Wednesday, November 01, 2006

The Rich Kids' Playground

Location: Vienna, Austria
Local Priests: Old


October 28

Up for another lazy breakfast in Cesky Krumlov, followed by a jaunt down to the local tourist information center, since the train timetables we have on hand were surely designed the most stagnant architects of Pleasantville, and thus serve, more than anything else, as a means of breaking one's traveling spirit down into it's component jellies. At the information counter, I am informed that my best way of getting to Vienna - indeed, my only way that did not involve a dozen tapdancing Sherpas and the Millenium Falcon - is leaving in exactly five minutes. I set a breakneck powerwalking pace back to the hostel, throw my stuff together, grab my key deposit, and shout some hasty goodbyes before jumping on the shuttle to Linz, which was kind enough to pick me up at the Krumlov House.

The drive to Linz is uneventful, although the driver did have a very amusing affinity for Elvis and similar crooning oldies. The irony of driving into Linz, Austria while listening to old blue eyes belt out "New York, New York," seems to have been lost on my non-snickering seat neighbors, but I assure you it was not on me. I veritably chortled, an action I normally reserve for private circumstances. Border control was fun, since we had two back-to-back stops (one exiting the Czech Republic and one entering Austria), and I got to witness the mind-numbing inefficiency of the Imperial bureaucracy while simultaneously getting a first-hand viewing mankind's inescapable tendency towards prejudice as the Austrian border agent thoroughly and quite needlessly badgered the nice Mexican man riding shotgun. They should be thankful that a middle-class Mexican has the wherewithal and ability to see the world... these guys need all the encouragement they can get.

The Czech and Austrian countrysides are fascinating. Out on the farms and in smaller villages, Czech houses are tiny, about the size of a one-car garage, with steeply-peaked roofs and long, narrow fenced yards. Upon crossing over the Austrian border, the euro's economic boon is readily apparent, as dwellings become larger and better maintained and roads shift from backcountry streets to proper highways.

Arriving in Linz I hop a train to Vienna that was friggin' posh. I suspect that, despite my seat in Cheap-Ass Class, I inadvertently wandered into a nearly-empty first class car, and spent the hour and a half to Vienna stretched out on a seats stuffed with goose down and Rebel scum. I managed to find my way from the train station to my hostel with very little difficulty, deciphering street signs as I went (it took me a full five minutes to figure out that "Einbahn" means "One Way," but I did so with great pride and self-back-patting). Having successfully arrived, I settled down to an evening of not doing much, preparing myself mentally and spiritually for tomorrow. I do meet a couple of nice American girls and go out to dinner with one (well, I left with both, but they got into an argument over which subway line to take, and the one was so stubborn that she left the two of us to go do it her way... good riddance, I say). We went to a decent Italian place run by real, homegrown Italians (no plugs in arms or neck), and I relished the opportunity to use my three years of college Italian as I gleefully ordered a pizza with various trappings carnivorous. Judging from our waiter's facial expression, my accent leaves something to be desired.

There's a guitar in the hostel, wonder of wonders, and I piddle around a bit to settle myself before bed.

October 29

Out to explore Vienna today. I make myself a breakfast of steak and eggs, which is harder than it seems because some genius stocked the hostel kitchen with a bevy of pots and pans, but not one spatula. See, this is why the Hapsburg Empire fell.

It's analogy time: If Vienna could be likened to any part of "The Lord of the Rings" (and since this is my blog, it bloody well can), Vienna is Minis Tirith, capital city of Gondor. It is beautiful, to be sure, lined with squares and palaces and museums and cathedrals and, I don't know, buildings made entirely of happy. They're very proud of their city here, and on paper (as well as in reality, to an extent) it looks great.

Then one looks below the surface. The parks are often bare (even given the season this doesn't fit). If a place is not constantly bathed in limelight, it is in disrepair. Parts of parks have given way to reservoirs and what appear to be wood chip factories. I do not mean to disparage Vienna, for much of the praise it garners is well-deserved... but it swears to God, if your father comes home drunk one more time, that's it, we're getting a divorce. There is strain here.

Part of my problem comes from the fact that most of what there is to do in the city is the highbrow of all highbrows. Operas. Ballets. Museums. If that's your thing, go for it. But as it turns out, Vienna is not the best place to go if you want a full-on, screaming medieval battleground. It is a playground for rich kids, and one of that wretched ilk I am not. The exchange rate from the dollar to the euro doesn't help, either.

At any rate, I set off onto an extremely well-planned subway system and find myself ten minutes later at the Stevansdom, a famous cathedral that marks the bullseye on Vienna's map. As with most famous cathedrals, it is, in fact, a very large church. That's pretty much that. If you have ever seen the inside of a big church, you know what I mean. It was extremely beautiful and yea, I did gawk, and woe unto all ye sinners and all that jazz, but I couldn't help but think that, if one were armed with rappelling gear, it would make a truly bitchin' capture the flag arena.

I wander a bit then find myself outside St. Peter's, yet another over-sized house of worship not three blocks from the Stevansdom. It's a wonder that there aren't more churches' rights activists around insisting that the cathedrals need more free range to roam. I am incredibly amused by a large billboard immediately beside the church depicting a naked woman (what they were selling is still a mystery to me), but attempts to capture the irony on film are thwarted by poor angles. I poke my head inside the church to find the tail end of a Catholic mass in progress (it is late Sunday morning, after all). I am enthralled by this for several reasons. First, this church is huge and, if anything, even more ornate than the last, yet it holds approximately 25 worshippers. This is not a poor turnout, either; even packed to the brim the pews could only hold about 40. Why so few? There are literally more angles painted on the ceiling than there are spots for potential supplicants. Was St. Peter not a people person? Secondly, the presiding priest - who, by the way, is in full-swing Gregorian chant - is older than dirt. So old, in fact, that he has two alter boys flanking him at all times whose sole job appears to be to make sure that the old salt doesn't keel over at any second. Third, and perhaps, my favorite, are the worshippers. One old lady looked like a Reverend Mother from a local convent who died from dehydration and then was most bizarrely raised from the dead to walk the earth as an extremely devout zombie, utterly intent on rubbing the left foot off a stone crucifix in the wall. Another was a very large man (he had about 3 inches and 80 pounds on me) who attended this extremely ornate and solemn event in faded jeans and a tight white t-shirt that showed his erect nipples to full effect. I'm not sure whether or not to hope that he had pretentions towards stigmata.

A bit more wandering takes me to the Hofburg, the big awesome palace of Austrian awesomeness. It truly is a might ediface, all white stone and gilding, carved with series of statues that I can only surmise were supposed to be Hercules performing his Seven Labors (though I counted 8 of them). Wandered around and enjoyed it, then flipped it off, and flipped off Hercules, too. Ol' Herc knew better than to mess with me, too... he just kept right on pimp slapping that Medusa and mumbled his yessir, master, with great humbleness.

Wandered around in the Volksgarten for a bit, and... Judas Priest, Vienna is windy! Holy crap it's windy! By this time I'm actually seeing pidgeons take off into a gust of wind and nearly take a header into the side of a building. I'm nearly blinding by leaf-shrapnel driven on the wind with unholy force. It's rather bizarre. Anyway, the Volksgarten... it's pretty. There are plants. Moving on.

The Parliament building is crazy-huge and very ornate, with statues that could kill a man of weaker stature than myself. I admire it, give it the bird, and move on.

Kebab for lunch, muy delicioso.

I poke around some museums without actually going in. Call me uncultured, but the exact composition of Franz Josef's spoon collection does not enthrall me. Dismayed by the lack of inexpensive badassery, I make my way back to the hostel, where I hang with folk for a bit. I grab dinner with the same American girls from last night, nothing special there since they, as it turns out, are silly, spoiled girls who have a hard time deriving enjoyment from what seems like anything. I increasingly feel that they represent a facet of backpacking's seedy underbelly .

Using the guitar as an ice-breaking tool, I meet and talk with another American girl (this one cool), two Canadians, and an Aussie. Talk and laughter flies back and forth, and a good time is had by all. And that's a night.

October 30

My plans for today go awry from the very beginning. I had planned to go see Devin Castle, a cool-ass ruin a few kilometers out of town. Upon further review, however, I realize that I saw that written about in the Slovakia part of my handy-dandy Lonely Planet guide. For those of you keeping track, I am not presently in Slovakia, but indeed am in another country very close by that, despite their geographic proximity, might not take kindly to me moaning another country's name. So that went out the window.

Instead I take a jaunt to a local Chinese buffet for an early lunch, stuffing myself silly for a reasonable price on roast duck and curry chicken. Protein good. Then it's time for the gardens. There are gardens on the south-west end of Vienna, beyond my hostel, and since I seem to possess some small amount of a dryad's genetic makeup, I decide to indulge in something green. The gardens are large and well-appointed, dotted with greenhouses and bare-branched hedge mazes. It is bleak in parts, but quite pleasant on the whole. Then comes the palace.

The Hapsburg's summer palace, Schloss Schonbrunn (they only use it seasonally, so it contains a measly 1440 rooms), is located inside the gardens, much to my surprise as I stumble onto the open Versailles-like area in front of the palace and shout, "What the fuck is this?" so loudly that Austrian civilians scramble for cover beneath the Yankee onslaught. The palace is a bit monolithic to be truly pretty and lacks the characteristic carving that smacks one in the eye across so much of Europe, but it is looked down upon by a monument of some kind on top of a terraced hill, from which the view is spectacular. Flip off the city while I'm up there.

I then wander around in the more woodsy part of the gardens, using a secluded spot to take my first pee on federally-protected Austrian soil. Yet more walking brought me to the subway station and then to the hostel.

Oh, by the way, if you didn't see it coming, Schloss Schonbrunn was given the bird, most probably by yours truly , although I can neither confirm nor deny such allegations.

Yet another night of kebaps, guitar, and good conversation (too bad that this place is so bleeding expensive that I can't afford to go out for a beer), and then to bed. Tomorrow we must invade Slovakia.

Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 5
Stupid Tourist Moments: 37
Monuments Flipped Off: 28
Free Booze Ganked: 4
Free Food Ganked: 18


i'm on my way, taking my time, but i don't know where.
-Simon and Garfunkle

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