vienna field notes

unedited and unfiltered field notes from a round trip to vienna

*inspired by the one and only dakota warren

i used to believe that i slipped into different selves every time i woke up in a new country. since i travel often, i had almost convinced myself that i was a veteran shapeshifter. i was a teenage girl clinging to the last, golden hours of summer. in rome, the long-lost daughter of diana. and in paris… well, in paris i was simply unbearable. my journeys almost always begin with me struggling to find any kind of inspiration and somehow evolve into a self-assigned mission: to have fun, whether i like it or not.

DAY #1

for the first time in a while, i was not travelling to run away from something/someone but simply for the indulgence of old-fashioned fun. more importantly, i wasn’t travelling for work, so at least i didn’t feel like a fly squashed on the window of a highspeed car.

patti smith was travelling with me (unaware, of course), also rimbaud was joining us from the other side.

i landed in the middle of the day with absolutely no plans at all, not knowing what to do with so much free time in my hands. skipped brunch, lunch, whatever, and went straight for schnitzel and şargoz for dinner. the full experience. i realized i don’t even like schnitzel, but it was too late and the waiter was too rude to change my order. but good news is that from now on, i like schnitzel.

bar hopping on a random wednesday night felt like a charmingly reckless decision, but 11pm rollercoaster ride felt like a bad idea after 3 pints of cold hungarian beer and my high pitched screams could justify it.

by the end of it, i was too tired to even finish my own sentences, so i surrendered myself to heaven in white sheets (aka bed).

DAY #2

made acquaintance with a questioning columbidae when i opened my eyes. oh to be a pigeon on a balcony, carelessly asserting dominance over anyone who dares to trespass. i couldn’t quite understand its anger, though it reminded me, uncannily, of my mother catching me hiding under the covers on a school morning. so i got up quickly. maybe too quickly, because the dizziness hit me and i realized that it’s already 11am and we have to eat or die.

went along with the first option and threw ourselves into the arms of austrian cuisine. instead of a humble espresso, i ordered a melange - because that’s how pretentious i am.

pronouncing melange felt wrong, though. the word seems to belong elsewhere, somewhere softer, more french. one wonders how it ended up here.

with our hunger tamed (but not defeated) and our caffeine levels restored, we started walking towards belvedere. i could live here, i thought, as i do in every foreign city i set foot on. ready to forget my daily coffee order on my way to work or my walking route on a sunny sunday morning.

but my strong disgust towards the language stops me from dreaming further. i’m just too impatient for long words like donaudampfschifffahrtsgesellschaftskapitän

spending so much mental energy just for word-forming is just diabolical and refusing to speak german might lead to logistic problems in the end.

belvedere was overcrowded (as expected) with turkish people (as unexpected). in a strange twist, we hadn’t just travelled through time and space, but somehow circled back home. waltzing between the palace rooms, i found myself wondering: how and why people enjoyed living here on a stormy, dark, damp and capricious winter night? and yet, the lavender room seemed oddly convincing. might try it later.

the ground floor was easy peasy but the first floor caught us off guard: how, exactly, did the french manage to lose napoleon on horseback, along with a few monets, to the austrians? what’s the story there?

the third floor, in our humble opinion, was entirely unnecessary and a waste of time for us, as we had a strong opinion that postmodern artists are charlatans.

the evening unfolded into what we generously called “free time”, although there were only two of us, my friend and me. so i accepted the offer of a glass of wine from a fine gentleman who was named after a duke. found myself at a very loud restaurant with very loud people with very loud opinions. the duke insisted on another glass of wine and i thought, who am i, really, to refuse a duke? besides, i am, at my core, a people pleaser and deeply allergic to rejection.

two glasses of austrian white wine later, i was guided to a rooftop, promised a panoramic appreciation of vienna, but instead we ended up crashing a private party somehow. it was a corporate gathering but unexpectedly lively, suspiciously enjoyable. our manners prohibited us from taking advantage of the situation, so we went back down and had another glass of that sweet, sweet austrian wine.

the first sip felt like heaven. the last, unmistakably, like heartbreak.

i walked back to the hotel alone as intended. the thirty-minutes-route became a one-hour adventure of me dragging my tipsy and happy body between streets, enjoying the tranquility of wien’s monochrome streets.

DAY #3

i failed, once again, at waking up sexy. the room was unbearably hot (unlike me) and my back hurt more than my grandma who had a hip surgery. i found myself missing my old bed with its familiar, slightly ridiculous creaks.

once more, we trusted our flâneurism and decided to walk and wander around the city the whole day. later on, we realized that promenades can only be romanticized if it’s not raining cats and dogs. otherwise it’s sole misery.

so i had a deal with the sun, on a short term basis. he agreed to part the clouds just long enough for us to complete our +20k steps in peace. in return, we accepted our fate: sweating under layers of heavy coats, sacrificing both comfort and dignity while he lingered up there. this also meant a radical drop in the temperature during the night, which could lead to possible pneumonia but we can worry about that when we go back.

we walked +20k steps without rest on an empty stomach, ignoring our mortality as promised. bought a couple of notebooks without any idea how to fill them. but they’ll look great with the other empty notebooks i’ve bought and abandoned on the far top shelf.

skipped the house mozart died in and freud’s office, both felt like intrusions rather than visits. personally not really interested in whether before sunrise was shot there or not. as long as ethan hawke was not shot there (god forbid), i don’t care at all.

before we collapsed on the wet streets, we surrendered to the nearest available seating place, which was for our luck, the most absurd place to eat, but at least they had fries. when in doubt, one must always order fries. gained more weight than my luggage allowance because of this motto, but i will and shall continue the legacy.

stopped by the hotel to make ourselves presentable again and to rest before walking another 30 mins to our posh dinner reservation. or at least it sounded posh before half of vienna’s newly turned eighteen-year-olds had arrived to celebrate their newfound legal freedoms at the very same venue.

the night continued with a bittersweet birthday celebration. don’t get me wrong, it was sweet, very sweet, but the bitterness is somehow present when it comes to my birthday celebrations. still, i am held together by my friends - the kind who pull me back just as i begin to slip into that familiar, dark, endless pit, always finding a way to make me grateful to have another full round around the sun.

thank god for creating friends. what a concept.

DAY #4

saw mozart in my dream. in full form, with wig and all that. he was on his death bed, asking why haven’t i stopped by to give him a goodbye kiss. i felt ashamed and guilty and couldn’t confess that i loved beethoven more than him. his music, i mean. nothing personal.

the particular sadness of the last day settled in. i knew this day would come.

this time, vienna felt like that old, long distance friend from high school. you know, the really close ones that you don’t have to speak every day, yet you can continue from where you left off.

we bought chocolates in a desperate attempt to sustain both our spirits and our blood sugar levels. the effect lasted, at best, fifteen minutes. a few shops and a dozen unnecessary purchases later, we ended the night in an abandoned factory. thank god we were not robbed or kidnapped, because the old factory was now turned into a gritty concert hall. we had to play along with the theme, so we grabbed our beers and sat on the floor. didn’t understand a word while the group made everybody who knew german in the room laugh and cry.

and yes - mcdonalds at 1am does taste better, but only until you finish your happy meal. then the regret begins and doesn’t leave until it’s brunch time.

eventually, everything i had brought with me was forced back into my suitcase. the life i had temporarily abandoned (four days and twelve hours ago) now felt distant, almost dystopian.

work. office hours. six days a week.

perhaps that monday will never come. one can hope.

the rest is history, a bunch of airport transfers and a sweet, warm and finally, a long, warm shower -taken slowly, peacefully, at home.