Wien

This would not be the first time I would travel alongside my mother. Not counting the family trips I took with both my parents as a child, this became the second time my Ma and I have explored unchartered territories together. The first was through Northern India, a road trip starting in Delhi that then led through Agra, Fatehpur Sikri, Jaipur, Bikaner, Jaisalmer, Ambaji, and finally Udaipur. Not many duos can last two weeks lost in the Indian desert without cultivating some sort of animosity and frustration, but fortunately my mother and I found ourselves amongst the few. We learned that we were a pair made to travel together, and it was only a matter of time before we did it again.

Mom at the Taj Mahal, June 2009

She came on a Thursday to the Stuttgart Flughafen. I drove her from the airport straight to my apartment, and returned to work while she rested from her journey. After my duties were done for the day, her and I ventured out into downtown Stuttgart to have a traditional Schwabian dinner. Coming out of the U-bahn station at Schlossplatz, we unexpectedly found that Stuttgart had set up one of their first Christmas Markets! The preview contained a series of huts lit up with Christmas décor, capped at the end with a small ice rink already well in use. The main attraction was a large hut filled with empty glasses waiting to be filled with Glühwine, the classic Christmas Market drink. This heated wine, enhanced with all sorts of spices and flavors, was almost like an adult-form of hot cider. It was the first wine my mom has ever tried more than once. We had some chocolate-covered fruit, felt the thrill of having our dessert before our dinner, and then tended to a more pressing matter – equipping my mom with her own cell phone. After much confusion, we walked away from the Vodaphone shop with a touch-screen phone and a pre-paid SIM card containing 300 minutes for only 35€. Not sure what we did right, but whatever it was, I’m glad we did it.

We stopped at Ochs’n Willi’s and left immediately after learning of their hour long wait. We opted for Sophie’s Brauhaus instead, a more casual venue better suited for local tastes. I had been to Sophie’s once before and remembered their food and service fondly. While the food was still delicious, their service was borderline offensive. We saw parties come and go, and all the while we waited for our food to come. When I checked on the status, I was given a curt and hostile response from the waitress. I’ve always felt you can judge the real quality of service of a restaurant when it is at its busiest hour, and Sophie’s did not fare well. Still, my mom had her first taste of real German food. It was obvious as she walked warily away that she was coming to terms very quickly with the German’s lust for the rich & bland in their cuisine. We made our way back down Königstrasse and eventually back to our apartment.

The dinner had another objective – to get her familiar with Stuttgart’s public transport so that she could venture into the city on her own while I worked during the day. And that she did. On Friday, she explored the city while I went to the office. We met back at the apartment and headed for Wien (Vienna), the capital of Austria. Both her and I had never been, and thus started our second round in adventuring through the unknown.

The train ride offered nothing of note, and we got to Wien’s Westbahnhof right on time. Fortunately, Hostel Ruthensteiner was only a few minutes’ walk away and we reached just before midnight. We checked in and, as expected, walked into a room wherein every other unavailable bed rested a sleeping traveler. Though I’ve experienced this awkward arrival several times in Europe, it never gets easier. We did our best not to disturb our dormmates, and quickly made way to sleep until morning.

We opted for Ruthensteiner’s in-hostel breakfast and left with half-filled stomachs. Since Sandeman has not yet set up shop in Wien, we had to make do with our own self-guided tour. We took Tram 18 to the Belvedere and walked from the North palace to the South palace through the gardens, skipping the museums at each end. We learned quickly that November was not the best time to see Wien, and would be reminded of this several times throughout our trip – the Palace’s famous flower gardens were now dying patches of grass.

From the Belvedere, which my mom initially thought hosted the set of the Fresh Prince, we visited the Karlskirche. Another large church acting as a landmark for another European city. I realized I am beginning to be quite jaded of these magnificent places of worship. It did not help that we were greeted by a Wiener advertising a Mozart concerto (being performed that night at Karlskirche) who was quick to tell us that the operetta we had tickets for instead was nothing but a disappointment. Apparently he missed Lesson 1 in Sales class – don’t belittle your potential customers. Throughout the day we noticed dozens of others advertising the same event, and I took solace in knowing that I was attending a performance that sold out on its own right.

From one church to another, we made our way from the outskirts of the centre to its core in order to get a glimpse of St. Stephen’s Kirche. On the way, we were surprised by a very peculiar flag boasting a bold statement. We walked up the main street passing by the Stadt Opera, feeling a tinge of regret for choosing to experience the theatre at the Volksoper instead. Across from the Stadt Opera was a shopping alley that gave us a preview of the Christmas Markts we would see littered about the city. We came to St. Stephen’s, and I don’t think anything differed of the emotions that ensued from what I felt when I first saw the Strasbourg and Praha churches. St. Stephen’s is a huge behemoth towering over the city centre, the inside a glamorous tribute to His Lord and Savior. No, not David Hasselhof, though I wouldn’t be surprised.

Using a book we borrowed from the hostel, we embarked on our own self guided tour through the city centre. We made it to Hohen Markt before tiring of trying to both appreciate the sights and read their histories at the same time. soon learned the great value of having a tour guide. Our stomachs were running on empty and hastened our step. We breezed through Hofburg and found the Nachtmarkt. Despite its name (“Night Market”), this proved to be a great spot to have a late lunch. We opted for a contemporary “bio” restaurant called Tewa, offering Asian and European delicacies that played to the interest of the environmentally conscious. This in part meant a huge selection of Vegetarian and Vegan dishes. Nearby, Café Sperl – known for its kaffee und kuchen (coffee and cake, an Austrian delicacy) – served as a good spot for dessert. We again had to sit through a long wait to get our modest meal, and started hoping it would not become a pattern of our trip.

The sun was getting low and signaled us to make our way back to the hostel to get ready for the Operetta, titled Der Vogelhändler. For you cultural simpletons reading this, an operetta differs from an opera in that large parts of the plot is expressed through spoken dialogue instead of entirely through song. I learned this about halfway through the play itself. The hostel receptionist told us that opera in Vienna was not a black tie affair – that our jeans and long sleeves would blend in just fine. We took the unexpected spare time to relax a bit. I made use of their piano and djembe, getting a good jam in before we left. Two attractive Spanish girls made themselves my audience; my self esteem was boosted for the night and my mom was given some evidence to her theory that I’ll marry a Spanish or Latino woman when the time comes.

The extra time also allowed us to stop through the main Wiener Christmas Markt at the Rathaus on the way to the Operetta. It was completely packed, though not unexpected as it was the Markt’s opening night. We squeezed through crowds of people while being showered by Christmas lights and decorations all around us. They had areas for children with rides and statues of Santa Claus and areas for adults with cabins filled with beer and glühwine. My mom and I took the opportunity to enjoy another taste of this winter drink while the minute hand drew dangerously close to curtain call.

We made haste after finishing our drinks, realizing that it was a long walk to the theater and not enough time. Even with catching a tram at the last minute, we arrived at the doors just 7 minutes too late. Unlike the States, when a show is advertised for 19:00, the show starts at 19:00. We were kept outside until the first applause, which did not come until 25 minutes into the operetta. Seems like the Austrians took all the energy out of their humor and used it for their punctuality.

Volksoper, Wien’s second most prominent theatre (next only to the Stadtoperhaus), typically hosts productions for much cheaper and exclusively in German – the Stadtoperhaus often showcase productions in their native language and charge much more for their tickets. Volksoper, which literally translates to “The People’s Opera”, seems to live up to its name. It is for this reason that I did not mind missing out on the more well known Wiener Opera experience at the Stadthaus, opting instead for what most Wien locals typically choose.

Der Vogelhändler was a contemporary play, a comedy featuring clothing and dialogue from the last century and a plot to which today’s generation could better relate. In one line, it was about a tangled love nest of misunderstandings, misimpressions, and dirty old men. Fortunately for me, I was able to understand most of the humor due to the English subtitles displayed across the top of the stage. There were times, though, when I did the classic pretending-to-laugh-but-don’t-know-why-and-looking-around-to-make-sure-no-one-can-notice, thing.

Afterwards, we grabbed dinner at a local Asian place and had our first meal that tingled our tongues (Wieners apparently adopted the Germans’ fear of spices). We headed back to the hostel, worn out by our exhaustingly long day. My mom went to bed and I stayed up to do the Gmail-Facebook thing while having a drink at the bar. I noticed a cute girl trying to persuade the bartender to buy her a shot of something hard. Looking down at my skintight white T-shirt, oversized black gym shorts, socks with loafers, scruffy beard and oily unkempt hair, I figured it best to wait for another night to say hi. I kept to myself, enjoying the bartender’s great taste in music (he was playing the Gorillaz at the time), and the girl came up to me and asked me my name. I replied, and she instantly got really excited. Maybe this is how Justin Beiber feels every day. Apparently, she was one of the Virginia Tech students I met at Oktoberfest in München! Serendipitous. We did not get too much time to catch up, as she was on her way out to catch a drum & bass gig somewhere in the heart of Wien. We got some evidence of the encounter and said our farewells. With our luck, we’ll run into each other again. I closed out the night observing another game of King’s (I had no drinks to participate) while getting to know a girl from Jersey, also lost in her computer on a late Saturday night.

In the morning, my mother and I decided to skip the hostel breakfast and went off to conquer Wien’s museums. We got some coffee at Aida, and decided to never go back for coffee. We got into the line for the Frida Kahlo exhibition at Wien Museum, already causing an hour-long wait even before opening. The museum featured almost all of Frida’s life’s work. As Frida fans know, much of what was displayed were self portraits. The rest were a foray into a few different methods of expression – surrealism, portraits of those around her (with a particular interest in Diego, her lifelong lover and heartbreaker), spirituality and theology from almost all of the world’s major religions, modeling for other photographers, pieces from her father (a well-accomplished photographer), and even a video that captured her and some of her thoughts on tape.

The Frida exhibit seemed to parallel as her autobiography. Her artwork told the story of her life in a way no author could. It was a fascinating story in that it was not completely out of the ordinary. She was much like all of us – just a person trying to find meaning and love, and in the process stumbling upon an innate skill which she eventually championed. It is that last part – her discovery what she loves and does best – that was the most uplifting, despite being confronted with some of her worst troubles. Only the few ever get that luxury.

My mom and I ventured to brunch at Café Berl, a reputed place close to the Frida museum and across the street from Sigmund Freud’s house. Despite its reputation (in part for its notorious offering of a free condom with every meal), my mom and I felt a bit let down. The service was horrible and the food was mediocre. And we didn’t get a condom. Then again, I was with my mom, so I wasn’t too disappointed.

Freud’s house was next, and my mom chose to relax in the foyer while I looked around the residence and workplace of the Father of Psychoanalysis. Sigmund Freud was an incredibly intelligent man, kept great company (with the likes such as Einstein), a proponent of equality and human rights (he himself was driven out of Austria during the Holocaust), and apparently, a Massachusetts alum. I was hoping for a lot more insight on the field of psychoanalysis, but the museum was really just a look into the life of Freud himself. I probably would have appreciated it more had I studied him in the past, but the taste I got of his work opened up enough interest in psychoanalysis to explore it on some rainy day.

Though we already visited a Christmasmarkt the night before, we wanted to go back to one to window shop without the massive crowds. Luckily, there was one right outside the metro station on our way back from Freud’s house. We walked around and tried one of those salty fried dough things, realizing too late that the level of oil made it impossible to even stomach half of one piece. Luckily, we still had a good amount of walking to do.

The day passed quicker than expected, and we had to skip seeing the Leopold Museum in order to make it to Schönbrunn before sunset. We booked it across the city, taking a series of trams, buses, and hurried walks, finishing our mad dash with a hike up a briefly steep hill to the top of Wien’s southwest palace to catch one of the best views of the city just as the sun set behind us. Like the Piazza del Michelangelo in Firenze, it was nice discovering a spot to get a panoramic view for no charge. It was a great way to cap off our trip to Wien, taking in the city’s gorgeous beauty in one breath.

With plenty of time, we made it back to the train station and headed for München. On the way there, sure enough, we were targeted again by German authorities as soon as we crossed the border. This time, a little less subtle – the two German polizei demanded our passports, and then quickly passed by every other (white, German looking) passenger without so much as a second glance. I mean, seriously… I’m all for keeping Deutschland safe, but at least make it SEEM like you aren’t blatantly profiling!

The train rolled into München on time, and we made it to our hotel (not hostel) just before midnight. The hotel was cheap, a little run down, and mostly vacant. We were received by a very old and pleasant German native, the kind of old man who lived a long life and seemed nothing less than satisfied with its results. Our room was just big enough for us to have a good night’s rest, and that is exactly what we did.

To be continued…