Anecdotes on Austria

My inconsistently irregular roundup of life in Austria.

"Spargelzeit" had its run a couple of months ago, and we did our part to keep the asparagus farmers prosperous. When vegetables look that good and present as a bouquet, who wouldn't want to eat them?

I am not certain, but I believe the concept of a Love Lock is that once the relationship had been "locked" into place, the key is tossed away to symbolize unbreakable love. This is a lonely lock I spotted on the raised walkway in Tükenschanzpark, but unless the lovers dropped the key into a waste bin, tossing it "overboard" onto the path below wouldn't exactly promise eternal love.

CTF and I watched a gentleman in another park one early morning practicing for a Petanque tournament. The man was French but spoke English, and said that he didn't expect his team to fare well as the sport is not popular in Austria, but he was going to practice nonetheless.

From yet a third park in our neighborhood Tony and I spotted a photo shoot (?) taking place on the balcony of a villa currently for sale at the bargain price of €8.100.000. Insert your own narrative.

Grocery store hours, a favorite topic for me. One Sunday we found ourselves in Vienna, and dropped into one of the rare markets that are open. I have read numerous explanations as to why certain markets are allowed to open; in the tourist area, ostensibly, the markets offer items a tourist might need?  Like perhaps personal toiletries? Nein!  That section of the market is closed tight.

But alcohol? Jawohl!  So...a tourist can get ripping drunk in Vienna on a Sunday, but can not brush their teeth. Makes complete sense to me. 

Grocery stores close at 1800 on Saturday and reopen at 0800 on Monday.  I know better than to bother heading to any market on Monday morning, because even an hour or so past opening the meat section still resembles a Communist-era grocer, and the fresh produce hasn't yet replaced the wilted items left sitting in the cold rooms for 36 hours and put back on the shelves.

Last Saturday we dropped into our neighborhood large, chain grocer two hours before closing to collect some items, among them a couple of oranges. The produce section was ravaged; I asked a floor staffer for the fruit and was told (translated), "The oranges are in the cold until Monday. We have no oranges." Yep, life in the world's most livable city. 

And finally, what would the Anecdotes on Austria post be without another favorite topic? 

A Fabulous Week in the "Not Exciting" and "Not So Livable" Vienna

In between our faffing about New York City in February, and continent-hopping to Doha and Cairo in March, the folks at Mercer published their annual survey, once again vaulting Vienna to the top of its, "World's Most Livable Cities" list. Thereafter, the Washington Post (consider that source, if you will) followed up with two articles, the first denouncing the "World's Most Livable Cities" as "not all that livable" and the second, an article written by someone who had "lived like a local" for a month or so in Vienna and rendered the city, "Not Exciting."

Everyone knows the Mercer Survey is intended for multinational corporations to understand where to place and how much to pay their expats, and so I give the ranking little mind. But, like clockwork, within a week or so of the article being published, numerous Vienna bloggers waved their, "It sucks to be those of you living in Baghdad " (ranked last, I believe) flags.  Though I will never be accused of being its biggest fan, Vienna is indeed a rather livable city; Tony and I even enjoyed a celebratory dinner with close friends when his extension to 2019 was confirmed, that is how livable we find the city. Still, complete livability does not extend to Sundays, the many holidays, and generally after 1800 daily for us, thanks to aging and archaic rules. In general, too, livability is in the eyes of the beholder. If one can afford to live in Vienna, it is, therefore, a livable city. 

Yet we do not feel, "oppressed." On those days when Vienna closes most of its doors, we head out to visit the neighbors, whose doors are always open and welcoming. Oppression?  What oppression?

This brings me to the two WaPo articles. The first was generic pablum by a 20-something who writes about foreign affairs; I didn't even finish the article. The second piece caught my attention because the author described Vienna as, "Most Livable, but not Exciting." By the time I questioned why anyone would equate "Most Livable" with "Exciting," I was too far into the article to give up. Essentially the author felt Vienna bored him; during his monthlong sojourn in the Imperial City, he attempted "living like a local" by shopping at the most touristy market in town, eating Bratwurst and Currywurst (neither of which are Viennese), mumbling on about the city having a "Southern Europe joie de vivre?" and even claiming to have discovered Gemütlichkeit, a sense of well-being and happiness that really is only achievable if one is Austrian.  What on earth he was talking about in his article I haven't any idea of, but several of my ex-pat friends seemed to relate to his woes.  Perhaps they should visit the neighbors. Or return home.

With that prelude concluded, I present my fabulous recent week in this unexciting and not so livable city.

Setagaya Park. A lovely Japanese garden tucked up in the 19th district but with super easy public access (still, a non-starter for those who do not venture out into the "provinces," as Tony and I jokingly call anything outside of the Inner Stadt.)  The cherry blossoms were a bit past peak, but the magnolias gallantly stepped in for a showy display.

A springlike Sunday afternoon spent with my favorite guy at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, giving him a "personal" tour of an exhibit I had enjoyed with my art group earlier in the month.  The sheer beauty and grandeur of the building alone is enough to relieve one of any oppression.

Followed by lunch, of course, at my absolute favorite restaurant for Styrian Backhendl that would never find its way onto any dining guide (and that is a good thing, and another story altogether). Tony always orders the Zwiebelröstbraten, and I, the Backhendl. The proprietor of this little restaurant joked with us on this visit by asking if we even wanted to see the menu!

Later, we spied an empty table at Aida, a rare occurrence on a pretty afternoon. Our last visit to this Vienna icon was in 1999, and we laughed over our tortes and coffees that nothing about the cafe had changed in 17 years.

Dinner that evening was the first attempt with the tajine that I carried home on the plane from Cairo, Roast Chicken with Preserved Lemons. Preparing the cookware required two days of soaking, followed by an olive oil rub and low heat baking to cure the clay. We were all rather thrilled that the process worked (and that dinner was delicious.)

With the weather so luscious this past week I resumed a favorite project, exploring Vienna's districts in search of Kunst am Bau, the art that adorns many of the public housing buildings.  My district of interest was Brigittenau, half of Vienna's former Jewish "ghetto."   I only finished a portion of my planned walk because a certain husband wanted a lunch companion at a much-enjoyed trattoria in the near, but there's always this week to finish, right? 

 Later in the week I met my art group again for a rewarding tour of Russian avant-garde art at the Albertina. The exhibit contained 130 pieces from the Russian National Museum in St. Petersburg!  Though our regular private guide moved us through the exhibit deftly, I realized that I have a lot to learn about Russian art. Still, I am excited to be Tony's "personal" guide for this exhibit at our next opportunity.

Now, with the exception of roses and peonies, I accept my title of, "World's Blackest Thumb" without complaint. But, did that stop me from dropping in on the University Botanic Garden's "Rare and Exotic Plant Sale?"

Wine garden garlic, a specialty that began with a time-unknown import from Asia and which blooms throughout the region.

I am so glad I went!  Amongst the enticing plants and flowers that I could so very easily kill I found my beloved peony!  Fingers are crossed for at least one bloom this season.

Our Friday in this unexciting and not so livable place we call home wrapped up with a desire for Steak Tartare at a little-known Serbian restaurant we discovered in our first year. No tourists, no one pretending to be "a local," just an excellent evening of great food and good music in an unpretentious setting.  As we like it. 

The weekend awaits...

Anecdotes on Austria

As we have long tolerated, the Viennese have a general tendency to stare at those who do not fit the Viennese "norm."  Tony walks with an uneven gait and is constantly stared at; when he was in a walking cast for a small period a year or so ago, the staring was almost unbearable at times. The Viennese are who they are, but every once in a while I am still surprised.  Like on a recent school holiday...I was on the U6 with this Omi and her granddaughter. A short man alit from the train, and Omi practically shouted, "Ein Zwerg!" ("A dwarf!"), and she and her granddaughter continued to stare at the man. Teach your (grand)children well, Omi.

Parking. Last week Anna Grace and I watched a woman simply stop and park on our linguine noodle-wide street like this, fully a meter from the curb. By sheer coincidence we were returning home later in the day just as the driver returned to discover the little white note on her windscreen--judging by her ranting, her car had been hit. Perhaps the €1.500 cost to obtain a driving license in Vienna does not include parking instruction.

Not uniquely Viennese, but a sight I spy regularly on nice days. This Viennese woman drives over to our hood to walk her little dog for about 10 minutes in the park. Obviously neither of them enjoy the outing, so I wonder why she bothers.  

In times of heavy Autobahn traffic drivers create a "Rettungsgasse," or "emergency lane" in the event authorities need access to the highway, and it took us a while to get used to this concept. Would. Never. Happen. In. DC. 

It is no secret that I am a Leberkäse Semmel fan, especially on a damp day while waiting for my tram.

I do not understand graffiti by (most likely) disaffected youth, especially in Vienna. For goodness sakes, the government subsidizes most of your life; what in the world can you possibly be upset about?

To close, a snap of one of the loveliest museums in Vienna, its art history collection. A mere €34 annual ticket allows one the pleasure of roaming this (and 6 other equally enjoyable museums!) as often as you might like, and yet some of my friends rarely bother to visit at all. For shame, ex-pats. 

Anecdotes on Austria

"World Bread Day" occurred last week.  Here in Austria, the much beloved KaiserSemmel is an officially approved bread by the Agricultural Ministry. Try as we might, we are at a stalemate (pun intended) with this roll.

American-style hamburger rolls here are dreadful, grainy, flavorless buns topped with sesame seeds (and having an infinite shelf life), so we have to resort to the Semmel for burger night. When lightly grilled, and if the burger is piled high with caramelized onions, or bacon, or cheese, or avocado, plus salad and saucy condiments, the Semmel is barely noticeable.

Known to go stale within minutes, the Viennese have adopted ways to enjoy this hardtack, as well.  The Classic WurstelSemmel. A hefty dunk into any mustard (all of which are delish here) works wonders on a chunk of the roll.

My personal approach to enduring the Semmel is with a thick slab of Leberkäse. Hot or cold, and always normal.

SchnitzelSemmel. Another popular Semmel Survival Strategy, consisting typically of HuhnerSchnitzel ("Flat Chicken Nugget" in English) sandwiched in-between.

Viennese drivers, a regular feature on this post. They aren't any better in the 18th District.  Within a couple of weeks of picking up our new car, some asshat hit it while parked. At least they left a note. Narrow, two-way streets combined with oversized vehicles and the ever constant, "On a Hurry" attitude is a terrible combination for Vienna's neighborhoods.

Like the small bundle of soup stock greens, I love, love, love the salad dressing packets. I can prepare just what we need and without the added fake stuff. No partially-used bottles of dressing taking up precious real estate in the refrigerator anymore, either!

Think America is bad with Early Christmas Onset Syndrome?  The Viennese haven't fully embraced American-style Halloween (yet), and don't have Thanksgiving, either, so that ho-ho-holiday spirit starts appearing in stores rather early here, too. These are the first of what will be many, many ways to countdown the days to Christmas spotted just last week.

In putting together "Anecdotes on Austria" I realized that I hadn't written one for many months, and I half-wondered if I were "becoming Viennese." Rather serendipitously a recently-launched English-language magazine ran an article, "16 Ways to Know You're Really Viennese," so, perfect timing!  All I needed was a score of 6!  Easy-peasy.  Let's see how Viennese I might be...

1. The Augustin vendors get on your nerves sometimes, you always give something to Africans at Schottentor--They're fun and cool. But the Romanians? Ask to see their badge!  Nope. I'm never annoyed by those less-fortunate than I, nor do I think those in need are "fun and cool."

2. You consider Viennese classics like Apfelstrüdel, Sachertorte and Wienerschnitzel cliche, but are secretly proud they hail from your town. Nope. The Apfelstrüdel has Hungarian origins; and the Wienerschitzel, Italian, so they are technically Viennese co-opted classics. And, I dislike Sachertorte, the only one of the three true "classics."

3. You've pretended to be an Icelandic tourist just to make the Mozart guys earn their uniforms.  No, I am not rude to those who are at least trying to earn a paycheck.

For the most part the remaining questions were about as insensitive or insipid as the first three, and so I scored no points. I also hope this was a poor attempt at a tongue-in-cheek effort to entertain the ex-pat audience of the magazine. Regardless, in this instance, I am very glad not to be "Viennese."

Doing Business in Austria in the Summer

By now our expectations for trying to accomplish most anything in Austria in the summer months are pretty low. A couple of weeks ago I took Anna Grace for an eye doctors appointment on a Wednesday. Walking past the tailor, I reminded myself to bring a few items in for repair. The following day I walked over with my bag of clothing only to find a handwritten note taped on the door. "Urlaub bis 3 September." Sucks to be those people who needed to collect their garments, but that's how it goes here. Putting a note up, say, a day or two, or even a week prior would have been too much like customer service. 

The weather has been unseasonably hot and dry here for weeks. Our new house stays relatively cool; and the Midwesterner in me knows how to place the floor fans for optimal ventilation.  Simple physics. Walking home from the failed tailor's effort I paused to admire a dress in a boutique window. I was about to enter the shop when I noticed the proprietor, practically swimming in a pool of her own perspiration, with not a single fan to circulate air. "Fool," I said to myself, "Did you know that after indoor plumbing and sliced bread, technology continued moving forward and created air-cooling devices?" I kept walking.

In our years here now we've pretty much given up on spontaneous dining out in the summer, as well. It is simply too depressing to arrive at a restaurant to find the, "Gone Fishing" sign taped to the door; and we're not into being dutiful lemmings who head to the predictably open shanigartens or heurigers for plates of Austrian food.  Thank goodness we have a barbecue, is all I'm saying.

Forty-five days ago I purchased a Vespa. In order that the paperwork be processed for a VAT-exempt purchase I was required to pay for the scooter in full. That doesn't guarantee timely customer service, though, we are learning, especially at the state level. The last six weeks have gone something like this:

Weeks 1 and 2. Dealer: "You need to complete Form X before I can send Forms A and B."  Form X was completed promptly, but Forms A and B were not sent for two weeks because sales person, you guessed it, went "Auf Urlaub," a point we only figured out after several telephone calls. Why on earth would the sales person tell us that he wasn't going to do shit with the paperwork for two weeks? Because that would be too much like customer service.

Week 3. Our sales person returned from holiday, but sat on the paperwork for another week because we had not called to ask whether the paperwork had been sent. Really. That is what the asshat told us.

Week 4. WE discovered that the asshat had misinformed us about the paperwork. Back to square one, and with no apologies from the asshat.  Within a day the correct and complete paperwork was sent for the final stamp of approval by the Austrian Foreign Ministry. 

Here we are at Week 6. The Vespa dealer has my money, and I still do not have my scooter. I have seen it at the dealer, wrapped in plastic and waiting for me. I guess that's something. Telephone calls to the ministry go nowhere; I don't believe our contact person has voicemail. Why bother? That would be too much like customer service. I am resigned to not actually taking receipt of the Vespa until September, when the country reopens for business. As a friend suggested, I probably should order the winter equipment for the scooter, to be on the safe side at pickup time.

We are nearing another one of those 60 hour country shutdowns, the double whammy of a Saturday bank holiday and the usual Sunday Shutdown. Stores are shuttered by 20:00 on Friday evening, not to open again until around 08:00 Monday morning. This particular shutdown will have little local impact, though, since most Viennese are somewhere else on holiday.  

We, too, shall "Czech" out of Austria and head to our friendly northern neighbor for the weekend, open for business, summers included. 

Summer in the (Non-Airconditioned) Yet Somehow, "World's Most Livable" City

We brought the children to Europe for the first time in 2003, a scant week after the horrific heatwave that saw the deaths of 35.000 Europeans due to lack of air conditioning. Vienna didn't get that memo, apparently, and over a decade later the concept of technological innovation is still lost on these poor overheated souls.  Temperatures here have been over 30ºC for at least three weeks, with some days reaching 40ºC. We more or less manage well; Jack is in Germany, herding cats Webelos through BSA camp and doesn't really notice the heat because everyone smells bad anyway; Anna Grace spent two weeks in the Balkans, alternating between her friend's home and her friend's parent's beach house on the Adriatic, oblivious to the heat; and Tony spends the weekdays in slightly air-conditioned comfort at the office. Clayton Theodore has his own approach to staying cool, as well. 

If anything is a challenge in the hot weather it is the proper exercising of a middle-aged Foxhound. On many recent mornings we have greeted the city worker opening the gates to Türkenschanzpark at 06:00, and we are not alone. Runners and fellow dog walkers are lined up and ready to go.

The shaded route often takes us past this bust of "Schmid Hansl," the "Last Master of the Viennese Song." He is the only Viennese of import to be recognized in this manner before his death. Now you know.

I, of Eastern European descent, am not terribly bothered by this weather. I'm not out sightseeing in the heat of the Inner Stadt so much; though, I did spend one particularly warm afternoon shopping. At the Vespa dealer.  Yes, I bought a Vespa!  It's the Italian Classic PX Touring model, and for the last week it has been waiting for me at the dealer. Why? Because, of course, I am the lowly Dependent Spouse, and the Bank Officer requires Tony's "authorization" for my purchase. As the Grade A Viennese Asshat said to me (translated), "Mr. Breadwinner earns the salary. He should have a say in how it is spent." Tony is out of the country on travel until this weekend, so I have to make do with this photo instead. Wien by Vespa. Soon.

Somehow I found myself with a €20 savings card to a new grocery delivery service called, "Hello Fresh!" Each week three menus' worth of groceries arrive at the door, along with the recipe cards. For fun I gave it a spin one week, and was rather pleased with the quality of the grocery items; everything from the meats to the produce to the spice packets was fresh and of the caliber I would purchase myself. The problem? Neither Tony nor I were in the mood for the prepared menus!  The steaks intended to be pan sautéed with herb sauce became fajitas; the chicken for the Jamaican skewers was combined with some shrimp for a Pad Thai, and the flatbread that was to be topped with spinach and fennel became a potato pizza (with the potatoes and rosemary from the steak menu). Oh, well. A fun experiment nonetheless.

Not only is my new kitchen beyond culinarily-splendiferous and our location ideal, but our garten is bursting with lavender, too!  One afternoon I prepared a few bundles of the fragrant bloom for the other families in the building and left the basket in the entry. As I came and went that day I noticed the bundles were disappearing. On my last outing for the day, returning with CTF after his evening constitutional, there appeared a lovely "thank you" note and a jar of Quince preserves for me. How terribly sweet!  This would not have happened in the old 'hood.

Anna Grace has returned from the Balkans with her friend, and they wanted henna tattoos this week. In researching a clean and organic salon for them, I came across this guidebook provided by the city for its youth. I do not think one such guidebook exists in America. For the record, the girls passed on henna tattoos out of concern that the summer heat would react with the henna dye. They're now sporting metallic "press on" tattoos of similar ilk.

Though I do not mind this heat, I do have limits. One day I was in need of an essential ingredient that only the "exotic supermarket" nearby, but well out of walking distance, could provide. Alas, the fastest public mode of transport involved the U6, Vienna's dirty little secret underground line not so frequented by tourists. Almost never air-conditioned and almost always sardine-tin crowded, I could not bear to travel the few stops to reach my market. Only the brave, and those who must, ride this line any time temperatures rise above 10ºC.  Even one of the local online news sources makes riding the line a bit of a dare as part of a summer "bucket list."

Photo courtesy of viennawurstelstand.com

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I hopped into my air-conditioned car, parked illegally, and made a mad dash into the store for said item. This would have been so much easier on my Vespa.