Today has mostly been dominated by recovering from the trip to Prague. I woke up this morning way later than I would have hoped and scurried off to class. Luckily, I wasn’t late, but lecture was hard for me because my brain was still waking up. In lecture, we discussed more of the counter-reformation. More specifically, we focused on the effects of the Thirty Years War. As I recalled from AP Euro in high school, the Defenestration of Prague was a large factor in the start of the Thirty Years War (and we got a chance to see the window where it all occurred in Prague!). What I found most interesting from class today was the number of countries that were against the Habsburg empire. France, everything the Turks touched, Protestant parts of Germany, and other various places scattered throughout Europe were opposed to the Habsburg rule. What shocks me is how the Habsburgs were able to hold onto power for so long, despite the many countries that fought them for power.
Too soon? Apparently a reenactment of the Defenestration.
On a tangent from this historical reflection, I remember something I wanted to bring up from my weekend trip to Prague. I noticed more beggars on the streets in Prague than we see in Vienna. We actually even had an encounter with a con man, who convinced one of my fellow students to give him her Euros in exchange for Crowns (the Czech currency) at a “better rate” than the official exchange offices offered. Unfortunately, my friend received Bulgarian money, and as soon as we realized this, the man had escaped into Prague's dark shadows. She didn’t seem to be too broken up about it, but it was shocking to encounter the thievery we had heard so much about firsthand.
Anyway, returning to the beggars, I noticed all the beggars would take on a weird position, kind of like in yoga when you do child’s pose, except less "Namaste" and more "Give me money." The beggars would be on their knees but lying face down, with their hands out holding some kind of hat or receptacle for money. This means that they wouldn’t be capable of making eye contact with you. After a little research, I found that it is a way of humbling themselves, of bowing down to people who might help them out. I spent the last four years going to school in Berkeley, so this isn’t something I can entirely grasp. The “homeless people” in Berkeley (and I use this in quotes because most of the homeless people in Berkeley, or at least off Telegraph, are street kids, or wealthy kids who have chosen living on the street as a lifestyle and usually either return to their homes in the bay area at night or stay in houses with other street kids) maintain a certain intimidating power over the students and pedestrians walking around. My friends and I tried to avoid walking down Telegraph so that we wouldn’t be harassed for extra change. While I never had a bad experience with any of these people, and rarely heard stories of them doing anything terrible, my impression of homeless beggars was and is much different than what I encountered in Prague.
Berkeley homeless folk hanging on Telegraph...
And a Prague beggar.
Yet, oddly enough, I felt uneasy about seeing the beggars in such a submissive position. Sure, they weren’t yelling at me and telling me they needed money for weed, but it made me feel kind of like an asshole. Here I was, strutting about in Prague and buying Absinthe and this poor beggar is face-down on the dirty floor, not even attempting to make eye contact with anyone. I get that it’s a humbling thing to bow down like that, but it almost had me wishing for them to rise from their submissive position and start berating me for following “the man” or whatever those street kids in Berkeley are blabbing about.
Let me begin by saying this: I love Vienna. Ich liebe Wien. It is a beautiful city with rich culture and history, and to top that, rich food and wine. That being said, Prague is the most beautiful European city that I have seen thus far. I visited for a short period this weekend with some classmates, and found myself gasping at every single building I saw. The architecture is phenomenal, and the city is remarkably old, with each building symbolizing a distant era centuries back.
None of us really knew anything about Prague, except for that they had a really old astronomical clock (and dang, that clock was cool). But we arrived willing to cram all the tourist-y things we could into the short period that we had to spend. Our bus got in late Saturday night and our return bus would leave early Monday morning, so we pretty much had Sunday to do everything we could. Of course, I have to recommend that anyone visiting Prague should visit for a longer period than we could. But I also must say that we made the most of our time in Prague.
The clock in action.
The Old Town Square is, to my limited amount of knowledge, the center of the city of Prague. It’s also where the astrological clock is located, so it became a sort-of home base for us jaded travelers. We found that they offered a number of free walking tours around the city, and our group jumped at that opportunity. Our guide was Justin, an ex-pat from Los Angeles who had fallen in love with a Czech woman and moved to Prague for her. (We also chose to go on a “castle tour” later on, and we were guided by another ex-pat from Kentucky. Maybe I should just get up and move to Prague.) Justin gave us a great tour around the inner city, starting at the clock (which has been around since the 1400s) and stopping at various opera houses, synagogues, and other civic buildings. It was very interesting to learn about Prague’s history because it is connected in many ways to the history of Austria. In our class, we have been learning about the Habsburg influence, but this is somewhat biased towards Austria. I enjoyed hearing about what that meant for other countries under Habsburg influence, like the Czech Republic (or Czechoslovakia). Specifically, on our castle tour, we got to see the building where the Defenestration of Prague occurred, starting the Thirty Years War. I’ve mentioned this before in my blog, I’m sure, but I absolutely love how we learn about history in class and then get the opportunity to see what we discuss firsthand.
I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t really try to learn any Czech on my trip. It was overwhelming going from one country where you’ve kind of almost gotten to the point where you can get by with niceties (i.e. hellos, goodbyes, pleases, thank yous, where am i’s) to another country where you have no idea how to say anything and can’t even pronounce the words you read. On our tour, we learned “Ahoy!” meant hello and that’s pretty much all I remember. Also, since we did engage in a fair amount of drinking (purely as a way to imbibe the culture), I learned how to say cheers: “Nasdravi!” (I’m positive I spelled that incorrectly). Hopefully a trip to Prague lasting longer than a couple nights will be in my future...
Oh my Sacher Torte. Seriously, though. Wow. I’ve been totally nervous about gaining weight on this trip, but when I had that Sacher Torte, I stopped caring. Hemingway talks about how love is when you can be with someone who makes time feel infinite. I felt that way about the torte. I should have known it was going to be really good, because Anthony Bourdain (who doesn’t really like sweets in the first place) admitted to how good it was when he tried it in Vienna at the Hotel Sacher. I trust Anthony Bourdain, and he was completely right. We all really want to try making the torte (even though we won’t come close to making it as well as the hotel does), but this dream was deferred by the fact that we don’t have an oven! So that means we need to make some Austrian pals and borrow their oven for a few hours.
I'm surprised I stopped eating the torte to pose for this picture.
Unfortunately, the 10th wasn’t completely saturated in delicious, sweet torte and happy memories. We had Thomas Frankl, a holocaust survivor, come to our class and speak to us. The room was packed, with our class and other students and instructors from the Austro-American Institute. Mr. Frankl was a well-dressed man, and seemed to have a very good sense of humor. I have seen holocaust survivors speak before, and all of them maintain a good sense of humor. As someone who is deeply passionate about comedy and humor, I find that it is the only way to really get through anything shitty.
Frankl and his immediate family survived the holocaust, something I’ve unfortunately encountered less often. Many of his more distant family members did perish, however. I noticed that he and his family were caught and sent to camps later in the scheme of the war, as if I recall correctly, he said they were taken September 1944. Out of most of the survival stories I have heard, most survivors were taken to concentration camps late, which probably has some correlation with their survival.
In addition to his well-developed sense of humor, Frankl had a remarkable sense of authentic emotion and the ability to recall salient detail. This is especially poignant, as we later were told that he is in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's. He’d have to stop himself when things were too sad or too happy, choking up. I too would choke up, getting teary eyed several times during his presentation. I’m Jewish, and holocaust education is extremely prevalent in synagogues, so I do know a ton of information about the holocaust. I’ve read books and heard stories and visited museums. However, I believe there is nothing more authentic than having the chance to someone who encountered the horror firsthand and lived to tell about it.
Through the UC Davis program, I’ve already had a number of unique experiences that I am sure wouldn’t happen had I toured Vienna alone. Most of these unique experiences I am referring to usually include getting drunk off of remarkable (and mostly cheap) Austrian wine. Right before I came to Austria, I definitely became more of a wino, knowing to pair white wine with simple foods and that there was better wine out there than two buck chuck or, my personal former favorite, Franzia. This evolution of taste has served me well, as I can appreciate how freakin’ good this wine is.
Today, we found ourselves in the Klosterneuburg (sp??), an Augustinian monastery on the outskirts of Vienna. When I personally think of a monastery, the last thing I think of is alcohol, let alone wine. However, my preconceived notions of monasteries were challenged by the cannons of Klosterneuburg. And how!
We split up into groups when touring the monastery, and I was led by the illustrious, hilarious Ambrose (not sure how to technically refer to him, possibly cannon Ambrose?). Originally from Virginia, Ambrose moved to Vienna to become an Augustinian canon. He was extremely smart, finding the church in what he claims was a search for truth and honesty in life. While we waited for the other group, Ambrose spoke to us about his journey. It had the tones of a sermon, but give the guy a break, he’s studying to be a priest, so of course it’s gonna get preachy. As a twenty something on my own existential journey (hello randomly going to Vienna the summer after my graduation), I could certainly identify with Ambrose. While our beliefs are stark in contrast, I emotionally and intellectually understood Ambrose. There is something really cool about being able to identify with someone who has chosen a path extremely different than your own.
And obviously, over a good glass of wine, everyone gets down to the same level. Ambrose and other canon whose name escapes me currently sat down with us at dinner, drinking and even smoking cigarettes! Although I wasn’t an active participant, some of my fellow classmates and Ambrose got into an informed debate on religion and politics. It freaked me out because I found myself almost agreeing with some of what Ambrose said. I’m sure it’s just because he is an excellent debater, I don’t think after said debate I’ll be leaving my liberal values in the dust. I thought his argument was compelling because I have gotten into a few religious debates in my life with Christians and Catholics, and most of the time, these debates have felt more emotional than intellectual. Ambrose’s views contradicted mine, but I understood his brain. Where I have looked for answers to my own existential crises in literature and art, he’s found these answers in religion. I can respect that. His passion for the Catholic church impressed me, and I hope I can find something in my life that I care about that much.
In the mystical land of Vienna, you’ll find that not all U-Bahns are created equal. I learned this first hand after spending several hours trekking around Vienna (and getting remarkably lost) by bus, train, and foot. Unfortunately, due to my incompetence in the field of direction and map interpretation, I’m unsure of exactly where I was. Initially, I set out on a night walk around 8 o clock. I intended to be out for an hour or so, just to clear my head. I was feeling nauseous (mostly from sleep deprivation and eating too many lactose-filled products) and craved some fresh air. So, I set out of my journey, attempting to go north, since our classes and field trips usually send us southbound. I walked some unfamiliar streets, but everything was lit and safe. However, to my disappointment, I suddenly came across the Museumquarter. Now, I love the Museumquarter, but I wanted to walk in unfamiliar territory! Before I knew it, I reached the most familiar part of Vienna, besides my own apartment, which was the classroom right next to the Opera House. In frustration, and stupidity, I got on the first street car I saw, promising myself that I’d get out when I found somewhere cool to walk around.
Screw you, too!
Nothing seemed to appease my touristy interests, and before I knew it, the cable car I was on went underground. This completely shocked me, reminding me of a ride at Disneyland or something. I had no idea the street cars went underground! Out of partly excitement and partly unfamiliarity, I decided to remain on the cable car in search of something new, instead of getting out and retracing my steps like I should have done. The cable car reached the end of the line, and I realized I had better get off once I saw the driver of the cable car exit. But at the very least, I was somewhere new, just like I wanted. So new, of course, that I had no idea where I was or where I needed to go. From what I could tell, I was in some kind of suburban area on the edge of the city. Panic began to slowly set in, but I remained as calm as I could. “If I need to splurge on a taxi, I’ll just not eat for a week or something,” I thought to myself. That would have been an expensive taxi ride, I bet.
I found a bus and hopped on, hoping it would lead me to some kind of familiar area. Luckily, I noticed that the end of the bus line I was on was a stop with a “U” next to it, presumably signifying the U-Bahn. Still remaining a little skeptical, I rode the bus until the end of the line, waiting in anticipation to spot the big, blue, familiar U-Bahn sign I yearned for. The second the bus came to a halt at the end of the line, I jumped off and hastily walked towards the U-Bahn. Just as I was patting myself on the back for finding my way home, I discovered that the U1, the U-Bahn train I had been directed to, was closed. It wasn’t even 11 at this point! (I later found that the U1 was closed for construction for the entire month of August. Go figure.) But the gate was shut and I was once again up the creek without a paddle. I decided it was time to put aside my pride and ask for directions. I entered a busy ice cream parlor, busting out my favorite line “Sprecken Sie Englisch???” The Austrian woman behind the counter unwillingly admitted that she did, in fact, sprecke Englisch. I asked her for a chocolate ice cream on a cone and directions to the U-Bahn, and she delivered. I was finally going to end my panic-inducing journey.
Shoulda had one of these with me...
Needless to say, not much else happened except spilling the chocolate ice cream (she gave me way too much for my cone to handle). I eventually found the 68 tram that she guided me to, which took me to the U-Bahn, which trustingly led me home. I’ve gotten lost in this city a number of times, but the other times it was during the day or when I was with other people. I don’t really mind getting lost, but I do mind getting stressed, so I need to be a little more mindful of where I am going. But as Alanis Morissette once famously said, "You live, you learn."
When in Vienna, it's important to remember that many shops and stores are closed on Sundays. This is due to the fact that it's such a Catholic city. However, this does not mean that there isn't still an endless amount of things to do. I surprised myself this morning by waking up in time to attend a Catholic mass at the Augustinerkirche before we had to meet up with everyone at the Wien Museum. A few fellow students and I crept into the back pews of the enormous, partially Gothic church alongside many other tourists. I suppose that is to be expected when the churches here are so beautiful. I know enough German to say "Excuse me, where is Kandlgasse?" (Entschuldigen Sie, wo ist Kandlgasse?) at two in the morning, but I certainly don't know enough to understand even a word of what is said at mass. Luckily, the music was universal and we didn't need to know German in order to enjoy it. It was quite a remarkably different afternoon for me, a young Jewish girl from California attending a Catholic mass in an old church in Vienna.
A quickly-taken snapshot of mass.
Next, we went off to do something that I am more natural at– museums. The Wien Museum, located right next to the Karlskirche, is seemingly droll on the outside, especially compared to the gorgeous Karlskirche next door, but contains endless artifacts of history and art from Vienna and beyond. I consider myself a bit more of an art person than a history person (blasphemy in this program, I know!), and was thrilled to find numerous paintings, from detailed landscapes of Vienna to nude drawings of young women. The latter, of course, refers to Gustav Klimt's work, which I had been excited to see since the beginning of the trip. His intricate, intimate style enticed me from the moment I first saw "The Kiss." After Dr. O, our brilliant tour guide, gave us yet another wonderful tour, we were free to go off on our own. After a pricey lunch, I returned to the (air conditioned) museum to finish looking at Gustav Klimt's drawings. The collection is endless, including many drawings that look more like an amateur artist's scribbles.
A Klimt sketch kind of reminiscent of "The Kiss."
I still adore Klimt's work, and am excited to see "The Kiss" when we visit the Belvedere, but it does make me wonder what should be considered art and what should be considered a "doodle." I also returned to the third floor on my own, which contained many gorgeous paintings that displayed a much more rural Vienna, charting the swift development of this rural city into the more urban city it now is. I found paintings of large groups of people, usually out at the theater or at a Viennese ball. This allowed me to connect some of the artifacts we viewed on Dr. O's tour with the bigger picture of an art/history museum. Art is history– it allows us to capture a certain time period, albeit in a more subtle manner, becoming a snapshot of a person, a place, or a time (or perhaps all three). But more importantly, history can also be art. We viewed pots and bowls that were used for practical purposes, but had faces made on them for decorative purposes. These decorations indicate a historical time, but also indicate the significance of art and decor, even when practicality was of most importance.
Well, it's been a month since my last post, which was a short reflection on my then-upcoming trip. Now, I find myself sitting in my Viennese apartment at 12:47 AM, trying to assemble my first "real" blog post. The past few days have been completely mad, and my bruised legs and tired feet say it all: I've treaded all over this city, yet I haven't even scratched the surface. Last summer, I spent a little over a month in Chicago, and I bring this up because it reminds me of how I prefer to get to know cities, which is by getting lost in them. Today, as my roommate and I ventured out in search of the world-famous Cafe Central, we got a little lost (yet not nearly as lost as the previous night when we were trying to find a bar called "Stylez" with a "z"). We went a block or two in the wrong direction, which was my mistake, but we found ourselves in front of what I believe was the Spanish Riding School, or as the German-speakers call it, Spanische Hofreitschule. The horse poop smell was in the air, possibly worsened by the numerous horse carriages around the riding school.
Surprise! It's the Spanish Riding School!
Our sweet compensation for getting lost.
What's so remarkable about my inability to read google maps correctly is that now I know where the Spanish Riding School is, and I discovered this as a result of my mistake. Walking and getting lost in a city are the best ways to familiarize yourself with it, and I fully intend on continuing to misinterpret maps. We eventually found Cafe Central, quickly devouring what I decided was the best macaroon I've ever had.
I also just completed the first reading in the Beller book, which I consider a success due to the density of dates and names. Since I am (or was, considering my graduate status....eek) an English major, I'm used to heavy amounts of reading, but perhaps not as much the heaviness/density of the reading. This will take some adjusting to, as I need to go much slower than I am used to in order to absorb the concrete information better. However, what I did take away is the immense diversity in Austria and the difficulty in establishing a solid nation (especially post World War II) due to this diversity. I know very little about this period, with my knowledge mostly coming from an AP European History class I took in high school. What I do recall is that a lot of our focus in that class was western Europe, except of course when we discussed the influence of the Hapsburg monarchy. However, there is a difference between the general idea of the Hapsburg monarchy and the independent creation and development of Austria as a nation. Beller states that Austria still struggles to establish a national identity, partially because of its affiliation with the Nazis during World War II. I am very excited to be honing in on Austria, discovering its immense influence on the development of Europe as a whole.
