("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.
No comments:
Post a Comment