We had arrived in a damp and grey Vienna. But when we awoke,
the sun had got his hat on, and all was right with the world.
Old memories have to be cared for, so I led us down to the
famous Café Museum for a Viennese breakfast of coffee, rolls and a nice soft-boiled
egg in a felt fez. It was just the same as it used to be. All those impossible
cakes and sweet things under glass. The smell of coffee. The newspapers. The
waiters have got younger, I think, in 20 years… the newspaper headlines are
much the same…
I’d scheduled the first stop on my hopelessly unguided tour of
the Innere Stadt to be the ‘Mozarthaus’. Well, if you come to a musical capital
with a musician, you have to be a bit musi-touristical. And our hotel room
overlooked (just my luck!) the Robert Stolz Platz, so we needed a bit of upmarketing
composer-wise.
So up the Kärtnerstrasse .. oh dear, Vienna is just like
everywhere else. The beautiful old main streets and squares are just full of
cheap and rubbishy shops. You have to go off the main drag and away from the
main sights to get the real places.
From Mozart Souvenirs to the Mozarthaus was but a short
walk, but it takes one plumb past Vienna’s celebrated Stephansdom. I’m only 67
years old, so I’ve never seen this landmark church when it wasn’t dressed up in
scaffold. But, my goodness, I might! They have made enormous progress in its
restoration, and its roofs were twinkling beautifully in the sunlight
You weren’t allowed to take pictures (why?) but P snapped
the foto of the day just outside the door. Skyscraper apartments aren’t a 20th
century invention!
We turned on our heels (resisting Währing and
great-grandfather Adolf’s grave) and headed back to the land of beautiful
buildings and the not really over-commercialised Graben, in search of
refreshment.
Needless to say, we ignored the large establishments round
the place, and slipped down a sidestreet where we discovered the tiny Café
Hawelka. With this plaque. I think we must have been in the Jewish quarter. But
there seem to be several of those. Anyway it was a great little café and a
pleasant spot…
The real refreshment of the day was pre-scheduled to be
another musical stop. When alone and lonely in Vienna in the 1980s, I used to
take a glass at a little Café Opera (muzak: suitable), and at the end of the
street was what was said to be the place where Schubert and his friends used to
have their nightly pint. You know, Das
Dreimäderlhaus Act I scene I. So ‘Die drei Hacken’ in the aptly-named
Singerstrasse was a natural for us. And Wiener Schnitzel and Tafelspitz an
obligatory menu. With a little glass of beer…
Where the story is good, the food is almost always bad.
Today was a joyful exception. Everything about the Drei Hacken was delightful,
food most definitely included. It will be a must on any trip to Wien.
Was Schiller gay? I’ve no idea. But it turned out that we had hit Vienna in Gay Pride Week. Maria Theresia’s gardens were full of beflagged tents ... the rainbow flag decorated the posterior of a bronze horse … but I think we were the gayest thing there. A slightly forlorn girl worker obviously thought so. She pressed a rainbow package into my hand. A condom labelled Take the Test. Why me? Why not Paul? I suppose I should have been flattered.
The Hofburg and the Museum Quartier were in a large part of
their glory. Since those years when I used to walk through them every morning,
to work, the scaffolding and restoration have come on hugely. I looked for the
little door that used to lead me to the Theater Archiv … I think it was that
one … sigh.
Out into the Michaelerplatz, which was being archeologised
last time I was here. All done now. Excellent. And, underneath the alarmingly
homophiliac statues of the gate (Gay Pride should have shifted out there) was a
line of the inevitable touristy horse-drawn landaus. And one poor horsey
chewing on the metal of the vehicle. So bored. Just wanting to be somewhere in
a meadow, and hoon. His partner was semi-comatosedly dozing. He didn’t want to.
I scratched his neck and ears. And then he didn’t want to let me go… I felt
like jumping in and driving him off. But instead we did a church.
Neither of us is really into church tourism. But the
Michaelerkirche called. And look whom I found inside! Metastasio!
I’m pretty good at picking winning little places, but Paul
is a champion. We were nearly tempted by one called ’Vino’ (Riccardo?) but we
pushed on till the theatre was in sight at the end of the somethingstrasse (Himmelspforter, it seems).
There were several cafés along its length, some with flowers and pretties. Paul
chose the plain and dark one. OK. And was he right!
We left ‘Number 13’, its wonderful folk and delightful
atmosphere, seven hours later. Oh, we popped into Ronacher for a bit in the
middle, for the show, which wasn’t our kind of show at all (extra-loud, subtle-as-a-stick,
made-for-American-teenagers), but the kids who played it were our kind of kids.
And No13 is the gypsies’ caff!
And it was in the company of an adorable bunch of talented young
theatricals, Lord bless ‘em, that we finished our night…
Oh, Number 13 had its plaque and its famous ex-resident too.
The famous Hungarian Rakocsi!
When youre booked to fly home in the mid-afternoon, after a
late (for me) night out, the last day isn’t a day for plans and excursions. But
we did have one highlight to come. After breakfast at the Museum, we wandered
back to the hotel, past … the Steinway showroom. So – why not? – we went in.
And Paul played on half a dozen 30,000 to 100,000 euro instruments. We liked
the same one best. 29,000. But where would we put it…? J
And so to Berlin… after a delightful wee holiday …
Three days recovery time now needed…
Postscript. Just to make things absolutely perfect, on the
other side of the world … well, our little Livia has been running very
disappointingly since coming back from injury. I really thought she might be
finished. Her race was 6am Berlin time .. but I made it, computer under the
bedclothes so as not to wake my neighbour. But I did wake him … because she
won!
Rah, Livia! Rah,
Wendy! Rah, me!!
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