My travel companion for this exotic (omg! Germans!) adventure was Anthony, the Blond(ish?)-Haired King of Fashion. If you're confused by the epithet, see Odyssey, The. Between the two of us, we had quite a bit of Austrian cultural knowledge: Anthony knew about the Hapsburgs and was very into artists of the Viennese Secession movement, while I knew how to say 'Danke.' Armed with this only-slightly-exhaustible well of information, we set out to conquer the City With No Nickname.
After a lovely (read: cheap) bus ride from Budapest, we checked into our hostel and went into the 1st district just in time for the traditional Closing of the Stores. Really, Vienna puts Boston to shame in the area of Inconveniently Early Closing Times, which is not easy. Not ones to be deterred from wasting time, Anthony and I defaulted to a few hours of serious window shopping. Or rather, Anthony was serious about it, calculating and recalculating his purchasing power, while my thoughts were generally restricted to variations on "ooh, that's really cute/shiny/expensive." For the record, "expensive" does not just mean "expensive because I have never spent more than $10 on a shirt." I'm pretty sure that every time I looked at a store window, an angel maxed out its credit card. "Shiny," meanwhile, means this:
Authentic Viennese Disco SkullHaving arrived after the Closing of Everything Ever on Saturday, we were left with one day to Experience Vienna. Altogether, I think we did pretty well. In compliance with the Vienna Tourist Laws, we spent the morning at the Schonbrünn. The Schonbrünn has historical significance as the palace of the Maries Theresa and Antoinette, and social significance as a really big, pretty building with lots of expensive furniture. It's a little bit more subtle than Versailles, but, then again, so is Lady Gaga. Unfortunately, you'll have to content yourself with the disco skull picture, because cameras were verboten (culture! I have it!) inside. Anthony, however, did manage to surreptitiously take one photo...of the king's toilet. Yes. The King's toilet. Moving on.
We did indeed move on, or rather, up. The grounds surrounding the Schonbrünn are as beautiful as the inside, though they smell slightly more of elephant, courtesy of the zoo next door. We realized that we had not yet begun destroying our legs, so we decided to make up for lost time by climbing the hill up to...okay, I have absolutely no idea what is was, but it was in keeping with the theme of OMG Austria is Pretty, and a very nice-looking set of fake ruins. Why you would purposely create ruins is a bit baffling to me; I cannot help but think the Austrians have legitimately ruined *something* in their long history. If not, I'd be glad to help out, although I can't guarantee I'll ruin something in quite so picturesque a manner. Nevertheless, it will be authentic, and heavens knows that's what tourism in Austria is all about. That, and dolls shaped like Elisabeth, the Low-Carb Queen and star of one of the Royal Diaries books I was obsessed with when I was twelve. Yes, even then I showed a passion for history, especially the history of women with cool hair.
Speaking of low-carb, lunch was definitely not (YOU come up with a better transition). As the hill had rendered our legs more useless than rhinestone underwear on a standard dancer, we took the opportunity to take in culture via metro and calories. Hey, in DC, that IS the culture (and, you know, those quaint little museums scattered around and people in traditional black suits). My calories came in the form of a gyro bigger than my head, which I swore not to finish after every bite, right down to the last corner of the pita. At that point, I just swore, since I hate resewing buttons on pants. After lunch, we waddled, er..wandered, around Neubaugasse, for reasons having nothing to do with the fact that 'Neubaugasse' is extremely fun to say. Neubaugasse is also a shopping Mecca...every day except Sunday. Having left our lock-picks back at the hostel, we once again contented ourselves with staring in windows and daydreaming about being able to afford a shirt without having to sell a sibling.
Since we both apparently hate our legs, we walked from Neubaugasse (say it with me: Neubaugasse. Neubaugasse! Neubaugasse?!) to the museum district. We spent the next few hours doing what people typically do in places called "The Museum District" (hint: not rollerblading). In addition to the Leopold Musuem, where Anthony contemplated Klimpt while I contemplated Diet Coke and a hot bath, we looked at a few free exhibits that must have been artistic because I was confused. There was one with a series of screens saying something about Facebook (which is definitely art, specifically, the art of procrastination) and, outside, there were several giant models of human organs with furniture inside. One of them actually had a bar inside, but I really didn't feel comfortable buying a Diet Coke from a guy standing inside a gargantuan colon. I imagine that these are the sorts of things created by people who jump out of meaningful bathtubs holding significant spatulas (spatulae?) while tap-dancing ironically on symbolic starfish. Okay, I think I was just looking for an excuse to write that sentence. But the point holds.
Although at this point my legs were on the verge of secession, our Vienna In A Day tour was not finished. There was still the matter of Jews. Upon arriving in Vienna, both Anthony and I realized we could not leave without seeing the Jewseum (his term, though I definitely wish it was mine), he because he liked saying 'Jewseum,' me because I am my grandfather's granddaughter (and an adept tautologist) and am drawn Spaceballs-laser-style to anything with Hebrew on it. For the record, I was insanely proud of myself for being able to recognize and/or read something like every 20th Hebrew word in the artifacts exhibit (even without vowels! What now!). So Mom and Dad, you can see the four years I spent in Hebrew School were totally not wasted. After the museum, we decided that we weren't quite Jewed enough (really, can one ever be Jewed enough?), so we went looking for the Vienna Synagogue. In keeping with the age-old tradition of 'Why Does This Shit Always Happen to Us?,' the synagogue was almost impossible to find. Indeed, our map placed it squarely inside a stone wall, which would have been hell on the rabbi. Fortunately, we found a subtle hint to the temple's location in the form of a street called Judenplatz. Yes. Jew Place. Awesome. We arrived about 10 minutes before the place closed, but it was enough to get a look at the inside (gorgeous!) and for me to once again deploy my four years of Hebrew School by spending a good five minutes trying to remember if something was a mem or a samech (I don't think I ever resolved that).
After a most healthy dinner of sauteed/fried things (Anthony had been eying a chicken basket since Saturday) and creme caramel, we finally hauled our rebelling calves back to the hostel for some R & R & F (rest, relaxation, and Facebook). Our bus back to Budapest was at 11:20 the next morning, but, out of consideration for Hungarian Standard Time, it arrived about half an hour late, something like 30 seconds before we bought a ticket for another line. Nevertheless, we arrived in Hungary safe and sound, if sleepy, whereupon I started and restarted this entry about five times before deciding to re-energize my creative juices with a nap. Which turned into about five hours. At which point I realized I had not started my topology homework. Oops. At least that didn't require legs.
*Actually, Wikipedia informs me that it did in fact involve Russians, but only peripherally. Peripheral Russians don't count.
No comments:
Post a Comment