wien...er

I've gotta say, traveling with a ton of other people for my first leg was definitely a good idea - I'm basically going to have to fend for myself for the rest of this vacation, so the fact that I just take the back seat and let someone else tell me which train to get on and which gate to go to is really, really nice.

However, it's also really nice to not actually be STAYING with all of them - I don't know if I could handle a giant, co-ed, party-animal, 10-person slumber party for three nights. And since they are such a big group, they are in kind of a bootleg hostel, whereas mine and Marinna's hostel is freaking FANTASTIC. We're staying at the Wombats hostel, which is apparently the best-rated chain throughout Germany, Austria and Hungary, and it definitely exceeded OUR expectations - we took a chance with a 6-person, co-ed dorm, but it turned out to just be us two and three other girls who just HAPPENED to be studying abroad in Florence as well and were also on their fall break, and then our second night a very harmless boy from Chicago who's studying in Prague took the 6th spot. The place was clean, warm, super-accomodating and really friendly - when you check in they give you a ticket for a free drink at the in-house bar (which is always packed with other like-minded young travelers into the wee hours), they are happy to answer any and all questions you may have about things to do, how to get around, where to eat, etc etc. Internet access was only 50¢ per 20 minutes, I was able to buy a luscious towel from a vending machine (since I sure as hell wasn't gonna waste precious suitcase space bringing a freaking towel from home), they have umbrellas that you can use for free, and breakfast is honestly an all-you-can-eat HEAVEN for only €3.50. I swear to God the best coffee I had in Vienna was from a machine in my hostel's cafeteria. Espresso mixed with chocolate - no milky "mocha" shit; it was glorious. Plus they had PEANUT BUTTER - my first European encounter with what used to make up the foundation of my diet back in America; plus a strange-yet-delicious bowl of raw bell pepper and cucumber slices - surprisingly delicious when layered with cheese on a slice of the fresh-baked, grainy peasant bread that you slice yourself. I was truly so damn happy at that place.

The way the trip worked out, more or less, is that Marinna and I would frolic about the city during the day, seeing the sights we wanted to see, then we’d meet up with the other kids at night for evening festivities. I went out dancing every night with those kids into the wee hours – it was SO fun. And being with such a large group of friends was great, because we could all just go crazy and DANCE without worrying about dirty guys trying to grind up on us, which was a pleasant change. One of the girls who I know the least out of the group came up to me at one point and was like, “I just have to say you are a great dancer. You dance how I imagine Britney Spears would dance when she isn’t all choreographed,” which I couldn’t quite tell was a compliment or not, given the shoddy shape that Ms. Spears in currently in, but I think Mari sensed my hesitation, as she quickly specified, “I mean the OLD Britney, obviously. Pre-KFed.” Hahaha. Score one for the dancing queen.

The first night we went to this place in the city center that looked like a regular metro stop from above (… minus the bouncer, who almost didn’t let the boys in because they “didn’t fit in” with the crowd, but Pat sent them straight, replying “come on, man, we’re sexy Americans here to PARTY”…. definitely not my response of choice, and particularly hilarious considering Pat is like 5’6” and slightly rotund, but perhaps out of sheer confusion, the bouncer stepped aside and let ‘em through). Once you get downstairs, however, you find a massive dance club, complete with a massive cover charge (€13), but with my newfound klepto, fee-aversion skills, I managed to just walk in behind a different group without having to pay a centesimo. Sa-weet.

Once inside, we totally got the party started, as the dance floor was pretty sparse when we arrived, and was DEFINITELY not once we had been out there for 30 minutes. We tore it up, eliciting numerous freelance party photographers to take tons of photos of us, which are now creepily floating around Austrian cyberspace. Weird.

The cover charge aversion was particularly well-timed, as just a few hours before, I had managed to spend €24 at the dive-y, authentic Viennese restaurant we went to for dinner. However, this was not just a case of me being a cow – I somehow managed to knock Pat’s camera off the table, cracking the screen and thus rendering the camera useless more or less, as it was too high-tech to have a regular viewfinder, so without the screen he had no way to even frame his photos, let alone look at the ones he had already taken. So I felt like the biggest asshole on Earth, he was SO bummed, so of course I paid for his dinner, as well as a MASSIVE litre stein of beer that he ordered to console himself. Which I can’t really judge him for, since I definitely ordered a few more vodka-sodas than I normally would have, thus racking up the bill even further. But at least it worked – we managed to have put the incident behind us by the end of dinner (perhaps with the help of the food – we shared this massive potato-dumpling thing stuffed to the brim with wurstel, resting regally atop a lavish bed of saurkraut. I also stole a significant amount of Bryan’s beef goulash. I can’t believe we went dancing after all that food. YUM.)

The following night ended up being equally as fun, albeit equally distressing at the start as well. On my way out to meet up with everybody, I stopped to check my email really quick and found a message from my friend Katie, with whom I am staying in Amsterdam, um, TOMORROW, saying that her teachers assigned her a bunch of homework and therefore she’d prefer if I found somewhere else to stay.

Um, SAY WHAT??

I was coming to Amsterdam to see HER! If I had known I didn’t have a place to stay I probably wouldn’t have even GONE to Amsterdam! Obviously anything even remotely decent, affordable, and/or centrally-located was already booked, so I was pretty much totally screwed. I sent her a message back explaining that I didn’t need any of her time or energy – there are plenty of things to see in Amsterdam and I don’t need her to play tour-guide, I just need a bed, a place to sleep and keep my bag and maybe shower a time or two. But with that sent and having come to the conclusion that she was kind of just gonna have to get over it, I let it go and continued on my merry way to go party it up with my boys.

Which I definitely did. Quite well, too, because seeing that I was minorly distressed and majorly exhausted, everyone just kept buying me drinks with Red Bull in them, so I ended up having a jolly old time. We were in a cool part of town, too, sort of the Viennese equivalent of Venice’s Campo Santa Margherita. It’s so great having friends who can make light of any situation and will do whatever necessary to make sure everyone around them is having a good time.

As for the daytime activities – OH. MY. GOD. There is SO MUCH to see in this city. Our first day, Marinna and I spent the entire day in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna’s main art museum, trolling through the ENORMOUS permanent collection, as well as the extensive Titian exhibit they had on loan (wait, wasn’t I in Venice LAST weekend…?). After about four hours of Flemish, Italian, and Spanish Renaissance art, we made our way over towards Stephensplatz (I’ve come to realize that nearly all European cities are built around some collection of squares, which all kind of sound the same regardless of the language: the German “platz”, the Italian “piazza”, the Spanish “plaza”… or Catalán “plaça”, the Dutch “plein”…. pretty trippy, eh?), the center of the city where the monstrous Stephensdom Cathedral is located, as well as all of the 5th-Avenue-equivalent, high-end shopping. On our way we stopped into a GORGEOUS little café called Oberlaa, where we proceeded to have the most elegant €5 lunch you could ever imagine: Marinna had a hot chocolate which came with a little foam and a LOT of whipped cream, I had an einspänner, basically a double espresso topped with even MORE whipped cream, and we split a dainty little open-faced finger sandwich with smoked salmon, a bit of crème fraîche, a sprig of dill and a sprinkling of salmon roe, and to finish, a slice of chocolate-vanilla torte. Impeccable. We stopped into the church after lunch for a quick peek, although there was a mass going on, but I actually found it even more beautiful for that reason, what with the singing and that pretty light that emanates from all the little prayer candles.

The next day was quite possibly even more perfect – we just happened to be in town for the giant Saturday flea market at the already-massive daily open-air market, the Naschmarkt, so we started off in that general direction. Having stayed out too late the night before to make it in time for the hostel breakfast cut-off, we popped into a little nondescript café for some coffee and pastries, and somehow stumbled upon a total gem. I got a cappuccino (which also involved whipped cream; I think the Viennese just might prize their whipped cream the same way the Venetians do their butter), Marinna got an espresso, and we split something called a golatsche, which was a scrumptious little croissant-like pastry folded over a generous dollop of sweet, ricotta-like cheese, and a slice of apfeltorte, which was basically a mix between the Italian torta di mela and good ol’ American apple pie. Deee-licious.

Once we made it to the market, however, we immediately regretted eating breakfast. The basic Naschmarkt consists, more or less, of like 5 blocks of food stall after gourmet food stall, usually selling either fresh fruits and vegetables, fresh and cured meats and cheeses, Italian antipasti, dried fruits, and falafel. Scattered amongst those were a few impeccable spice and tea stalls, a couple of artisanal bakeries, and one stall that had massive barrels of wine that you used to fill your own bottles on one side, and on the other, a rainbow of glass decanters, each filled with a vinegar made from a different fruit – and not just flavored with them, actually made FROM them. Fig, raspberry, plum, cherry – SO many different varieties, I almost cried when I realized that I wouldn’t be allowed to carry any onto the plane with me because of the stupid security rules. Fuck anti-terrorism precautions, this is ARTISANAL VINEGAR we’re dealing with here!! Oh, how tiny my world view has become after only two short months.

But ANYWAY, back to what REALLY matters – neither Marinna nor I could resist buying one of the horrifically overpriced, out-of-season, probably-from-Chile figs, because they were just so plump and luscious, and ultimately worth every cent in the end. After sufficiently ogling the foodstuffs as much as we could stand on our full stomachs, we moved on to the mountains of old sweaters, leather lederhosen, and mismatched teacups awaiting us a few blocks down at the flea market. Marinna of course came away with some funky, jodhpur-like €1 shorts, while I bought a measly bracelet – go figure. At least we worked up enough of an appetite to indulge in one of the enormous falafel that had been beckoning us all day.

Over lunch we decided to make our next stop the Albertina Museum as per Irene’s recommendation, and also because it was about a block from the market. SO happy with that decision – not only was the museum itself GORGEOUS, but they had some AWESOME modern and contemporary exhibitions as well – a whole floor of Philip Guston’s drawings, plus a bunch of other contemporary work, including a couple of awesome Alex Katzs and an acid-green, abstract Gerhard Richter that I loved so much I almost regretted not kissing it goodbye or something. I’m such a creep.

The next day was my last day in Vienna, and since my flight wasn’t until the afternoon, I set off on my own to do some last-minute sight-seeing. I was trying to decide which of the palaces to visit (I swear, they have palaces here like we have 7-11s; I almost drew a name out of a hat), but since it was kind of rainy I decided on Belvedere, because in addition to beautiful gardens and architecture, it also has a great art collection.

Boy, did it ever. Oh man, the KLIMTS! I didn’t realize I even LIKED Klimt until I found myself crying in front of The Kiss. Something about how much the woman in the painting looks like my mom… I don’t know. But man that stuff was powerful. How does one develop and aesthetic like that? With that ephemeral, ghost-like skin, right up against the crazy-decorative, gold-leaf EVERYTHING. So crazy.

After sufficient boo-hooing, garden-crawling and photo-taking, I descended from the heights palatial living into the lowly realm of Viennese street food. What’s right, I got myself a good ol’ wiener wurstel. Which was so incredibly phallic that I almost couldn’t get past the irony of the name (which I guess wasn’t technically ironic, since “wiener” actually just means “Viennese” in German, thus a wiener wurstel is literally just a “Viennese sausage” – it’s only us idiotic Anglos who call sausages “wieners” instead of “wurstel”…), especially since mine for some reason was filled with oozing, white cheese. I will stop there.

And to add to the utter gluttony (hey, it’s all for the sake trying authentic cuisine, is it not?), I finished off with a slice of sachertorte, essentially a chocolate brick laced with a touch of I think orange marmalade, of which I managed to consume nearly a whole second piece’s worth in samples at the duty-free shop once I got to the airport. SO good. And with my last taste of Vienna, it’s time for… who KNOWS what… in AMSTERDAM!! A presto…