August 7th, 2016

STRANGE SHORE: Vienna

SUNDRY LAND: Austria

WANDERING WAY: "Resting Bitch Face," and the Viennese

I’m off for Budapest tomorrow (yay!), but right now it’s 7:37pm in Vienna – the city’s having beautiful weather: 76 degrees with golden light cascading over the rococo architecture just as sun sets. Idyllic, really. Given the city’s undeniable beauty and splendor, I am hard-pressed to explain why I rather dislike Vienna.

It occurred to me that I had a definite distaste for the city sometime yesterday when I felt a sudden, undeniable rush of relief in remembering that I’d be traveling to Budapest. Given my perfectly enjoyable stay in Vienna, I began asking myself why.

After all, Vienna has so much to offer:

-I’ve seen mind-boggling artwork at six awe-inducing museums: The Belvedere, The Leopold Museum, Secession, Klimt Villa, The Kunsthistorische Museum, and Albertina –an overview of my thoughts on these sterling palaces of culture is forthcoming in the next installment of “Strange and Sundry.”

-I’ve eaten so well, and the coffee and cake deserve special mention as the Viennese staples that might be unequalled in the whole, wide world.

-The weather’s been perfect, and the city is breathtaking with its wide “strasse” and monumental buildings.

-The cafés encourage you to write or read as long as you like.

-The bars serve delicious wine and cocktails.

With my zealous passion for art, cake, coffee, architecture, writing, reading, wine, and cocktails, it would seem a cinch that I’d be head over heels in love with Vienna, but…no. A definite, “NO,” in truth.

My dislike grew slowly but steadily – the city’s unpleasant aftertaste is subtle enough that it took time to discern what was ruining this gourmet dish. Here are my final deductions:

1)The Viennese.

It’s not that the Viennese are rude, precisely. They’re polite to your face – that observation pretty much sums up the prevailing manner of the populace. I had a glimpse into what tetchy prissiness might be coming my way when the “Lonely Planet” guidebook mentioned, “The Viennese might be laconic and ironic wits with a morbid bent, but they’re polite about it unless you catch one on a big grump”(p.17). I totally agree with this assessment except for the part about “wit.” I can’t recall one witty remark. Still, it’s perfectly possible that I wasn’t deemed worthy of wit…if there was any wit in the offing.

When I first encountered my favorite waiter, I had the stray thought that his wife might’ve left him that morning – he had the look of someone who’d just read a “Dear John” letter. It took him a good long while to warm up to the perfectly obvious delight of my company (ha). Over time, his pained, harried look lightened up. Eventually, he appeared very nearly free from pain, reverting to the mildly pleasant but bored look of a man whose life has gotten stuck in a holding-pattern.

My poor waiter wasn’t alone – a sour expression afflicts Viennese physiognomies. When I noticed all the grimacing, stern faces, I worried about the water supply. Could it be that everyone was suffering from a slight case of bowel irregularity? But no, the populace is active – strolling, eating, drinking, biking, and even skateboarding – active indeed, but with grim miens. Have you ever seen a grim skateboarder? Go to Vienna.

When I asked to take a photo of a Mario-Bros-themed bachelorette party, I had to wait for the ladies to crack their expressions into grins. They were willing to be photographed – I suspect that lifting the corners of their mouths felt somewhat foreign.

(As a note, if you’re not familiar with the unfortunately-dubbed phenomenon of “RBF,” or “Resting Bitch Face,” please read here: http://edition.cnn.com/2016/02/03/health/resting-bitch-face-research-irpt/. Note that “RBF” is not gender specific. The name came about due to the unfair cultural assumption that women should act all happy-happy, joy-joy. Men get bitch-face too.)

But the Viennese don’t just look bitchy. For a case study, take the Leopold Museum employee who sold my admission ticket. (By the way, all the museums charge pretty high fees in Vienna.) When she asked for the fee, I heard €13.50, and I dutifully pulled out my change purse to search for 50 cents to go with my €20 note. It took me a second, but I finally discovered a 50 cent piece and handed it over with a smile. She looked at the golden coin with disgust and said, “That’s nice, but it’s €13.00.” To be fair, she didn’t add, “You stupid cow,” but that little addendum was understood from her tone. In choosing to overlook her repulsed and repulsive stare, I exclaimed, “Oh, I’m so sorry! I heard €13.50. Excuse me.” Keep in mind that there was no one behind me; no line whatsoever. To my apology, she didn’t reply. So I said, “It was nice, wasn’t it? Nice.” I don’t know why her “laconic irony” annoyed me, but it did. I was forced to revert to irony myself, which was a bit irksome when you consider that I had been in a perfectly pleasant mood before the encounter.

Take another example – there are so many! – from breakfast this morning. The bill amounted to €7.80, and I only had a €10. I told the waiter to keep the change. I knew it was a big tip, but I didn’t really care. I just didn’t feel like waiting around for a single euro coin. (As a side note, I’ve gotten used to the relatively leisurely pace of the service in Europe by reminding myself that I need to relax and digest, but the "laconic"(?) Viennese have perfected slow service along with their coffee recipes.) The waiter stopped and looked appalled, and so I sweetly inquired, “Oh, I’m sorry. Is it too much?” He paused to consider whether or not to refuse his own tip out of principle, and he resolved on the judgmental “high ground” of principle by expounding, “In Vienna, it’s only 10% or 15% at most, etc...” Of course, I already knew this information; nevertheless, I smiled along, amused at his lecture. He took more pleasure in lecturing me than in getting a sizeable tip. It occurred to me to hand back the coin with the suggestion that he buy himself a stiff drink; however, I’d already learned that letting the Viennese drag you down sours the day.

Perhaps the real problem is that I smile too much…Hmmmm….

You might’ve noticed that the previous two anecdotes involve money, which brings us to point #...

2) Expensive.

I always gauge the relative expense of a city in relationship to New York City. As a result, I typically thrill at the money that I save by traveling almost anywhere else on the planet. New York is so very expensive. Not as expensive as London; not as expensive as Tokyo. But. Expensive.

I’m here to tell you – Vienna is flipping expensive. Moreover, reaching Vienna after sojourning in paradisiacal Prague – where the prices for Michelin-starred restaurants are equal to the cost of a nice dinner in Bowling Green, Ohio – is a particular let-down…or mark-up, as it were. I cannot wait to get to Budapest.

I’m guessing that the expensive cost-of-living is what makes the Viennese a little tight with money. Anecdote: imagine a decent clarinetist busking in the pouring rain. Doesn’t that scenario sound like a sad short story? Well, he was playing “The Godfather” theme by Nino Rota, too. No one stopped to give him a cent. Pitying the guy, I gave him all of my loose change – so call me a sucker. I liked his clarinet music, and I’ll spare a little change for atmospheric music. The rushing crowds didn’t stop to give him anything. Sure, it was raining, but this lack of generosity was noteworthy after a little time in Prague with the relatively generous Czech.

3) Am I German?

Yes, I know that I’m touching on point #1 again, but I have SO MUCH to write about the “laconic and ironic” Viennese.

In other European escapades, I’ve learned that locals commonly bristle because I’m an American – everyone loves to hate an American – so I keep a polite, low profile whilst abroad as I win over dubious natives with my sparkling personality and my only-sometimes-ironic wit. In Vienna however, the residents kept assuming that I was German (until I spoke at any length). They could tell that I wasn’t Viennese (possibly because I was wearing a benign facial expression), but they couldn’t figure out what I was. So…German. I have no evidence for this – it’s just a feeling – but I have an inkling that a Viennese person proposing that you must be German is an insult. Not sure. Seems likely. Just a feeling. Of course, when they found me to be an American, I took on the allure of dime-cent sideshow act, hailing from the land of “Trump and Obama,” that is a direct quote. As I said, everyone loves to hate an American, and our political circus is the world’s freak show.

That said, the youth of Vienna love hearing about New York City. It seems that many young Viennese dream about moving to New York. I’m beginning to understand why.

4) The Habsburgs really went in for monumental architecture. Sometimes monumental architecture makes me feel like I’m walking through a creepy propaganda film. See here:

A bit violent, yes?

Finally, if any Viennese people get offended in reading this travelogue, try to look on the bright side. Did my comments make any difference to how you were already feeling, all laconic and ironic as you are?

Recommended article: http://www.thelocal.at/20140526/is-vienna-really-the-worst-city-in-the-world