Day 15 - Vienna

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Day 15
I'm not dead. I'm not dead!! Woohoo! I am not dead!!! The almighty vengeful one did not take me out in my sleep. The glorious sun, created no doubt by a glorious God (or god-like invisible friend), sauntered in, poked me in the head and handed me the good news. Wow! I am amazed. It turns out that my prayers and pleas for forgiveness have been answered after all. Despite telling his divine zombies to piss off and take a holy hike, he has allowed me to continue my existence. I guess there are still grains of sand left in my hourglass of time. He wants me to continue. I feel so blessed. He wants me to travel the globe, to hang out in his many houses, to drink beer from all of the pubs that he created and to try to pick up all his wondrous female creations with the glorious hope that they want to mimic his sacred rite of creation with me. That must be his plan. Therefore, I will go forth and do his bidding. But first…aaaaahhhhh…yawn, stretch, scratch…I need a coffee, one sugar, no milk, no cream. Thanks.

Last night I had a revelation. This is probably why I am still here. After being hounded by the messengers of piety and puritanicalism during the afternoon train ride, I decided to take my mind off my impending doom by taking a snapshot tour of Vienna. After an hour of wandering aimlessly, a spiteful God opened up the sky and started to downpour rain upon his forsaken child. I do not know if He planned it or not, however, unknowingly, I sought refuge in Vienna's main cathedral. Contrary to the evasion and wordplay employed earlier in the day against His bible babes, I entered St. Stephen's Cathedral and without any resistance willingly gave myself to it. Immediately upon entry, I was immersed in an ambiance of tranquillity. Standing by the corridor, clear of the towering gothic doors to my rear, I was surrounded. Organ music, being piped from an unseen instrument, resonated off the walls, encircled and completely overcame me. I was encapsulated. Lost amongst myself, I just stood there and wondered how it could be so. Time stopped. The deafening symphony being performed was just so incredibly peaceful. Once again, after being frozen in wonder for an undetermined period of time, I left the house a more confused and inspired man than I was before I entered.

To continue…I don’t know if it was my divine awareness or the fact that I was bloody starving, but I floated around Vienna like I was a new man in a euphoric buzz. However, after an hour it seemed like the Big Guy realized that he made a mistake and deluged me once again with more rain. What a day! To start, I had to deal with the brainwashed irritants that swarmed me on the train. Then, someone tried to drown me in a flood. It was getting late. I was tired and I could take a hint. Therefore, I aimed for the hotel…looking out for any wayward runaway team of apocalyptic horsemen bent on trampling me to death. Sleep came to me very easy. It could have been my last; however it was definitely required after a long, long day.

As discussed above, once I realized that I survived the evening and the good lord did not take soul, I celebrated life with a cup of fresh hot coffee. Refreshed and adequately caffeinated, I started my early morning tour of Vienna at the Hofburg. The Hofburg or Imperial Palace was the ancestral home of the Hapsburg family. From the exterior, towering Roman columns, assembled in a semi-circle fashion, lined the outer façade of the building. Beside each column, sculptures representing Roman soldiers, each from a separate era in history, stood on guard. The building faced a meticulously maintained parkette. The Hofsburg was the central Viennese palace where the fellows who ruled Europe for centuries pranced around in tight pants, wore fancy wigs, attended tea and then plotted against one another. Unfortunately, it was closed. What is with these frickin people? It is the middle of their tourist season and they decide to close their main tourist attractions so they can sit around eating chocolate and trying to forget the war.

With the Hofburg closed, I missed my chance to see their chapel and gaze upon a few noted prominent religious relics. Specifically, I missed my chance to see one of the thorns that stuck out of Jesus Christ's head. Apparently, that was located somewhere in there. Question? How did they get the thorn in the first place? As Jesus trudged down the beaten path carrying the huge wooden cross did some helpful onlooker try to placate his pain by running alongside and plucking a thorn from his head? Forget offering to help him carry the tree up and down broken stone slab steps throughout the city streets. No, the opportunistic devotee took it as a chance to grab himself a souvenir. However, that wasn’t the only relic that I missed. Apparently they also had one of the nails used to hold up Jesus on the cross. Thorns?…nails?…what was with those plucking people? Give the poor old God a hand and forget the bloody souvenirs!

As I roamed the rain-soaked streets, I noticed that on almost every corner stood a statue of some guy on a horse. It seemed that they threw perched every Tom, Dick or Ludwig atop either a bronzed or marble equine figurine. Regardless of the manliness or lack thereof of the individual, each was dolled up to resemble a fierce warrior. Peering down from their mount, they glowered with primacy and indifference onto the lowly Viennese proletariat cowering in the streets below. I tried to translate the signs to identify whom the sculptures commemorated. Was he really a stoic, fierce warrior of the Holy Roman Empire? Or was he a delicate, pillow biting artiste whom was unfortunately spat out some aristocrat of stature from Viennese society and thus earned his vaulted place in Austrian society. I spent almost three minutes trying to translate the gibberish, but left none the wiser.

Yeah..I know. ZZZZZzzzzzz. Where is the fun and excitement? Where are all the cool stories? I can honestly say that the stereotype of Germans as being dull people rang true. My pessimistic attitude was probably related to the fact that it was pissing rain outside and my attitude was ‘if I was out to have fun, then the rest of the damn place should have fun as well’. In retrospect, I should have followed the locals lead and spent the rainy day pickling my liver with jugs of Weisse biere in some dank brauhaus while hounding kraut skank in a drunken stupor. Luckily, the dreariness and mundanity of my morning changed when I got myself out of the wet and into the Kunsthistoriches Fine Arts Museum.

While looking like it was build centuries ago, the museum was only opened in 1891. That is like, yesterday, in European time. Thankfully, the exhibits predated the building by a healthy timespan. The Kunsthoriches is considered ‘important’ as it holds the world’s largest collection of art from the Hapsburg family. The Hapsburgs were the royal family of the Holy Roman Empire. They were based in Vienna and spent much of their time travelling around the world ensuring that the historical artefacts of defeated powers were taken into storage for safekeeping. These included important antiquities from Ancient Eqypt to Classical Greek and Roman eras to the relatively modern Renaissance and Baroque periods.

Despite the fact that I do not consider myself a fine arts aficionado, the Kunsthistoriches left a lasting impression on me. The few hours that I spent there caused me to develop a keen interest in one particular attractive attraction. The most impressive work of art was not an Italian Renaissance mural or the Ancient Greek bust of Aphrodite. The marble sculpture with the chick with the nice set and missing head was impressive but my favorite did not belong to the museum at all. Rather, it was found in the eyes of one of its' visitors, a young Spanish girl by the name of Yolanda.

I first noticed Yolanda when I was knocking off time in a room that displayed a varied collection of old ornate clocks. She was a pretty, younger-looking girl with adorable brown eyes who, interestingly enough, appeared to be following me around. She was exhibiting a little stalking action and, as I was always up for some action, I played along. Leaving the clock room, I proceeded to the room next door. This adjoining chamber displayed an assortment of gold encrusted plates and intricate silver-encrusted goblets. Within thirty seconds, the girl with the cute brown eyes displayed a sudden interest in goblets as well. The tour carried us to a section exhibiting more intricately painted kitchenware. Thirty seconds later…once again my seemingly introspective museum companion coincidentally developed a keen interest in china decanters. From then on, moving from room to room our strange courtship ensued. Glancing to either my left or to my right or even occasionally sneaking a peak from behind the display cases, our eyes would meet. This continued for at least eight consecutive rooms. Together we danced around plates, old clay pipes, silver spoons with Jesus faces etched upon them and a seemingly endless line of display cases containing old ladles and ivory serving spoons. While we never actually touched each other, the two of us twirled and spun ourselves around in an elegant and exciting courtship waltz.

Our behaviour may seem quite strange however I felt that we could not resist the dance. Once, I even lost her amongst the medieval cutlery section, missed my Spanish dance partner, went searching, only to find her in the adjoining hallway whereupon we immediately regrouped and continued the set. The experience was rather odd. Why didn't I just grab the Barcelona Babe and take our magnetic bond to the next level? The answer is simple. I was thrown off by her appearance. Draped over her shoulder was a beat up old school bag. It was the type one carts around when in they are in junior high. The knapsack sported layers of graffiti that documented everything from the names of friends and boyfriends to team logos. Although I didn’t know the laws of consent in Austria, I wasn't prepared to give them the old college try, especially if the subject was a few years away from college herself. I think that my feeling of apprehension was quite understandable. However, after performing the Great Dance of the Kunsthistoriches for several hours room by room, a conversation eventually commenced. A coffee and tea together in the museum cafeteria led to two interested young people to be found wading through the elegant, romantic hanging gardens of Vienna a short time later.

From our conversation, I learned that Yolanda Cabanillas heralded from Barcelona, Spain. She worked as an 'au pair' for a well-off Viennese lady. The objective of her employment was to earn some cash during her mid-year break from college. It was also an opportunity to learn conversational German. Thus, her decision to work in Austria had more than one purpose. The aspiring sophisticate failed her three previous exams in college. She needed to pass all three in her upcoming fall session, including German, to earn her certificate. Although she spoke relatively good broken-English, it was polished with an adorably exotic Spanish accent. Meow. Despite her difficulties in understanding my incessant batter, she humoured me by laughing at my effort to impress her with a battery of oddball jokes and warped anecdotes. I got the feeling that she didn't have a clue what I was saying. From her sporadic chuckling, however, I took that to be a sincere attempt to not appear to offend.

The two of us sat and chatted on a park bench for the better part of three hours. Our conversation drifted from here to there. We chatted, paused to enjoy the beautiful day and then started up again. Generally, our time together just drifted merrily along. Our park bench session lasted from three until about six. 6 PM was an important time for Yolanda. She was supposed to pick up the son of her employer from the day-care at half six. Half six when viewed from a logical mind naturally means six thirty. However, as we know from history, the Germanic peoples are known for their logic. (Sure...if we kill all the Jews, homos, gypsies, handicapped and left-handed people we will rule the world.) It turns out that half six in German actually meant five-thirty. I told you it is whacked! So as it turned out, she was a wee bit late. But hey, what is an hour to a five-year old boy? Come on, he was only stranded in a schoolyard, SuperDerFreunds lunchbox clutched in his trebling left hand, quivering bottom lip, a solitary tear running down his right cheek and his guardian nowhere in sight? Little Ludwig wouldn’t miss Yolanda. He probably enjoyed being on his own for a while. It was a great opportunity to teach him some independence. I digress, but what kind of trouble could an abandoned toddler get into by himself in the streets of Vienna anyway?

One hour later we found ourselves in the Vienna Central Police Station. Apparently, 'abandonment' is frowned upon in Austria. The police took over the job of babysitting the young Kraut. In that hour where we were adrift in each others eyes, the cops were called, Ludwig’s mother was called, the wee lad was shipped off to the police station and the competence level of 'au pair' Yolanda was instantly quashed. After coming up empty-handed in the day care, we were directed to the police station where we found the youngster terrorizing the constables. While they did not slap the cuffs on the 'au terrible' 'au pair', they did deliver a stern lecture to Yolanda on 'time management'….with a specific highlight on the fact that “time” comes before “man” in the term.

Although, Ludwig was now in Yolanda’s able custody the fun was not yet over. As it turned out, Mrs. Ludwig called the station looking for the status on her tot and discovered that rather than an apologetic 'au pair' collecting the wee child, a husky young male and an unidentified lady just snapped him up from the police station. I really don’t know what happened next but I suspect an APB went out over their radios looking for the apparent child kidnappers. I can just see it…legions of Austrian SS troopers combing inner Vienna, looking in every hovel, every pension, hotel or hostel for the dastardly tyke taker. I’d be peacefully chomping down on a luxurious meal of Big Mac and fries when I suddenly become the target of a real life Big Mac attack. I can see it now; the troops would appear out of nowhere. One would be disguised as a pimple faced teenybopper. Reaching down into the grease pan, he would move aside the McNuggets, grab a semi-automatic, laser-tipped pistol and swing into action. Another would slowly emerge from the coloured plastic ball pen with his full-auto M16 loaded, aimed and at the ready. The image is so clear. One moment I am studying the stylistic differences of centuries of middle age cutleries and in the next I am chatting up a beautiful young dame. Suddenly, I wake up and find out that I am doing ten to twenty in an Austrian gulag for conspiring to steal a future member of their Helmut youth corps. Luckily for them, I saw The Great Escape twelve times and would have been out of there and rowing down the Danube with Charles Branson in the blink of an eye. Thankfully, it turned out that the whole debacle sorted itself out. On the way home, Yolanda and her pubescent package met up with the mother on the subway and all worries were put to rest.

In the evening, Yolanda and I arranged to meet for a couple of drinks. Actually, I was quite stunned that Yolanda was able to get the evening off after her disastrous job of minding the youngster during the daytime. Unfortunately, I was had to leave Vienna the next morning and this was the only chance we had to continue our whirlwind courtship. You see, Vienna was just too expensive for my meagre wallet. Therefore, we used our last and only night to get to know each other better. We took a stroll through the darkened city streets and found ourselves sipping Austrian lager in a romantic outdoor cafe. Once again we let ourselves get absorbed into the incredible atmosphere and wafted in and out of an innocent, rather arcane conversation. Our topics included, home, school, the meaning of life…stuff like that. I tried to explore her thoughts, her feelings and important aspects of her life but I suspect it would take a little longer (and an interpreter) to pry out any meaningful response. Regardless of my attempts, I think that Yolanda was just overwhelmed at the process and progress of the day’s events. Personally, I too was amazed at our rapid progress.

On this trip, different and unusual things tend to just happen to me. I don’t search out interesting people. For some reasons, they gravitate towards me. I am intrigued, however, at the incredibly odd way that this particular relationship started. I must again revisit the most fascinating, most intimate dance I ever stepped to, the Dance of the Kunsthistoriches. From room to room to adjacent room. Eyes to eyes, twirling and spinning, the lovely teenybopper and I exchanged stalking manoeuvres. It was a dance that I will forever recall when I think of Vienna.

My short spell in Vienna will not be forgotten. It was too nice to forget. Yolanda was too nice not to remember. It was special, yet revealing. Today, I reaffirmed my confidence that I can crank up the charm like the best of them. The difference was that I was never any good at the craft before, yet today it all seemed so easy, so natural. Our evening ended on a street corner with a scene right out of a Humphrey Bogart movie. It was a warm, hazy summer night. An old streetlight illuminated our last few moments together. We said…or rather showed our goodbyes to one another. The last few words were standard fare. I promised to write to her. She promised to do the same. We kissed goodbye. Her right leg lifted up behind her. I held her steady and close. I knew that the chances we would ever meet again were slim. As we let go of one another, she opened the door to her apartment, I leaned over and snuck one last kiss, took one last look at the girl who had finally added spice to my travel journal, turned around and went on my way. It was a very pleasant stroll back to my hotel. I skipped along the sidewalk in the glimmer of the moonlight…strutting like the man that I thought I was. There would be sweet dreams that night indeed.

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