(128-131): Vienna, Out of Context

Ever wonder how far you can take a conversation into the realm of absurdity? Ever wonder what it would be like to have a laugh-track playing over your entire life? And do you ever wonder what it would be like if that laugh-track provided most of its own ridiculous jokes and, by laughing at its own jokes, made them the funniest things you’ve ever heard?

I often do. That’s why I spent a week traveling with Sam Seifman.

And—as if Sam’s and my brand of humor and inside jokes weren’t absurd enough already—there is one thing I need to explain about Vienna. In the various places I’ve been this semester, I understand most things I see: signs, posters, ads, you know. The cultures are reasonably close to my own, so I find most of the visual logic and cues are pretty intuitive.

Not here.

I don’t know why, when, or how this happened, but Vienna has developed into a place where, if you can’t read the captions, the pictures and ads you see virtually everywhere are bizarre and incomprehensible. This city makes no sense out of context. But you know something?

Sam and I can jam to that.

(128) is Friday, 14 May 2010.

Now that I’ve explained my angle on Vienna, you’ll probably have a much better time understanding why I took these particular photos. Key word there is “probably.”

Sam and I found our way to our Hostel in Hütteldorf (called Hostel Hütteldorf), a Viennese* suburb. The hostel was fine—best part was definitely the name “Hütteldorf”—but it was kind of far out from central Vienna. We got lunch at a place near the hostel called Weinbrunnen (which you should go to if you do stay at that hostel… not that any of you, my audience, are actually likely to, I realize).

Before our trip, we didn’t know much about Austrian/German cuisine (“brautwurst” and snickering at the term “Wiener Schnitzel” were more or less the list). But Sam has this great culinary motto, which is: “Eat where you are.” So, if you’re in a restaurant in a place by the sea, get the flounder and hold off on the steak. Similarly, don’t get flounder in Grinnell, Iowa, which is home to more corn (and corn-fed cows) than people. With this strategy, Sam always wins the “who ordered the best” game, and he did it at lunch by ordering something he couldn’t pronounce. I ordered half of a fried chicken. I’ve gotten better about trying new food, but I was really tired from staying up late to pack and didn’t feel like branching out this time.

Still, I was rather chagrined when Sam got a huge plate of delicious meats prepared in the traditional style and served with sauerkraut and I got chicken tenders. Freaking chicken tenders! I’m in Vienna and I get the food standby from when I was seven. Sam couldn’t get enough of it (and I bet you’re laughing again now, you old dog, you).

After a siesta, we wandered into Vienna proper with a map, but no real sense of orientation yet. We walked and, well, stuff snuck up on us. We saw some nice building façades, but nothing stunning until the huge cathedral at Stephansplatz just appeared! We were in the city center now, so there were plenty more cool old buildings to find, scattered about the many pedestrian streets. The twilight was nice, too, so we had a generally nice walk.

At dinner, Sam ordered this drink called a Radler, which I recommend because I’m typically not a beer drinker. This brand combination of blond beer and lemonade was delicious (does wonders to counteract the hops I hate). It came in a sizeable bottle that would last Sam the meal. I, more the cocktail drinker, ordered an aperitif described as warm and apple with whipped cream and delicious. And it was all that. But the glass wasn’t quite as big as Sam’s.

As he put it: “It’s the perfect size for a leprechaun!”**

But I had sausage and sauerkraut, which made up for it. That, and the man performing whatever words he could remember of “If I Were a Rich Man” and “Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina” on an instrument whose exposed strings you hit with mallets.

(129) is Saturday, 15 May 2010.

My daily on-the-fly planning took us to the Schönbrunn Palace and gardens. It’s roughly Austria’s answer to Versailles, and it’s no mere snarky retort.

We walked the gardens (free, and definitely a good idea if the weather’s good) and shelled out a few Euro to walk the equally rewarding garden labyrinth.*** After the labyrinth and utter tangent of a footnote, it was lunchtime because hostel breakfasts aren’t all that filling. We hopped into the restaurant on premises, where we indulged in really good hamburgers (called “hapsburgers!” Get it???) with a great sauce. We decided to get dessert, too: Sam had Sacher Torte (more on that in a bit) while I had their delicious homemade apple strudel. See the word “homemade”? That means I won at “who ordered the best.”

Back in Vienna proper, Sam and I got tickets for a tour of the Vienna Opera House. I was kind of hoping for more of a backstage/behind-the-scenes tour, but it was still really cool: that’s a beautiful building; I highly recommend you walk around there at somepoint, be it for a show or on that same tour. We got to see the tech crew putting up the set for the evening’s show, so that was something. They basically told us the history of the opera house. I liked learning more about Gustav Mahler (of whom I first heard in this song by Tom Lehrer, who sings “The Vatican Rag”), and I liked what he did with the opera. Until he became the guy in charge in the 50s, performers would just stand in place and sing an aria. “Not good enough,” says Gus. “This is a story. Y’all have to act.” So, from that point on, they do.

We got dinner at an off-the-beaten-path place (yay TripAdvisor!) called Schöne Perle (it’s German for “precious pearl” and located HERE). It’s where locals go, for good food and lighting that is low, reddish-yellow, and gives a great gritty city atmosphere. I had a pot-au-feu soup and—get ready—Wiener Schnitzel. Now, I used to think this food was funny, so I understand your instinct to laugh, but take me seriously (or as seriously as you ever can, I suppose) for just a second and read this next sentence. Wiener Schnitzel is a large, thin cut of chicken, pork, or veal breaded and pan-fried to delicious perfection and served with some kind of potatoes (often delicious as well).

Not so funny anymore, eh? Kinda’ awesome? Yeah. That’s what I thought.

So, about 154 food descriptions ago, I mentioned Sam had Sacher Torte and that I’d come back to it. Well, here we are. Our next stop was dessert at the famous Sacher Hotel, where they’ve made famous a rich, semi-dry chocolate cake with a hint of tangerine. Sam and I had delicious coffee and hot chocolate, respectively. I think Sacher Torte is decent, but you only need to get it once, and you only should get it from them.

(130) is Sunday, 16 May 2010.

“So,” Sam and I reasoned that morning, “Because we aren’t crazy enough, and because our laughter isn’t crazy enough, and because the signs around us aren’t crazy enough, let’s add more absurdity to this experience in Vienna.”

“Let’s start the day at this absurd city’s finest modern art museum.”

No decade did modern art better than the 80s. Televisions looked awful, and so the avant-garde people decide they were beautiful and a perfect medium. Films were campy but made sense, so filmmakers had to go back to black and white and film a dude standing on a rock flapping his arms, trying and failing to fly (no joke… it was hilarious). There were also 10-second films at which we laughed hysterically.

Also, the European clothing chain Humanic turned out some of the finest commercials I've ever seen. Here's one of them, and here's another!

Well, it was fun for a while, but that trip went on a little too long. When we finally came off it we were… in the rain again. Damn. We ate and wandered. I think it was somewhere in here that one of the… tentacles? of my umbrella broke. You know, one of the six parts that hold the fabric outstretched. Sam’s umbrella had broken at least a day back. I was stubborn.

By this time, we’d made a few observations about Vienna:

1.) It doesn’t really feel like a city: not many residential buildings in the main part of town, all businesses and old buildings… it feels more like a place to visit.

2.) No matter where in town you are or which way you’re walking, the city center seems to have a gravity-like effect. You always find your way back there. What helps this phenomenon along is that the city center isn’t all that big.

3.) The city’s biggest draw are its buildings and parks, both of which require you to walk around outside. Not a pleasant prospect when it was raining.

So, with these things in mind, we decided it was time to kill a few hours. Soapman hadn’t seen Iron Man 2, so we found an English-language movie theater showing it on their big screen. It was a very cool place, actually, with lots of old projectors and stuff on display. Also, they assigned seats, like in a theater theater. And you know something? After a lukewarm reaction to it in Paris, I actually liked the movie better the second time I saw it.

Dinner was an obscurely-located (not even Google can find it) place called Gäuzchen, an tavern of sorts with lots of good food at student prices. It was here that Sam and I laughed over how people from most other countries speak English better than we do. Looking at the menu, I saw a combo appetizer platter with all your standard American diner-food cravings, and I was food-homesick: fries, chicken wings, mozzarella sticks, etc. I ordered it, but the waitress gave me a tip to get something else.

“Not good?” I asked.

“Well, it’s alright; it’s just a little… uninspired.”

Good enough for me. I didn’t write down what I actually got… probably Wiener Schnitzel.

But can we go back to the part where this woman described a dish as “uninspired”? Brilliant use of the word! Most Americans (myself included) typically wouldn’t think to use that phrasing. I was going to wait on this, but I might as well go ahead into a philosophical matter now, since it’s relevant and will break up the food descriptions.

I was with Mom and Dad at dinner back in March, and after ordering everyone’s food in French, they glad-handed me about how great it was that I could do that so easily and that it was the mark of a truly educated person to be able to speak so well in two languages. And, as I’ve travelled a bit, I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t disagree with them; most Americans can’t even speak English well. But this waitress, like the many other bilingual people I’ve meet this year, got me thinking:

She’s German.
She’s bilingual, one language being English.
She’s normal.

I’m American.
I’m bilingual, one language being English.
I’m well-educated.

That doesn’t seem fair.

(131) is Monday, 17 May 2010.

It stopped raining! Everybody’s in the play! And don’t you know… that I got carried away into my favorite song by Electric Light Orchestra. But it did stop raining, so Sam and I finally got to see some of the gardens, where we walked, swapped story ideas, and sang "The General" by Dispatch.****

So, can anybody explain why there are an obscene number of links in this entry? I can't.

Lunch today was at Trzesniewski, and the place gets my award for best meal in Vienna. It’s easily found here, just off one of the main streets in the city center (there’s even a sizeable sign pointing you into the right side street). This place does just one thing: little pieces of bread with different puréed spread combinations, one euro apiece. We ordered five each and were euphorically full for the cost of 5 euro. All of these “sandwiches” were delicious… our favorites were liver, salmon and cream cheese, and egg. So, to answer your question, yes I was Jewish for the duration of the meal.

Since we were just killing hours until our flight to Berlin that evening, we decided to try the Ferris Wheel. So, we made it to that end of town and discovered not just the wheel, but a SECOND wheel. But, hold on a tick… what’s all this stuff here around the second wheel? Is that—an AMUSEMENT PARK?!?!

Um… this was kinda’ necessary.

We walked around, but despite its being mid-May, most rides were closed. We did see these huge funhouses that were several stories high and glorified obstacle courses, most of whose perils you could see on front-facing balconies. It was so much fun to just stand and watch grown men—who paid good money to do this!—walking through these ridiculous, embarrassing sets of bumpers and rollers and rotating crawl-on-your-knees tunnels and who-the-bloody-hell-knows what else. Watching was way more fun than doing would have been: I’m sure of it

We found an operating roller coaster, which was surprisingly good. I then stepped in a puddle. Sam then laughed. I got cotton candy (also kinda’ necessary at an amusement park). Sam’s marshmallow-chocolate-dessert-thing then fell on the ground. I then laughed.

What followed was just walking a huge circle around greater downtown Vienna. We saw the university building, which we hadn’t yet, and it was a very cool gothic structure. Unfortunately, the impressive-looking gothic cathedrals we passed were closed today.

After dinner at Weinbrunnen again, we got Magnum bars (but no sign of the mysterious Magnum Gold?!) before heading to the disorganized mess that is Vienna airport.

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Anybody know how to say “Footnote” in German?

* I think “Viennese” may be my favorite location-related descriptor of them all. Not to be confused with “Vietnamese,” a word for which I have no special affection.

** I don’t read German, but I bet they had a special price if you ordered it with chicken tenders.

*** I’ve been to ones where it’s just the labyrinth pattern on the ground in different colored bricks. LAME! Without walls, it’s just as silly as the scheme I had when I was four with my neighborhood friend Vito (then Christopher, nickname Christy) to trap my dad in the basement. The plan was to build a path out of blocks leading my dad to the place on the floor where he was supposed to sleep for the night. Then, during the night, I was supposed to come down to the basement and rearrange the blocks so there was no longer an exit. Trapped: no way out. Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I want you to know I’ve come to appreciate your wisdom somewhat better in the last seventeen years.

**** I love that song, but I actually prefer this recording of it by Matthew's Minstrels, a brilliant Vassar A Capella group. Note my dear former roomie, Jon Fuller, on the refrain harmony.