks, and modest backgrounds. Give me cobbled streets and underground burger bars over brushed marble and 60 types of museums, any day. And, Prague had the advantage of being mine and Ariel's first holiday together, an additional perk that no trip which follows can overcome.
But, I still loved Vienna. I spent three consecutive days being impressed, without being intimidated. I got to walk among the Austrian peoples, who were friendly, and funny, and - on a LGBT positive note - did not cast an eye over Ariel and mine's relationship. And I enjoyed being in a city that was safe, and quite serene, and endlessly leading one beautiful sight onto the next.
Ultimately, I wish that I could have given Vienna an extra day, even just one, to see even more of it, and not just for the excuse to wander around humming Ultravox.
♯ Oh, Vienna ♯
~ * ~
On one last note, I promise! This recount also marks the 75th post on this blog!
Not bad, considering I've only had it for 9 years...
In any case, whether this is your first post of mine, or just another one, I hope you've enjoyed. Even if I haven't written it all down, a lot has changed in those 9 years.
I wonder what I'll be writing after the next 9...?
