Vienna

Will, Danny and I walked along the spotless sidewalk under bright white buildings. The immaculate state of Vienna did not feel sterile, but rather pristine. I walked ahead of the others with my little camera in hand. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a black car swerve up onto the sidewalk only missing me by a few feet. Three other shiny black luxury sedans followed, and all four screeched to a halt in front of a beautiful government building. Men in suits stepped out and were met by other suited men walking down the sloped entrance to the building. I had nearly been flattened by some official’s motorcade. I suppose there are worse ways to go.

After a brief walk around Vienna with Zdeněk, some friends and I found Hotel Sacher and tasted the original Sachertorte. It was a dry, dense, chocolate cake. Though it was not bad, I did not think it deserved its fame.

That night Danny, Will and I located an Austrian Pub for a beer with the locals. The words “strange” and “awkward” aren’t strong enough to describe the night. The pub was small and seemed shoved in between the two neighboring buildings. A classic bar wench brought three beers to us, and we began trying to talk to the locals. Next to Danny sat a pudgy, jovial man speaking a drunken mix of Russian and German with random spurts of high-pitched singing. Across from me sat a diminutive man with deep eyes and a Hitler-esque moustache that made him look older than he actually was. This man spoke good English, but I don’t mean to imply that he made sense to us. He translated for the Russian fellow and talked about traveling with sick kids where he could need a helicopter at any moment. Danny, Will, and I exchanged plenty of glances that screamed, “What… the... Hell…”

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Some of the highlights of Zdeněk’s morning tour were an impressive mosaic of Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper,” Stephansdome, and St. Peter’s Church.

With some time to kill before Zdeněk’s afternoon tour, a group of us went to the unimposing Butterfly House.

After the Butterfly House, we met Zdeněk and walked all over Vienna to the Museum Quarter, Red Army Memorial, and Belvedere Palace.

I have to preface the following anecdote with a cultural observance about European countries. They never have enough change to break big bills. When they do have enough change, they still whine because then they won’t have enough change for the next guy… as if it’s our fault that bankomats spit out 2000Kč and 50€ bills. Anyway, after the tour, Danny and a few others needed to use an internet café. Braden and I sat down at a table to wait, but the man behind the desk told us we had to leave if we did not buy anything. After swallowing my disbelief at what I was hearing, I wanted revenge. I wanted to pick out the cheapest pack of gum on the shelf and pay for it with my crisp 50€ bill. In the US this would be awkward and maybe rude, but in Europe it would be a metaphorical middle finger. The revenge in my head satisfied me enough and choosing not to make a scene was the right decision because the man was nice enough to bring Danny his forgotten Camel Pack.

It took very little for my friends to convince me to drink wine in a Viennese park that evening. I maintain that anyone who has seen Before Sunrise would be unable to refuse such an offer.

Against all odds, I hauled myself out of bed early the next morning to see the Vienna Boys Choir. The chapel was unexpectedly small. Seats were for ticket holders only, and we were relegated to standing in the aisle. The choir was presumably standing on the balcony near the organ, for I couldn’t see them. Even the people in front of the church didn’t twist around to see the choir, which planted an undying suspicion that I only heard a recording of the Vienna Boy’s Choir. I’m both sad and happy to report that the Centennial Children’s Chorus beat this choir hands down.

Here are some pictures from the flowing, growing Hundertwasser Haus:

My favorite photos from Vienna were the straightforward shots of Schönbrunn, an enormous yellow palace occupied by the Habsburgs: