An American in Vienna

A Turkish vendor was hawking his goods Saturday in the Naschmarkt, Vienna's open air market. Speaking German, it was obvious that he was saying something about how great his food was and that everyone should try it. Just as I walked past, he changed to English, and without missing a beat continued humorously (I think)..."Everyone but Americans. Not for Americans. Everyone else but not Americans." I laughed and walked on, but really should have stopped to ask, "How'd ja know? What tipped you off?" Was it my black wool overcoat? (Larry Levine) My backpack? (North Face) I probably looked tired, but American? A tired American?

In Bratislava I sometimes get stopped for directions by people thinking I'm local. But merchants, I think, are adept at identifying customers as part of their job description. Actually that was only the second time I had worn that heavy coat over here because it has been so mild. Not so In Vienna, where of course since I had planned a week-end walking tour of the city it was cold, windy and snowing!

Like most cities in Europe Vienna is very easy to navigate due to an excellent public transport system. After I took a one-hour train trip from BA to Vien (say veen), I used a combination of bus, tram, but mostly U-bahn (subway) to get to my destinations. The only snag came on my first night where I took the subway (about 3 minutes) in to the city center with no problem. When I took it home, however, I got out at my stop, walked upstairs, outside and said, "Where the hell am I?!" NOTHING looked familiar, so I went back in and down and tried it again, exiting at a different direction. And same thing, but wait, I soon realized I was on the other side of the street because I was leaving the city not going to it. Just be calm and remember, direction is everything!

You know how you frequently don't "hear" muzak? It just sort of acts as white noise in the background? Recently I was aware of hearing, and I'm pretty sure in this order: The Gipsy Kings, Annie Lennox, and someone singing Red River Valley in Slovak (or maybe we lifted the tune from them - could be) In Vienna it was all Mozart, all the time. Not exactly, but everywhere you go, including the subway (where I saw someone scrubbing down the escalator side grips at night - good call!) there is classical music permeating the atmosphere. Lovely.

I re-visited Stephansdom Cathedral that evening. I think that may have been the first time I had been in a major cathedral at night and it was eerily beautiful, with masses of votive candles supplanting the meager lighting. I lit a candle for Baby-to-be V and could just imagine the darkness of the Medieval era when the Habsburgs ruled for hundreds of years, most of their leaders managing to get crowned Holy Roman Emperor. In fact the hearts (literally) of many of those same "holies" are in a urn that lies beneath the main altar. Creepy.

The decorative pulpit was an amazing piece of intricate handiwork. And as is often seen in cathedrals there is a portrait of its humble creator, Anton Pilgram, holding his square and compass. In the center of the city, Stephansdom is a landmark, its roof readily identifiable by the colorful tiles, about one quarter of a million of them! You can also go outside and climb up the bell tower to get a better look and view "Boomer" the giant bell. It was too dark for that, so I'll save that adventure for another day.

After my evening walk, it was time for the ballet at Staatsoper, the State Opera House! In my enthusiasm to be dressed properly I had my handmade evening bag (Thanks, Janet!) with me, but that caused me to NOT have my camera to take pictures of the magnificent interior. Doh! The ballet was La Fille Mal Gardee (Wayward Daughter), a non-ballet lover's ballet. What with dancing chickens, a clog dance, ribbon numbers and, yes, even a Maypole dance it was very lively. And I almost forgot, a live pony. The plotless story was just a series of mishaps as the daughter's mother (a goofy character always danced by a tall male) tries to arrange a marriage with the vineyard owner's son who seems to love his red umbrella more than life itself.

Halftime, ah, I mean intermission was great people watching: lots of furs, formals, tuxes and even two women in traditional Japanese dress. I meanwhile, had previously checked my "American" wool coat in the "cloth" room; the usher wouldn't seat me until I had done so. I splurged and bought glass of champagne, smugly strolled around; dressed in black pretending that my gown was inconveniently at the dry cleaners and the mink jacket stored at the furrier's!

I am a big fan of Art Nouveau and the Arts and Crafts Movement and so a visit to the Secession Museum was in order, an interesting building with stucco exterior, decorative owls, and vine designs, crowned with a giant gold filigree ball of intertwined laurel leaves. I think I read that they call it the Golden Cabbage, but then what ISN'T cabbage around here, golden or otherwise? The Seccession artists were a breakaway group of turn of the century renegades whose movement is known as the Jugendstil style, an organic approach that reminds me of Rennie Macintosh in the UK at about the same time. I wanted to see the Gustuv Klimt Beethoven Fieze there, an incredible piece of work designed in 1902, covering 3 walls and 110 feet long.

From there I walked over to Karlskirche to ride the elevator. Really. Some friends in BA had clued me in to this; it seems there had been renovation to the dome last fall and an elevator had been installed for the workers. During the winter months it is too cold to continue work but they kept the elevator in place so we tourists could ride it up to inside the dome. Then if you're game, you can get out and climb the stairs all the way into the highest dome over 50 meters above the base of the main dome. This is the first opportunity anyone has ever had to view the dome from eye level and it was quite an experience. As you went up the final stairway, the sign said in german that laughing and singing is forbidden and "Schreiben ist uncool." When I got back on the elevator to go down, I happened to board with another American woman about my age - wearing pretty much an identical black overcoat to mine, so I guess maybe it was an "American thing".

And about those plague columns. I feel compelled to write about this because I have seen these in numerous town and city squares. They are individual columns, sometimes set in a fountain, but always in an open, public space. Without having done any research on this, it seems that they were constructed as a sort of "Thank God we're alive!" worked out architecturally. Consider how important churches were, how major any kind of construction was and how religious people were it makes sense that this happened. Elsewhere in Vienna there is a plague column erected in 1713, and in the case of Karlskirche a whole cathedral was built in thanksgiving. Maybe I'll start keeping track...

I returned to Pension Wild, my accomodation for the week-end, a staid place despite its name. The family-run pension started out with the Wild family, Germans in what was then Czechoslovakia, getting kicked out of the country after WWII. They arrived in Vienna with a couple of suitcases and Mrs. Wild cleaning flats. She finally bought one flat and rented out part of it, then purchased another to let, and eventually took possession of the beautiful 100 year old building with 60 rooms. She is 86 so son, Peter runs the place, located in Jozefstadt. When Vienna expanded beyond its city walls in the 18th century, this district, named after (yes, another Holy Roman) Emperor Josef II, developed. It was convenient to be in a well-preserved neighborhood just out of the hub, yet only a few minutes U-bahn ride to the city center.

Had dinner at the Alte Stube, one of the original burgermeister's houses from the 1600's that had been a working bakery up until 1963. Not much time, so had the special: oh, great cabbage soup, what a novelty. After being outside most of the day, felt like lingering but I had a date with a puppet!

I know this is totally dorky, but I went out to the Schonbrunn Palace (the royal summer home of the Habsburgs who apparently felt the need to remove themselves from the urban scene) and saw the "Magic Flute" at the Royal Marionette Theater. Our puppeteer came out before the show and explained how the puppets worked and how the 6 puppeteers stood on a scaffold meters high, leaning over to work the "opera stars". Many of the puppets had 7 strings and 3 wires, but a ballet dancer puppet could have as many as 17 or 18!

She spoke in German but I had been given a single sheet English translation of her interpretation. I'm not sure what she actually said, however, because I'd estimate she spoke about 3 pages worth of German. You get that a lot around here: five sentences in a foreign language is somehow condensed into 3 words of English. So you're always wondering, what did they REALLY say? Then the canned opera music began, curtains opened, lights on, and I was pleased to see that the marionettes were almost twice as big as what we'd just seen in the short demonstration.

The Magic Flute was indeed magic and afterward we got to go backstage to see the innards of the stage, meet our all-time favorite puppeteer and see the stars. I was shocked to see the marionettes were the same small versions he had showed us. It was explained that with special lighting and undersized scenery, an optical illusion was created making the puppets appear much bigger than "life". I thought it was also interesting that just hanging from their hooks, the puppets were "dead"; it was hard to imagine how animated they had become for the last 2 and 1/2 hours of suspended reality. Think of Chevy Chase in Caddy Shack, "Be the ball, Danny, be the ball..." puppeteers don't just move strings, they are the puppets.

Sunday morning it was back out to city center, this time in the Habsburg zone, to attend 9:15 Mass where the Vienna Choir Boys sang Mozart's Solemn Mass. Burgkapelle is quite small so you have to purchase tickets in advance, unless you want to come one hour early to getting standing room. The choir is in the third balcony along with a partial orchestra so you can hear but not see them. There is a performance every Sunday and they sing a completely different program each week.

After Mass but before the priest exited, the choir came down and stood in front and sang one song acapella. It was just as stunning as from the choir loft with the orchestra. There they were: wearing those sailor suits and looking to be about ages 8-14 but I'm not sure about that. Some, like Panov, hung out on the square so we could take pictures.

I returned to my pension to settle my bill (cash please, it's cheaper) and collect my backpack. I wasn't suprised that I had thoroughly enjoyed my stay there, one of Peter's previous e-mails having said, "We will look after (I think he meant forward) to give you a nice stay In Vienna and wish you a goot trip."

I visited one more museum before leaving, The Folk Museum, which was pretty diappointing. All explanations were in german, with the exception of the PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH SIGNS in english. I did happen upon a great photography exhibit upstairs, though. The photographer had visited Piedmont, Italy to see the re-eactment of the Battle of the Oranges. The original battle dates back to medieval days when the townspeople rebelled against the feudal soldiers. Back then, an orange was a valuable commodity so to throw an orange was an insult of the greatest kind. These re-enactments have been staged since after WWII but in the last 40 years have become quite a 3-day spectacle. There are teams with colors, strategies, soldiers who ride through on wooden carts, and thousands of oranges pelted at either side from pre-determined sites. Christian and Leah have told me about many of the strange festivals in Spain like, burning up floats, running bulls, celebrating flies...You'd think Valencia would hold this, but I guess they're too busy supplying the oranges to Piedmont.

Finally I dragged my weary body back to the train station, passing the same beggars who had been in the same spots all week-end. I wonder how they figure that out. Most don't stand around here; they kneel or if you know Yoga, assume the child's position. I boarded my train for an unremarkable trip home, just what you want when you're tired and ready to call a close to your "goot" trip.