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.
Monday 22 January 2007
Thursday 18 January 2007
The first long train...
I wrote the following on the 13 hour train journey from Paris to Vienna. Its quite terrible, but its something for now.
The 13 hour train journey from Paris to Vienna is perhaps a little less comofortable than I'd anticipated. There are 6 of us crammed into 6 foot beds, maybe less, with very little space for luggage, a window barely worth opening and a heat that is entirely deceptive of the weather outside. Im lying in my thermal underwear (for fear of unintentionally flashing my **** and ****** to an unsuspecting French woman who took the fifth bed an hour or so ago) curled up next to my fanny pack and novel, still laughing at the fact that Mark farter, completely unbeknowst to the French below. Furthermore, Alexander is contemplating the possibility of an organ in the mouth that would not only substitute the teeth and tongue, but would aquire both their functions; to taste and to chew.
Although its uncomfortable, it's amusing, and certainlz remarkably different to anything Ive ever experience. So remarkable it would seem that I'm indulging myself by writing about it.
I met, this morning, two Argentinian boys, whom I instantly hated. They were exactly the kind of travellers I have been dreading to meet. it seems that the purpose of their travels (besides one that will inevitably lead to some revolting course of self discovery) is merely to have sex with other travellers, tell each other how long it took to "score", and then to make some shallow assessment of their character, only to do it again the following night. And the subsequent night after that. And so on and so forth, until they finally return home to a horde of useless friends and missed loved ones, maybe with a freshly grown beard and certainly with a new distorted outlook on life.
One of them had such disgusting ignorance, that he asked me whether people in Germany still liked Hitler. This didn't by any means insult me. What did however was his nodding approval when I said that he was still loved by many and actually was thought of as a pretty decent guy.
I took my leave of them and later took precautions to ensure that such an encounter should not happen again.
We later made our way to Jim Morrisons grave, via those of Chopin, Oscar Wilde and Moliere. All of their graves were littered with either flowers, grafitti or messages of love and adoration. They were brashly distracting our visit, and indeed ultimatelz the purpose of a cemetry is to let these poor (though great) men rest in peace.
So Paris was ultimately a great experience. The tourist destinations lived up to their reputations, the views from the Eiffel Tower were exceptional, and a lot of the art in the Louvre impressive. Unfortunately we didnt have much time to stray from the top tourist destinations, and Ive left Paris wondering where its heart (city of love and all that) truly lies. Its a great city, and I had an excellent time, but it just lacked a certain....je ne sais quoi. On that truly horrendous note, I will write again after our trip to Vienna
The 13 hour train journey from Paris to Vienna is perhaps a little less comofortable than I'd anticipated. There are 6 of us crammed into 6 foot beds, maybe less, with very little space for luggage, a window barely worth opening and a heat that is entirely deceptive of the weather outside. Im lying in my thermal underwear (for fear of unintentionally flashing my **** and ****** to an unsuspecting French woman who took the fifth bed an hour or so ago) curled up next to my fanny pack and novel, still laughing at the fact that Mark farter, completely unbeknowst to the French below. Furthermore, Alexander is contemplating the possibility of an organ in the mouth that would not only substitute the teeth and tongue, but would aquire both their functions; to taste and to chew.
Although its uncomfortable, it's amusing, and certainlz remarkably different to anything Ive ever experience. So remarkable it would seem that I'm indulging myself by writing about it.
I met, this morning, two Argentinian boys, whom I instantly hated. They were exactly the kind of travellers I have been dreading to meet. it seems that the purpose of their travels (besides one that will inevitably lead to some revolting course of self discovery) is merely to have sex with other travellers, tell each other how long it took to "score", and then to make some shallow assessment of their character, only to do it again the following night. And the subsequent night after that. And so on and so forth, until they finally return home to a horde of useless friends and missed loved ones, maybe with a freshly grown beard and certainly with a new distorted outlook on life.
One of them had such disgusting ignorance, that he asked me whether people in Germany still liked Hitler. This didn't by any means insult me. What did however was his nodding approval when I said that he was still loved by many and actually was thought of as a pretty decent guy.
I took my leave of them and later took precautions to ensure that such an encounter should not happen again.
We later made our way to Jim Morrisons grave, via those of Chopin, Oscar Wilde and Moliere. All of their graves were littered with either flowers, grafitti or messages of love and adoration. They were brashly distracting our visit, and indeed ultimatelz the purpose of a cemetry is to let these poor (though great) men rest in peace.
So Paris was ultimately a great experience. The tourist destinations lived up to their reputations, the views from the Eiffel Tower were exceptional, and a lot of the art in the Louvre impressive. Unfortunately we didnt have much time to stray from the top tourist destinations, and Ive left Paris wondering where its heart (city of love and all that) truly lies. Its a great city, and I had an excellent time, but it just lacked a certain....je ne sais quoi. On that truly horrendous note, I will write again after our trip to Vienna
Sunday 14 January 2007
La Legion Etrangere
Having visited the Notre Dame, we travelled up to another significant church on the other side of Paris? the Sacre Coeur. Although the place was beautiful, our trip was somewhat marred by hordes of Senegalese immigrants who would poke pull and push us in an attempt to sell us bracelets. I told one of them that I was from Turkey? which he didnt believe? but I got rid of him.
The proceeding night, we met some members of the French Foreign Legion, or as the French call it, La Legion Etrangere. Having studied them for French Oral AS, it was incredible talking to them. Basically the Legion was established some time before the First World War (I think, maybe it was after) as a peace keeping force in Frances colonies. It accepted soldiers from all over the world who had to go through a test and training. As these two guys, one from Venezuela and one a Japanese Californian, told us, nowadays their purpose is almost useless. They clean all day and live a lazy life. The Venezuelan guy is in it for the money and the American Japanese for the guns. It sounds like an incredibly bizarre life, but they seem to enjoy shooting and blowing up patches of land, and actually sold it very well.
We went out with thel, and afterwards met a Tunisian man who gave us his views on Bush and bin Laden in mime and then sold us some chips.
We leave Paris today, and managed to fit in the Louvre, which was incredible, both the building and a few pieces of art, and the Eiffel Tower, which fascinates me every time I see it. We shall see how Vienna bodes in comparison.
The proceeding night, we met some members of the French Foreign Legion, or as the French call it, La Legion Etrangere. Having studied them for French Oral AS, it was incredible talking to them. Basically the Legion was established some time before the First World War (I think, maybe it was after) as a peace keeping force in Frances colonies. It accepted soldiers from all over the world who had to go through a test and training. As these two guys, one from Venezuela and one a Japanese Californian, told us, nowadays their purpose is almost useless. They clean all day and live a lazy life. The Venezuelan guy is in it for the money and the American Japanese for the guns. It sounds like an incredibly bizarre life, but they seem to enjoy shooting and blowing up patches of land, and actually sold it very well.
We went out with thel, and afterwards met a Tunisian man who gave us his views on Bush and bin Laden in mime and then sold us some chips.
We leave Paris today, and managed to fit in the Louvre, which was incredible, both the building and a few pieces of art, and the Eiffel Tower, which fascinates me every time I see it. We shall see how Vienna bodes in comparison.
Friday 12 January 2007
Paris and blisters
When Greenberg remarked on the train that "My dog will probably be dead by the time that Im back in England" we all chuckled, but have now kind of realised that well be gone for a considerable amount of time. That said, we didnt have any complaints...until we arrived in Paris.
After having found a hostel before we set off, we arrived to find it completely booked out. We decided to reserve for the following nights, leave half our luggage there, and trek to another hostel about 40 minutes away that had been recommended to us. That too was full. We eventually found a one star hotel with a room with 3 beds, went out for a meal during which time the hoteliere said that he would install a 4th bed. On arrival back from our cheap Cambodian meal, we found a rotten, torn and revolting fold out matress on the floor. That was our 4th bed. We decided to toss coins for who would sleep on it, and naturally Mark, or the disgusting hippo (because hes disgusting and looks like a hippo) naturally lost. Luckily for the rest of our delight, hed also not bothered to bring his sleeping bag from the other hostel, so decided to sleep in his jeans and belt instead.
The next day we woke and made our way to Notre Dame, which was very beautiful. The rest of the day was a pretty average tourist wander through the city, which included a really shit, but free, art exhibition. But it was really shit.
On our way back to the hostel that night (after visiting the Eiffel Tower but not climbing it; thats tomorrow), we met a very drunk homeless man called Fabrice. He was babbling on about all sorts of things and desperately wanted to take a photo of us. It took him about 5 minutes to get the camera facing the right way. Eventually he took it, but as we started walking off insisted we had photos of all of us together. We agreed, but whenever we had our photo taken with him, hed start kissing us and licking us on the face; the cheek, the mouth, just anything. So eventually we said our goodbyes (he kissed us twice on the cheek and wished us a happy new year).
We got back to the hostel and although I think this happened earlier in the evening, had our first argument of the journey. Greenberg had wanted to pop his blister over our toilet, which me and Sam were vehemently against. After trying hard to convince Greenberg that we were merely asking him a favour by asking him to go and do it somewhere else, he complied. Luckily no hard feelings were held and the blister residue isnt in our room.
On Monday were going to Vienna. Hopefully something more interesting will have happened for me to write about. If you want a disgusting exagerration of all of this, find out Sams blog address, I cant remember its address. Either way, I will be writing again shortly.
After having found a hostel before we set off, we arrived to find it completely booked out. We decided to reserve for the following nights, leave half our luggage there, and trek to another hostel about 40 minutes away that had been recommended to us. That too was full. We eventually found a one star hotel with a room with 3 beds, went out for a meal during which time the hoteliere said that he would install a 4th bed. On arrival back from our cheap Cambodian meal, we found a rotten, torn and revolting fold out matress on the floor. That was our 4th bed. We decided to toss coins for who would sleep on it, and naturally Mark, or the disgusting hippo (because hes disgusting and looks like a hippo) naturally lost. Luckily for the rest of our delight, hed also not bothered to bring his sleeping bag from the other hostel, so decided to sleep in his jeans and belt instead.
The next day we woke and made our way to Notre Dame, which was very beautiful. The rest of the day was a pretty average tourist wander through the city, which included a really shit, but free, art exhibition. But it was really shit.
On our way back to the hostel that night (after visiting the Eiffel Tower but not climbing it; thats tomorrow), we met a very drunk homeless man called Fabrice. He was babbling on about all sorts of things and desperately wanted to take a photo of us. It took him about 5 minutes to get the camera facing the right way. Eventually he took it, but as we started walking off insisted we had photos of all of us together. We agreed, but whenever we had our photo taken with him, hed start kissing us and licking us on the face; the cheek, the mouth, just anything. So eventually we said our goodbyes (he kissed us twice on the cheek and wished us a happy new year).
We got back to the hostel and although I think this happened earlier in the evening, had our first argument of the journey. Greenberg had wanted to pop his blister over our toilet, which me and Sam were vehemently against. After trying hard to convince Greenberg that we were merely asking him a favour by asking him to go and do it somewhere else, he complied. Luckily no hard feelings were held and the blister residue isnt in our room.
On Monday were going to Vienna. Hopefully something more interesting will have happened for me to write about. If you want a disgusting exagerration of all of this, find out Sams blog address, I cant remember its address. Either way, I will be writing again shortly.
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