In Wonderland

I said goodbye to Barcelona for the second time, leaving behind the now familiar city. These last few days have been fairly understated; since Margs and I had already played tourists I busied myself with mellow activities: street strolling, market visiting, park-bench reading, hostel friend making. I went to the Harlem Jazz Club with some fellow hostellers and witnessed a sublime show: Latin American jazz and a singer with a dreamy chocolate-smooth voice.

I left on a cold morning and had to navigate my way from bus to plane to bus to train to tram, by which time I was feeling the weight of my pack. Vienna looked dreary and tired Sunday evening, matching my mood when I arrived at 10 Myrthengasse. I was dismayed by the outer shell of my hostel: a worn building with a dark, dank entrance hall, one end covered by a sheet, and by the time I’d climbed the curving staircase I was beginning to wonder if I’d been duped.

But light and heat beckoned me inside and I discovered the cosiest of nooks. There are only two bedrooms: one with four beds and the other an eight-bed room made spacious by a loft dividing the sleeping area. The first floor beds are set up like a ship’s cabin, and the beds are deliciously soft and warm, making for the best sleep in weeks. Each guest is assigned an alphabet letter and has corresponding items that belong to him or her. I have a D towel, a D locker, a D umbrella and even a D cupboard in the spice-and-pasta-stocked kitchen. If I put my laundry in a little drawer, the laundry fairy will deliver me fresh clothes the next morning.

I took off my first night determined to find a supermarket, even though Argentinean Emmanuel assured me nothing but the small deli across the road would be open. My determination failed and I arrived back at the hostel, 8 euro poorer – jipped of my money by the kind old lady at the nearby deli. Then to my horror I discovered my over-priced soup was in fact liver dumpling flavoured, and after a tentative sip down the drain it went.

Monday morning, in defiance of the previous day’s gloom, was gloriously sunny so I set out, spring in my step, in the wrong direction. Half an hour later, spring slightly deflated, I righted my course. I had decided to walk the Ring roads, which cut a square out of the city’s centre, and this route took me on the prettiest sight-seeing tour imaginable. The range of architecture - Baroque, Art Nouveau and Deco, Renaissance and Gothic - bewitches me and makes me feel like a fairy tale character.
By midday I was at Naschmarkt, which is smell paradise, snacking on a spinach strudel and lemon pastry. I walked on to Scholl Belvedere and toured the gardens, finally settling down to read on a sun-drenched bench.

As you walk the city you come across parks specifically for dogs - fenced in squares that are curiously designed so that you can relocate your dog to an outer square if it doesn’t get along with a particular inhabitant, which from ten minutes spent watching dogs socialising, occurs quite often. This made me wonder if cats were given the same consideration, but so far I haven’t actually sighted a Viennese cat, which made me wonder about the fate of cats in this city and then, as I don’t particularly care for cats, I washed them from my mind and began to wonder about times when these magnificent palaces were fully functional and how extraordinary it was that certain individuals called these places home, which caused me to wonder about a social experiment involving me calling a palace home - by which time it was time to return to my lodgings.

Back at the hostel I met up with my friend, Russian Olise, and we set out on a dinner mission (strangely enough a couple from Adelaide had checked in). After mood-warming goulash we wandered over to an Austrian fairyland: the most awesome ice rink I have seen – instead of your typical oval shape, this rink winds its way through the park giving the impression of a race car track. Backdropping this icescape is the Rathausplatz, the town hall – a building directly from a Disney princess movie – which is lit up with colour-changing lights.

Today I spent at Scholl Schonbrunn, examining the gardens at length and I proclaim them perfect and suitable for my social experiment. I also managed to locate my wayward Eurail pass, which had been lost in the Viennese postal system. So was in a particularly cheery mood when I set out to meet Gerlinde, a lovely Austrian woman who works at the University library, who through a strange chain of events was elected my tour guide for the evening. My dad, as well as being a parent, is also part-social coordinator and sent out a call to workmates for information on Vienna, which put him in contact with Austrian Doris, which put me in contact with Gerlinde who met Doris through the gym.

Gerlinde was the best introduction to this city. She named all the beautiful buildings I’d admired but not really understood, and showed me where the National Library was (which was particularly exciting) and how to buy standing tickets for the opera, and even secured me a pass to a museum exhibition night this Thursday with free drinks. The best part of the evening, though, was when she took me to a Viennese coffee house and I tried for the first time the famous apflestrudel.
Much love to everyone back home; if it was possible to successfully post food home, I would.

p.s. latest book recommendations: The Elegance of the Hedgehog (brilliant) and the thought-provoking Bee Season.