Vienna, Austria - Snow, cakes, monstrosities & garlic!

---

“This bloody blizzard!” I said to Angela as we traversed yet another slippery footpath, this one leading towards a bridge spanning the Danube. Snow was blasting into my eyes and the wind was chilling me to the bone. Angela was suffering too, and like arctic explorers we traipsed onto the bridge, pausing only to pull down our hats. The river below was dark and brooding, the cruise ships of the summer nowhere to be seen. It was like Siberia.

Despite the February weather, our first impressions of the Austrian capital were favourable. Beautiful, elegant buildings were on every street corner, no doubt from a time when the Hapsburgs ruled the land. In the distance, police sirens (that can only be heard in mainland Europe) sounded their way along the streets. Red trams were everywhere, both new and old. So far, Vienna had surpassed our expectations.

“It's getting worse,” I said grimly, tightening my scarf. The sudden arctic blast over central Europe had caused a whitewash across the whole region. Parked cars were covered in snow, icicles hung from their bumpers. Cozy bakeries looked warm and inviting, a respite from the cold with their tempting cakes and pastries, but we carried on towards our first port of call, St Stephen's Cathedral.

Vienna, like most major European cities, has endured its fair share of foreign invaders. The Romans conquered the place in 15BC, and then the Turks laid siege in the 16th Century. Napoleon came knocking on the city walls in 1805, and then just before the outbreak of the Second World War, Hitler was in town. Vienna is also no slouch when it comes to famous people. Marie Antoinette, Queen of France was born in Vienna, and Sigmund Freud, the famous psychiatrist, carried out most of his important work in the city. Gustav Klimt, the symbolist painter was born near Vienna, and of course there are the composers: Franz Schubert and Johann Strauss, both sons of the city. Even Mozart, though not actually born in Vienna, settled in the city where he eventually became famous.

St Stephen's Cathedral was a massive building with gothic spires dating from the Middle Ages. Outside stood a man with his horses and cart waiting for tourists. Not many customers for him, I reasoned. In fact, there seemed to be a huge lack of tourists full stop. Maybe people had more sense than to come in winter. “Let’s go inside,” I said. I needed to get out from the cold for a while, my feet were freezing.

“Look at this,” said Angela, spotting a particularly fetching sculpture showing a set of heads. “They look so lifelike.” We both studied the intricate work of whoever the master craftsman had been. Nearby was a troupe of teenage girls following their guide. As they stopped and crowded around another sculpture, one of the girls, I noticed, looked intensely bored by the whole thing. Wearing her dreadlocks, she stood a few metres back from her pals, looking sullen and resentful. She looked the typical teenager forced to do something sad and boring, exactly how I’d have looked twenty years previously.

“It really is a pretty town,” said Angela as we headed back into the cold. All along the street, well-kept buildings that could have easily graced any period drama from the Napoleonic Age stood with a coating of snow upon their rooftops. Men with spades were clearing the pavements but despite the snow, the city was still running smoothly. There was disappointment just around the corner though. The Opera House was closed for the week, and I knew Angela had been looking forward to seeing a little bit of culture while we were in Vienna.

“Damn the Opera House!” I exclaimed as we wandered off, even though I was secretly relieved. Sitting through a couple of hours of mad wailing didn’t sound like my idea of fun. “Damn it being closed! I was really looking forward to it as well.”

I asked Angela if she had ever heard me speaking German. She shook her head so I let rip. “Hände hoch, Britisher Schwienhunt! Achtung! Schnell!” Angela looked impressed with my obviously comprehensive knowledge of the German language. She asked me how I'd learnt German so well. “From Commando comics,” I told her truthfully. “So all I can say is 'hands up British pig dog! Attention! Quick!’”

The Hofburg Imperial Palace looked an impressive sight. A horse and carriage clip-clopped it's way under a large archway. A former imperial palace, it was now the official seat of the Austrian President. Just ahead of us was a line of small school children being shepherded through the arch by their teacher. Their destination turned out to be the nearby Spanish Riding School, where the world famous Lipizzaner Horses performed. We didn’t have time to see them ourselves and so passed through a beautiful courtyard surrounded my even more elegant buildings.

We decided it was time to go to the Cafe Sacher to sample one of Vienna's finest products, the world-famous Sachertorte. I'd never heard of the thing, but it definitely tasted good, like a chocolate cake with a bit of apricot sauce or something thrown in. The recipe was a secret, Angela told me, and it was locked up in the cellar somewhere. I let rip once more. “Hände hoch, Osterreich Scwhienhunt. Sachertort Recipe! Schnell!” Angela looked at me and I became silent.

On a nearby table a woman lit up a cigarette. Her friend did the same thing. This was something we’d noticed about Vienna. Smoking in bars, restaurants and cafes was still allowed and almost encouraged. Later, while having lunch in a restaurant, we noticed that the non-smoking section was empty. The smoking area was jam packed with people furiously puffing away.

Suitably warmed up and full of Sachertorte, we were on the move again, this time heading east towards a strange museum called Narrenturm, which according the guide book, displayed a series of gruesome exhibits from a time when the building was an asylum.

Narrenturn turned out to be a large round tower located in the University district. We joined a short queue and soon came face to face with the monstrosities on display. Distorted skeletons (one clearly a small child with a huge, massively oversized skull), diseased lungs, plastic mock ups of people with all sorts of deformities were on show. Thank God the captions were in German.

“Jesus Christ,” I said, as we entered another gruesome room. Plastic models of genitalia were presented in all their hideous glory. One penis had sores, one vagina had red welts as well as hideous protrusions, and in one graphic picture, a penis had something indescribable oozing from its tip.

Another room was perhaps worst of all. It contained three babies contained within formaldehyde jars. One looked like it had been born only the day before, its poor eyes squeezed shut and its tiny mouth open slightly, as if taking a breath. Why it was in the jar we had no idea, and very quickly it became hard to look at. The other two jars were equally horrible, both containing hellishly deformed babies. One looked to have been triplets, except all merged into one body. I felt nauseous looking at them and we soon left.

“Well that was fun,” said Angela in mock amusement as we left the museum, and I nodded in agreement. Even though the exhibits had been at best macabre, and at worst, disturbing, it had been well worth the three Euro entrance fee, even if we did feel like vomiting.

I felt like vomiting later that evening too, though for a totally different reason. Just near our hotel was a nice-looking restaurant. We both ordered enchiladas, expecting some sort of Mexican, spicy, meal. After all, that's what enchiladas were, weren't they?

“Bloody hellfire!” I exclaimed as I took a forkful of my meal. The enveloping taste of prime garlic filled every pore of my mouth, immediately rendering my breath venomous to everyone in the vicinity. Everything was coated with the stuff, even the peas, and as I dipped my fork in for another try of Garlic Hell, my nausea returned. “My stomach will end up as an exhibit in that museum,” I said, before immediately covering my mouth to halt the escape of the foul gas inside my innards.

Angela too commented on the amount of garlic used in the recipe. I remained mute as I chewed a piece of chicken that had been stewed in garlic for at least forty-eight years. I looked down at my plate, mentally calculating how many cloves of garlic per square inch had been deposited on my plate. There was a coating of white cream everywhere, clearly the source of the hideous sauce. Even the beer couldn't wash away the foul taste.

The next morning, our final day in Vienna was another cold and snowy day. I could still detect a strong sense of garlic on my breath but undaunted, we wrapped up warm and undertook a lengthy walk through a snow blizzard towards Schloss Belvedere, an 18th century palace built for Prince Eugene of Savoy, Austria's most successful general. Another interesting fact about it was that Franz Ferdinand lived there until his untimely assassination in 1914.

On the way to it we came across a quaint little park known as Stadtpark, the first public park built in Vienna. Possibly due to the snow, the whole park was virtually deserted, apart from a few ducks and crows who were all loitering at the edge of the pond. In the middle of the park was a golden statue of Strauss.

After some hasty map reading we eventually entered the grounds of Upper Belvedere. This part of the palace was a museum dedicated to art, including pieces by the likes of Munch, Van Gogh, and best of all, Gustav Klimt. “I really want to see The Kiss,” Angela told me. “It's one of Klimt's best.” Shaking our feet free of snow, we entered the building and began our spectacle of culture.

Paintings of cherubs, scenes of nude women lounging about, large pictures of turkeys, and even intricately detailed portraits of farmer's wives were just some of the subjects on offer. In one strange room, sculptures of men in various poses stood in plinths. The sculptor was a man called Franz Xaver Messerschmitt, best known for the Character Heads we were now gaping at. The captions underneath included 'Saved from drowning face' and “Injured in Battle face' but others were more comic, offering some humour against the dark.

On the second floor was the exhibition we had come to see, the world's largest collection of Klimt paintings. His masterwork, The Kiss was on prominent display, all glittering with gold leaf. A group of people were standing around it with a guide. Edging closer, we listened in as he began to speak.

“This is the pinnacle of Klimt's career. It is believed to show Klimt and his lover in an embrace that is significant for two reasons. The first is that she was about to leave Klimt. He had been adulterous and had caught syphilis.” The guide paused, pointing at the bottom section of the painting. “You may also notice that the woman's legs are quite long here, and that if she were to stand up, she would be taller than Klimt. He did this for a special reason; he wanted to show that the woman was taller than him because she was a better person than him. She held the moral high ground.”

It was all very interesting, but Angela and I had a flight to catch, and so after a whirling tour of the third floor, we were back out, slipping and sliding in the snow once more.

Strengths:
-Beautiful buildings on every street corner.
-Sachertorte
-Lots to see!
-Friendly people
-Narrenturm Museum
-Main sights can be reached on foot

Weaknesses:
-Cold in winter
-Expensive. The Euro was not our friend.

---

Photos

01
Busy shopping street, central Vienna

02
The Danube looks okay for a swim

03
The spire of St Stephen's lies next to a more modern side of Vienna

04
The local brews of Vienna. Both a nice tipple!

05
Inside St Stephen's

06
Who'd have thought I'd see both Kock and Kuntz in broad daylight. Shocking.

07
World-famous Sachertorte

09
Street signs of Downtown Vienna

10
Hofburg Palace

11
Angela in front of the Radhaus (Town Hall)

12
Narrenturn Round Tower - museum of the gruesome

13
Hideous face inside the museum

14
Snowy scene near Stadtpark

15
Golden statue of Strauss in Stadtpark

16
Upper Belvedere Palace, home of a fine art collection

18
The sun comes out, finally!

17
Penguins sit on a balcony