A burst of independence

It was dreary Saturday in March. The rain that had been threatening all morning arrived in the afternoon. Instead of a gushing downpour, it came down slowly but consistently. During the few hours of sunshine in the morning I had managed to run some errands but now the rain and moldy grey clouds kept me from exploring the city. On top of that, I was still rather annoyed from last night. What had happened? Well it was more a case of what hadn't happened.

A few days earlier I had been lectured on the dangers of going outside alone in Vienna. Some acquaintances were positive that it wasn't safe and I should on no account try it. They, knowing the city better than me, would arrange something and we would all go out on Friday. I could play the tourist and they would be my tour guides: I was promised the sun, the moon and even the stars. Supposedly they were great tour guides and knew where to go. I would have a marvelous time.

Right. Didn't happen. Somehow, somewhere, there was a lack of communication and what meant one thing to one person meant something totally different to another. Between the three of them no one could straighten things out. I was not impressed; if you can't follow through, don't bother generating the hype.

So, not only was it gloomy outside, but I was still rather annoyed from last night. All in all a winning combination.

Unexpectedly my cell phone rang. It was Kristin, one of the girls I'd stayed with when I first arrived in Vienna. In two hours she was going to see an operetta with some friends: did I want to come along? I checked my schedule: let's see...Saturday night....hmmm....two hours from now? Hmmm...either a thrilling night folding laundry or a cultural treat? Needless to say the laundry didn't get done.


Soon after I was standing in front of the Volksoper. I had never been to the Volksoper (the opera I wrote about in February was at the Staatsoper (translation: State opera house), this was at the People's opera house). The Volksoper is smaller and not nearly as opulent as the Staatsoper.

The operetta itself was very amusing: Johann Strauss' Die Fledermaus. (Sidebar: an operetta is a lighthearted opera with a considerable amount of spoken dialogue and dance. An opera is usually more serious with much less spoken dialogue and dance.)

Anyways, the operetta was fantastic. It was all in German and although there was translation available, it was quite poor. As for the storyline imagine this: an old suitor, a prison sentence, a husband who pretends to be a French count, a maid who is invited to a party hosted by a prominent Russian official and of course, the most important part: an intricate revenge plan. On top of this, there was a good deal of humour thrown in: making fun of Viennese bureaucrats for their incompetence (hmmmm....seems to me that we do that back home too), joking about how poorly the opera house pays it's employees, etc. There were a number of other comments that had the audience laughing hysterically but, alas I didn't understand them all. I would however highly recommend this operetta - even if you can't understand every word: the costumes were perfect and the music makes you realize how much classical music you do actually know.

After the performance I squished onto the U6 with half the audience. I was lucky to find a standing spot up against one of the windows. Watching the rain run down the panes reminded me of friends back home. The evening had turned out better than I thought. Too bad it had to end so early. Or did it?

I thought long and hard during the ride home and I came to the conclusion that the night was not yet over. I was going to go out and do something still. My tour guides had promised me the sun, the moon and the stars for Friday night and I hadn't even gotten a gram of stardust. I was going to leave the promises behind and go explore on my own. "Tour guides? Who needs them anyways," I thought, "Especially when they don't show up." That decided it. I was going to go exploring and have a marvelous time doing it. I got off close to home, slipped on my cap and marched out into the rain.

First stop? A quick check up with a mirror to make sure my lip gloss was still on my lips and my mascara wasn't trickling down my cheeks. No, everything was in place and I was good to go. I sauntered (well as close to sauntering as possible on slippery cobblestones) down the street. There was a little lokal (in Viennese a place where you can sit down to eat and drink) a stone's throw from my place. I'd walked past it countless times before and decided that a visit was long overdue. As I walked towards the front door I pulled my cap a little lower and finalized my game plan: tonight I was going to be a tourist and pretend not to speak German. I was at the front door. I took a deep breath, stood up straight and reached for the door.

And almost fell backwards out into the rain. Wave upon wave of cigarette smoke assaulted my senses. I had forgotten how much Europeans love to smoke. Although the interior was warmly lit in peach hues, I'm sure that in daylight there are tears of nicotine pouring down the walls.

After a moment of adjusting to my surroundings (next time I'm packing a gas mask) I looked around. To my right was a staircase leading down to a row of tables and couches. To my left were about five high tables with bar stools clustered around them. Straight in front of me? A flat screen TV showing a fire: exactly like the fireplace that Shaw broadcasts at Christmas (those of you who spent any late nights at Comms around Christmas know what I'm talking about). On the tables tea lights flickered. Bouquets of exotic flowers (Birds of prey, orchids, Calla lilies, etc) stood in large vases on the floor as well as in smaller arrangements on tables and by the kitchen.
Apart from the deathly veil that cloaked everything in nicotine, the place exuded style and understated elegance.

I found a seat and waited to order. And waited. And waited some more. Finally the waiter came by, I hesitantly asked (in English) if I could order in English. He smiled and switched into flawless English. After listening to the evenings' specials and answering the usual "Where are you from? What are you doing here?" questions I ordered a Pina Colada (pineapple and coconut have always been two of my favourite flavours). For the next while I people watched, chatted with the waiter and enjoyed one of the best Pina Colada's I've had in a long, long time. Frothy, fruity and fabulous. Mmm.

At one point in the evening two women came up to where I was sitting. They were laughing amongst themselves and one of them leaned over and asked if I was alone. I looked confused, "English?". She laughed and switched into a New Yorker English: "You are here alone? You poor thing. Where are you from? How are you liking it in Vienna?". I was momentarily taken a back but managed to grin. After about ten minutes of conversation she invited me to join her and her friends downstairs. I protested - she was here with friends and I didn't want to intrude. She laughed and waved me off, of course I wouldn't be intruding.

Of the 30 people in the tiny basement I think about 25 were friends and acquaintances. People were packed around little tables, leaning against the wall and even standing in the aisles. There was a flurry of introductions followed by a barrage of questions: what are you doing here, where are you studying, how do you like Vienna, and so on.

The next two hours passed in a blur, my friend and I talked and talked and talked. We talked about everything from professions to politics to technology to travel. It was wonderful to speak with a European about such a wide range of topics: from my experience they are not usually so friendly and open.

As the night went on, we ended up going to another lokal. This one was a bit further from my house (about four blocks away). There another group of friends and acquaintances was waiting for us. Time passed quickly as people shared stories and jokes. It was wonderful to see how well everyone interacted and although there was a wide range of cultures represented (Austrian, Filipino, Croatian, Egyptian to name a few). The atmosphere was very festive: like some of the family reunions from my childhood.

By the time I decided to go home the rain outside had stopped. The air was cool but fresh. The five minute walk home was perfect: the streets relatively quiet, the lights from the shops reflecting in the puddles on the sidewalk and my lungs hungrily breathing in the clean air. I made it home safe and exhausted. More importantly, I'd learned a lesson: don't depend on others to show you around - go out and explore on your own. It's worth it.