Vienna (Wien)

Wien, Austria – Wednesday, March 24th, 2010

It was a little before six in the morning when I thought I could hear a train rumbling into the station. “Shit, I better see if that’s one going in the direction I want,” I thought as I quickly hustled to scan my ticket through the gate to get down to the platform in time. Halfway down the stairs I could see it was on the other side of the platform going in opposite direction. Ah, no need for the hurry. Wait a second… the opposite direction? I’m on the side I’ve been using the past three days to get from Val d’Europe to Disneyland, I want to be going back into central Paris instead so I can get to Charles de Gaulle Airport to catch my plane to Vienna. I want the opposite direction! I scan my ticket at the gate once again so I can switch to the other platform. One more scan to get on the platform for city-bound trains – denied. Whoops. I guess this ticket is only valid for one scan in and out, regardless if they happen to be at the points across town as indicated on the ticket or at the same platform for 15 seconds. There are no ticket sellers or anyone else on duty at this hour. A help call point next to the gates reads off directions for requiring assistance in four languages including English, so I figure to give that a try and push the button.

“Bonjour?” a voice crackles.

“Hello, does someone speak English that can help me?”

I got a semi-agitated reply in French.

“Er… sorry? English?” I try helpfully.

Another agitated quip and then dial tone. Huh. Contrary to the signage that wasn’t very helpful.

Well now I’m out of ideas. A few other early morning travelers have since arrived in the station area. I call out to no one in particular, “does anyone speak English that can help me?” not really sure what assistance they’d be able to provide even if they do. After a moment’s hesitation, one lady volunteered. I explained my situation, and she nodded understandingly. She explained simply, “then what you’ll have to do is follow me through when I scan my ticket.” Okay, that works. I thanked her. “It’s okay, it can happen to anyone. Even if you are French.”

Thus began my first day in Vienna; riding the train to the airport not sure whether it would allow me to scan out once I arrived, or if airport security would be performing a random cavity search after discovering a foreigner carrying a large, weighted bag trying to skip through the gates with an invalidated ticket. The gates at the airport let me through no problem and I had more than enough time to check-in before my plane left.

The first thing I discovered upon my arrival was that Vienna is radiant in the springtime. The airport link shuttle dropped me off not far from Stadtpark, which marked the beginning of a long, rambling, semi-planned-but-eventually-fuck-it-I’m-going-whichever-way-the-wind-blows walk through the city before the check-in time to my hostel began. I’ll let the photos tell most of the story but a couple highlights of this stroll included: seeing the golden Johann Strauss statue playing a violin in Stadtpark, the Staatsoper (Vienna State Opera House), Akademie der Bildenden Künste (Fine Arts Academy, notable for being the institution which rejected a young Adolf Hitler’s application twice), the Secession (a second arts school which acted as the dialectical opposite to the bourgeois fine arts academy), and Karlsplatz (a large public square in front of the Karlskirch church).

The atmosphere I sensed in Vienna was that it was a very romantic city, although it was a different sort of romanticism than I experienced in Paris. While Paris (as least according to the American stereotype) is seen as being very glamorous and exciting, Vienna seemed much more… I don’t know how to describe it… familiar? Paris is romantic because there is a sense that it is somehow unattainable (I mean, just look at what they charge for food), while Vienna is the home of every classical composer whose music we have been at least fleetingly familiar with since we were six, and the music, the fresh spring air, the uncluttered streets, the cheaper comfort food, the friendly people, there’s no mystique to it, Vienna’s just a place I’d feel comfortable calling a second home. Of course my actual second home in Rome is by far the most Romantic city in all of Europe, although methinks it owes much of that achievement to a technicality in terms.

I checked into my hostel which is very near the city center, chatted briefly with one of my roommates, a Brazilian named Diego who was completing a month-long European trip of his own, and then left to explore a couple museums in The Museumsquartier and the rest of the city landmarks inside the Ringstraße. First was the MUMOK, aka the MUseum MOderner Kunst (aka the Modern Art Museum). Their main exhibition when I was there was called Changing Channels, and was an exhibition to experimental television that spanned from the late 60’s through to the 80’s. It was presented almost entirely and exclusively in English which was odd if not nice, and nicer still was the fact that it was free to anyone with a valid student ID. I’ve never been one for television programming; personally, I find film to be far more rewarding of my time if I’m going to sit down in front of the TV rather than anything found on cable. The serial, episodic nature of shows (punctuated with constant commercial interruption) just doesn’t have the same quality appeal on either an artistic or even basic enjoyment level, and the fact that they have to be censored and made easily digestible enough for public viewing makes even the edgier stuff on TV seem kind of toothless compared to what can be achieved cinematically. However, I apparently was not watching any of the shows presented at the MUMOK’s exhibit, which were in many cases experimental and artistically daring. One program was a 1975 Independence Day special in which a Cadillac drives through a wall of burning televisions, and another program (named “Shut The Fuck Up”) featured The Joker unveiling to a art society a blank canvas entitled “Death of a Mauve Bat”. An interviewer hesitantly asks if the painting might be about the materialistic emptiness of modern society. After a pause, the Joker decides ‘yes!’, at which everyone in the gallery cheers wildly, while the Joker congratulates himself on his latest nefarious victory. Characteristic of any modern art museum, Andy Warhol was given an entire room which featured shows produced by the pop-artist in glorious artsy-fartsy-bullshit-o-vision.

After the MUMOK I explored the Ringstraße some more (basically it’s this large circular road with trolleys that surrounds the city center including the Hofburg palace) and also made a stop at the Naturhistorisches Museum, which extends its opening hours on Wednesday nights. A Darwin exhibit was the primary special attraction, although only a fraction of the signs were posted with English translations so I got only the basic information I already was well familiar with. The rest of the museum is an endless collection of fossils, skeletal remains, precious stones, and prehistoric man-made artifacts. Just as I was about to leave I made one last glance over a museum guide to make sure I hadn’t missed anything important… and lo, discovered I had walked right by an exhibit containing the Venus of Willendorf. Needless to say I made a second round of the museum.

With the last rays of the sunset fully gone by the time I exited the museum, I took one more night walk around the city, aiming in the general direction of the stunning Votivkirche, before meandering back in the direction of my hostel. Rather than call it a night, I decided to catch a screening of Woody Allen’s Whatever Works at a nearby arthouse cinema. My original intention had been to see Austrian director Michael Haneke’s The White Ribbon (Das weiße Band) while I was in Austria, but of course after sending them an inquiring email I discovered it would be impossible to find a theater in Vienna with a print including English subtitles, so I decided I was better off with an English-language film with German subtitle instead. The movie itself, starring Larry David, was classic Woody Allen, which might be as much a fault as a virtue. Watching Larry David insult anyone and everyone that comes his way is far from the best of Allen’s works but I’d still call it halfway decent entertainment, which was all I really required. As I was the only one in the theater, off went the shoes and socks and I stretched out in the front row of the dingy but quant little screening room, a fine way to end a very long day.

The next morning I arose around 9:00, took a very cold and awkward shower, and the prepared for another long day of Viennese sightseeing, careful not to wake my still slumbering roommates, a greater courtesy than the two girls who moved in on the bottom bunks were willing to extend to me some five hours earlier. Anterior to the opening of any more museums was a stop for breakfast, which in my case consisted of one slice of Sacher torte with a cup of hot chocolate, and liberal amounts of whipped cream on both. One of the best damn breakfasts I ever had, too.

I entered the Kunsthistorisches Museum shortly after its opening at ten, and discovered inside an incredible collection of historical works from all manner of classical artists, as well as even earlier, such as Egyptian pottery and a Greek bust of Aristotle. Some of the notable artwork in the museum included “The Tower of Babel” and “Summer” (the painting of an assembly of fruits forming the shape of a man’s head). If you read my report from Paris you may recall a rather cynical attitude I took towards these sorts of ‘cultural activities’, but apart from the two paintings listed above I really had no way to judge the relative fame or monetary worth of the different works, yet still occupied well over two hours moving from gallery to gallery. This was to become a theme in many more European cities, and while I have a bit more appreciation for modern art over classical (Do I need seven million paintings of another random scene from the Bible?), there is a level of technical craft in these works that I don’t think I’ve completely seen duplicated in any time period since, and it would frequently leave me standing in awe wondering just how any human could accomplish such a task.

I intended to make a visit of the Hofburg Palace next door as well, but admission to that one was a little bit more steep and by the time I finished with the Kunsthistorisches I didn’t know if my feet could take any more standing around inside buildings. I therefore made a brief retirement to the hostel before once again packing up with the intention of seeing a few more Vienna landmarks such as St. Stephen’s Cathedral (also totally randomly stumbled upon film director Billy Wilder’s former home) as I made my way to an evening at the Wiener Prater.

Next: The Wiener Prater

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