Siebensternplatz

As the title already implies I’ve reached the last leg of my independent odyssey, Vienna! It’s a bit like the Paris of the German speaking world. The city appears well-off and is dotted with lavish, baroque buildings complete with statues and gold trim. It’s charming at first but becomes taxing after a few days. The inhabitants speak a somewhat barbaric version of German but this too can be charming, in the right setting.

The photos above will show you the places I’ve been to, including a butterfly greenhouse, the Palmenhaus, the Staatstheater, the Narrenberg medical museum, Beethovens apartment, the Belvedere collection, the naschmarkt, the hundertwasserhaus, and the Schönbrunn castle. These are lovely locations but I was, however, less enchanted by the 10 euro price tag that accompanied a singular small coffee and slice of cake. Not to mention the hostel with medical grade disposable bedsheets and bed frames that squeal if you dare to move to move as an inch in your sleep.

Arguably the best thing I’ve done thus far is go to the Wiener Konzerthaus, where I snagged a student ticket to the Quator Mosaïque for only twelve euros. Haydn and Boccherini for the first half, Schubert in c major quintet for the second. At my third row seat, I made a discovery that would make the evening all the more worthwhile. An elderly woman dressed in a stylish burgundy outfit with nicely coiffed grey hair. What began as a pleasant conversation between seat neighbors morphed into a night-long friendship with a woman whom I quickly learned was eighty-two and had walked forty minutes on foot from her apartment to hear her favorite piece, the Schubert.

To say that this woman was enchanting is an understatement. Through our conversation I began to learn bits and pieces about her. She was married to a Barvarian. Her apartment is on the very top floor and when it hails, her window shutters turn brown. She doesn’t like the tram because it’s too crowded. She likes the English better than the Americans, but they are a bit too pompous. After each concert, she walks the same route home to her apartment and enjoys a cigarette and a glass of wine before going to bed, as these are the simple pleasures in life. During the third movement, she remembers a line from the Strauss opera Ariandne auf Naxus that proclaims “music is a holy art.”

At the end of the performance we exchanged opinions, both agreeing that the first cello player had somewhat overpowered the rest of the group. “I shall accompany you,” she announced as we waited for her things at the coat check, “so we can chat a bit more.” The employee brought her a man’s hat and a simple trench coat. As he handed them over she lightly touched his arm. “It was so beautiful. You had to have seen it!” Once outside, as I struggled to explain to her that Maine was the easternmost state in the US, she suddenly switched to perfect English. With grammatical precision and excellent pronunciation she informed me that English literature was one of the things keeping her brain alive. I unsuccessfully tried to mask my surprise as we continued towards the tram station, when the tram suddenly appeared. It was time to part ways She gave me a brief kiss on both cheeks and waved goodbye, before disappearing into the night. It all happened so quickly that I didn’t catch her name. But she doesn’t need one. She’s extraordinary even without one.Read more