Our arrival in Vienna was met by clear blue skies, a mild day, and what with hindsight seems to have been a typically Austrian gentleman. Boarding the tram, I asked him if he could tell me if this was the correct tram for Karlieterplatz. He nodded without glancing once at me. This cold and bitter reception was something one has to grow accustomed to in Vienna. It would seem that no matter how much the older generations of Austria are stereotyped and caricatured, they seem to offer nothing but more ammunition.
We arrived at our appartment which was well equipped, large, had two seperate bedrooms, and was generally surprising for 16 euros a night. As with all the other cities, we spent the first day learning a bit about it. We went to the old town, which architectually was beautiful. However, what we all noticed on arriving in the city centre that even though it was a small city, it was vey empty for a capital. We made our way to the Leopold Museum following my spotting of an advert for it on the tube earlier. It houses the worlds largest collection of Egon Schieles work, an artist whose work I enjoy a lot, as well as having a lot of Gustav Klimt. Far better than the Louvre, I was delighted to have found it, and although according to my peers sound pretencious and too eager, had a great time.
We later went for a few beers and for a bite to eat. Eventually we made our way to Pickwicks, an Irish/English bar, which boasted a collection of English books, novels and autobiography. Interestingly enough, David Beckhams novella on his life to date was included in the Classics section, which made me somewhat doubt the apparently Irish owners' knowledge of classic British literature. Ordering some drinks at the bar, I got talking to the bartender. It turned out that his father was an expat who had moved to Vienna a while ago. Whilst the guy spoke good English, I found it very frustrating that having started a conversation in German, he was unwilling to speak it. I can only assume it was to flex his English vocabulary and disgustingly large ego. However, he was nice enough to talk to, arrogance aside, and invited us to a party the following night, which I was happy to accept.
We made our way to the Metro station, where opting for the escalator, myself and Sam made our ascent to our train. Greenberg and Johnson, who had chosen the escalator, just to make it a bit more interesting, made it exactly that, when after a few minutes they didnt arrive at the top. I went down to look for them after a few minutes, and not finding them, rushed around the station, whilst Sam waited patiently in our original spot. Not finding them, I could only laugh at the situation, especially as neither Mark nor Greenberg could speak German, and I had the key. Whilst Sam was off making dramatic speeches, I wrote a thoroughly incomprehendible note to the cctv guys at the station, telling him to stop 2 rugged looking youths should he see them.
We made our way back, and were lucky enough to stumble upon our friends at a telephone box; Alexander was phoning his mother to get our phone numbers. The drama however didnt end here. On our arrival at the flat, Sam and Greenberg battled out the rights and wrongs, the yes and the no and so on and so forth. Finding it funny, I filmed the argument, and watching it back it became evident that this was an argument about nothing and would blow over by the morning.
It didnt. Sam was grumpy, Greenberg not particularly talkative, and there were only so many jokes either me or Mark could make without it getting irritating. We visited the graves of Beethoven, Strauss and Mozart, all of which were interesting enough. But the mood was still tense. By night time however, it seemes as if Sam and Greenberg had kissed and made up (without any physical contact though) and all was well again.
We made our way out to Pickwicks again, meeting George, the guy from last nights younger brother, and a camp New Yorkan who we baptised idiom Jim; he was trying to cram as many into a sentence as possible. George spoke to us about music, drink, Austria and everything in general. He had an Austrain friend who didnt say much, but who I introduced myself to. Eventually, the disgusting Austrian from the night before (his eyes were crossed, his shirt was orange and his hair was disgustingly dreadlocked) turned up to take us to the club. What he had described as a rave the night before turned out to be a trip hop drum and bass type night, with generally good music and well priced drinks. I spoke a bit more to Georges Austrian friend, who was far more interesting and fun to talk to than any of the ex pats. So much so in fact, that the end of the night he shook my hand and stated, in a drunken, English brawl (all our conversation had been in German), "I like you". We made our way out of the club, and started walking home.
Leading the way, I eventually took a wrong turn and got us lost. We were quite far away from anything we'd seen before and it was late. Somehow an argument erupted, and quick rapid words were spat from mine and Sams mouths. It lasted until we got back, and in true post argument fashion, Sam went to bed in a strop. Again, I had found the argument funny and wasnt sure where it had started, but nevertheless greatly anticipated the morning.
Wed decided to go to Bratislava that day, seeing as the journey was only an hour out of Vienna, and much cheaper than anything wed experienced. Sam was once again in a foul mood, something that myself and Mark couldnt help but laugh about. He insisted he was fine whenever Id ask, so I left him to stew and anticipated that hed be fine if I gave it some time.
Bratislava was quite wretched in reality. It had some pretty areas, but was completely and utterly dead. It was small, the castle was shabby, and the monstrous non tourist part of the city which we could see from the castle was exactly the "communist industrial sprawl" that Greenbergs mother had warned us about. We decided to cut the visit short and made our way home. I exchanged words with Sam, all was fine again and we ended the night with poker.
Essentially our stay in Vienna wasnt so exciting. On our final day, we filmed Greenberg doing an impression of Orson Welles in the Third Man (for it is filmed in Vienna), and generally had a relaxing day. And relaxing is exactly what Vienna is. Its quite small, beautiful, culturally rich...but just a bit quiet. The night time is dead time, the people hardly talk, let alone look at you, and one is able to find peace and quiet in the heart of the city. I enjoyed it though, and it was certainly good to get at least 2 arguments out of the way. I was looking forward to Prague though, if only for something different. But if anyone ever decides to go to Vienna, maybe its best to go alone. Exactly, go to Vienna when you need some time alone, when you want to see something beautiful, and when you need a bit of space, but in a big(ish) city.
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