XI. Zurückdenken

It's been a little more than a week since I left Vienna, and already it seems like some sort of dream. This is, in most ways, unfortunate. I don't want to forget my trip: I don't want to forget how to get around on Viennese public transit (trams are the best way to see the city, but subways are far quicker), or how to order food in German (use "bitte" frequently), or my science teacher (who found Viennese dialect incomprehensible, but spoke it fluently when inebriated!). But such is life. My spring of 2009 in Vienna is quite over, and I will never be able to relive it. The best I can hope for is that when—not if—I return, I shall have a similarly great experience. That's partly why I wrote this gol-durned web-log, to begin with; I want to remember what I thought the first time around. In the meantime, this journal with gather metaphorical internet-dust until I return. Rest assured I shall start it up again the next time I visit Vienna. But for now: Tchüß papa!

X. "Allons-y!"

Roses in the Volksgarten; I took this photo yesterday.

Well, today's my last full day in Vienna (for now). As before the beginning of the term, it's not really registered in my mind yet. I've been here ten weeks, and only now am I getting some sense of what life's like here. I have resolved that I must return, preferably sooner than later.

For the curious, I have taken some pictures. (Yes, I know they're on Facebook, but anyone should be able to view them. For the record, I loathe Facebook precisely because it is so convenient.) Here are the albums, from throughout the term:
Wienerreise (Vienna)
Egészségünkre! (Budapest)
Greetings from Czechia (Brno)
"Döner macht schöner!" (Vienna)
Praga mater urbium (Prague)
The Heart of Mitteleuropa (Prague)
No Polish Jokes, Please (Krakow)
Ich werde wandern (Vienna, Salzburg)
Last Waltz in Vienna

Today I plan to make it all the way around the Ring, and then, for dinner, Schnitzel King. It really is a fine restaurant...

IX. Spargelzeit

Here in lovely Vienna it is the height of asparagus season, and it is a gustatory delight to take part in it. After a service with the Anglicans, we went over to Café Prückel again; their Spargelcremesuppe is outstanding (and the Eiskaffee very good as well). It is now beyond question that Prückel is my favorite café in the city; if I could live anywhere here, I think it would have to be somewhere on the western side of the Third District (Landstraße), within a short walk of Christ Church, Stadtpark, and the café. And it seems that side of the Ring gets more sunlight, anyway; over on Schottenring it's too shady, at least in the afternoon. (There is one thing over there that grabs my attention every time I pass it, though: the Kleinbahn shop. If I ever have the money and an empty basement, I am going to have a miniature railroad in it, by gum.)

Freud walked around the Ring every day, it is said. There are certainly worse places to walk. I didn't quite make it all the way around today, but I did a respectable two-thirds, from Prückel around and up to the U4 stop at Schottenring. (You can see my route on that map, there.) It's getting so that I could actually see myself living in Vienna; I'm entirely uncertain how I'll be able to leave so soon.

VIII. Selbstständigkeit

Choir rehearsal this evening. We practiced for an hour, then had a farewell party for one of the tenors. That's the thing about Christ Church's congregation; very few of them are permanent residents of the city, so it's hard to build a lasting community. (I must add here that the stereotype that Anglicans are fond of drink is altogether true. But they're lovely people nonetheless.) Walking home I had, for the first time, some sense of what it would be like living in Vienna on my own, getting to appointments and rehearsals and the like. It would be very rewarding, I think. I've been quite coddled by the whole experience of living with 38 other Americans, and it's prevented me from experiencing the city as I would otherwise. (Mind you, it's necessary to have friends in Vienna, as the citizenry will never be warm here. Polite, yes, always, but never warm. It's an important distinction.) To live in Vienna as an independent individual would be challenging, of course, but eventually learning to do so would be worth it. Even now, having been here only seven weeks, it's rewarding to reflect on how much I've learned: what sort of Schnitzel to order, which tram line goes where, which churches have the best music, how not to offend waiters. It doesn't feel like home yet, but it could.

VII. Café Prückel

It's the Vienna Marathon today. After church (Anglican; special music included an excellent brass quintet), we walked over to the Ringstraße, where the runners were. There were Strauss waltzes being blasted out by loudspeakers around the course! Only in Vienna, I suppose; I certainly can't imagine any sort of classical music being played at marathons in the states. At an outdoor table at the Café Prückel (which, I've decided, is my favorite Kaffeehaus in the city) we had omelettes and coffee and watched the runners. I finished it off with some exemplary Sachertorte. It's been simply a wonderful day, so far; the trick is to take time to observe, to think, to discuss. That's why the Viennese have cafés: to eat slowly, watch people, and generally enjoy themselves. (The waiters at these establishments are professionals, and act as such. They realize that it's their job to see that customers are content, and accordingly give them all the time they want. Never are we forced to eat quickly and leave, here.) Americans would do well to emulate this way of living: if only we had time to sit back and relax, we'd be happier and more productive.

If there's a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than at a Viennese café with some Sachertorte in the Springtime, I've not experienced it.

VI. Ostern

Is today Easter already? Has it been three weeks since my last entry? Do I have things to write about? Yes, yes and, apparently, yes.

The last three days I've attended services at Christ Church Vienna, a very friendly (English-speaking) Anglican congregation; today I went to both services, and was, for the second, conscripted into the choir. It appears I'll be attending there somewhat regularly for the rest of the term. (They were kind enough to let me practice on their Casavant organ! Oh how I've missed the touch of the keys on my fingers... and, er, feet.) Anglicans seem to be quite an amiable bunch; their theology is so middle-of-the-road that it's hard to disagree with them violently on anything. In any case, the congregation of Christ Church was particularly kind. (Of course, compared to the Viennese, anyone who looks you in the eye and says words to you is the epitome of gregariousness. I thought for several weeks that perhaps I just didn't understand the Viennese; I think now that I do, and that they're simply not pleasant people.)

I've done so many things that it would be silly to write about them all. This past weekend I visited the Lainzer Tiergarten, which used to be the Habsburgs' private hunting grounds. We saw lots of wild boar tracks, but thankfully no wild boars. It was a beautiful day, with a refreshing breeze, and we went up to the overlook and looked over Vienna. It's a beautiful city from any angle. We then proceeded from the Tiergarten to a Biergarten, and had Spätzle and Radlers, which is a delicious combination. (A Radler is half-beer, half-lemonade; even I, who rather dislike beer, enjoy it.) Finally the weather is coöperating, as if to make up for those dreary first few weeks: we've had seventy-degree weather with no rain for more than a week now.

V. Andenken

I got out to Mexikoplatz today; apparently the Assisikirche there has English-language services. They weren't listed on the schedule. But it was a nice excursion I had, anyway. Then I got a bit lost on the U-Bahn, ending up north of the Danube; from there, I headed back to Schwedenplatz, then returned home on foot. It's quite easy to forget how small the city actually is: I walked across the 1st district (the old city, what used to be within the walls before they were knocked down to make the Ringstraße) quite comfortably.

I had a small moment of epiphany while on my stroll: here I am, walking the streets of Vienna, Austria. This city is older than anything I've ever seen outside of a museum. Everywhere I look, each building is invested with a history, a meaning: here lived Schumann; here, this column commemorates the end of the plague in 1679; here's the building that so offended Franz Josef that he shut his windows to it. It is all very much unlike the strip malls and suburbs back home, where no place is any place at all. I'm not sure what Wendell Berry thinks of cities, but I'm sure he'd appreciate that Vienna has a past. Another prominent conservative thinker, Chesterton, speaks of tradition as the "democracy of the dead"; it is certainly easier to practice this when every moment we realize what a debt we owe to those who have gone before us.

IV. Einsamkeit

Freud—you've heard of him, I suppose?—made his name attempting to treat rich neurotic Jewish ladies in Vienna. (Their symptoms would manifest as all sorts of things, from headaches to spasms to partial paralysis. The blanket term for this was, naturally enough, hysteria.) Was it something about the city that drove these women to that degree of profound nervousness? Perhaps. As I've found out, the weather in Vienna is maddeningly cold and rainy for weeks on end: while back home the violets are peeping above the mould, we've had nothing but moist, cloudy, 3° weather since we arrived. (Actually, it snowed a bit yesterday.) It is enough to make someone agitated. Add to that the layout of the streets, all curving; it's impossible to maintain one's sense of direction, since all the buildings are so close together that one never can see a great distance. Though one is never far from other people, it is difficult to get a sense of social interaction. The Viennese are intensely private, never raising their voices in public. (The only conversations one hears on the U-Bahn are those of Japanese and American tourists.)

There must be something about the city that nurtures the creative urge: is it this simultaneous closeness and isolation that drives residents of Vienna to seek the consolation of art and philosophy, creating such novels, paintings and symphonies? Would we have Mahler, Klimt and Wittgenstein without this maddening city?

I don't mean to say I dislike Vienna; no indeed, it's a beautiful place with no real inconveniences to speak of. But it is important to spend time with friends, lest one go all hysterical; fortunately, I have many Americans here with me. And one simply must avail oneself of the parks—which, at least, Vienna has plenty of. Today I went out to Schönbrunn again, walking up the zig-zag path to the Gloriette and back down. Then I had a Käsekrainer, which can't possibly be healthy but was delicious. I can tell already it will be difficult leaving Vienna when this term is over.

III. die Leute

In Wien übersehen zu werden, ist unmöglich. Man kann nur ignoriert werden.

("In Vienna it's impossible to be overlooked. One can only be ignored.")

—Alexander Löwen

Viennese people aren't like you and me: they're different. But I suspect that this difference is not so much one of nationalities, or of languages (though those are certainly factors, as well); rather, it is that they are urbanites, and I will always feel more at home in the country. The Viennese, I posit, are more like New Yorkers than New Yorkers are like Midwesterners. (They may even be more like Chicagoans than Chicagoans are like the people of rural Illinois!) City people simply don't have the time to be friendly like country folk. On the other hand, they're less likely to judge anyone, for any reason whatsoever. Both qualities stem from the fact that city people don't, well, care. This is liberating, certainly. But were I not surrounded by friends from Augustana at all times, I suspect I'd become lonely and dejected among all these unsmiling, well-dressed, blasé city dwellers.

In the meantime, however, I'm enjoying myself very much. The amount of culture here continues to astound. Visited the Musikverein this evening, and saw Beethoven 4 and Tchaikovsky 6 for only five euros! (It was a standing room ticket, but I didn't mind. Music, played well, should be able to distract us from our legs, shouldn't it?) The Pathétique was especially satisfying; Tchaikovsky may have been weepy too often, but he was very good at it. Before the show I got an authentic Viennese Hot Dog—which probably isn't what you think it is. Their ketchup tastes different here; I can't quite put my finger on it.

II. Etwas Geschichte Wiens

I must apologize for not having posted before now. I have arrived in Wien, and spent three nights here already. It is a remarkable city, one with far more culture than any city of this size—less than two million people—deserves to have. You see, Vienna was once the capital of a far larger empire, ruled by the Habsburg dynasty.

Over centuries, the Habsburgs—known for, among other things, their habit of marrying cousins and their oversized jaws—acquired, by political finagling and expedient marriages, Austria, Hungary, Bohemia, northern Italy, half the Balkans and much of the Ukraine. The imperial capital of this agglomeration of different peoples and lands was Vienna, and it shows. All over the city is monumental architecture, dating from the middle ages, to the apogee of the empire, to today. There are all sorts of influences from all over the vast Habsburg domains, making it a very eclectic-looking city.

Well, that's all for today. I'll write more later. Give me time: I want to spend my time in Vienna experiencing the city, not just writing about it for you.

I. Willkommen

Friends! Hello! Welcome to my Vienna travel journal (or rather, what I intend to be my Vienna travel journal; I haven't left yet). Here you'll see a few of the thoughts of an American undergraduate student living for ten weeks in Vienna. I hope to experience the real thing, not merely the tourist version.

What's the title of this log supposta mean?, you may well ask. "Katastrophe" is catastrophe; that's simple. But "Gemütlich" is rather more difficult to translate: it's a way of living that they prize highly in Vienna, I hear. To practice Gemütlichkeit is to purposely live well; it is to abandon everyday stresses because we know they are ultimately unnecessary. (At least, that's what I gather.) Now, I think that sounds like an admirable way of life. I hope to try it.

Together, then, the words of this blog's title may bring to mind another word, Schlamperei. It is a stereotypically Viennese characteristic, a way of muddling through things, quite opposed to stern Prussian efficiency. I wish to practice it as well. We'll see how that goes.