Vienna is Worth the Wait
After working a seven-hour flight from Boston to Vienna, Austria, I arrived exhilarated. This is normally not the case after standing in the galley for hours, making meals, making beds, my only reprieve being a break in the lavatory. I’m blaming adrenaline because when we landed at 11 am, I suddenly didn’t care for sleep. The thrill of arriving in my 15th country was all the stimulation I needed to push through a new day with sleep deprivation. Although, a cappuccino was not declined.
My crew for the week was a 54-year-old father from Ohio and a 33-year-old southern gent from Georgia. Both were military veterans and my pleasant companions on our week-long trip to Europe. My other work trips across the pond have been short, a day or two maximum, usually returning the jet just as quickly as we arrived. This week felt more like a vacation, with one night in Vienna and four in Paris. A bad crew can easily turn the best trip into a nightmare, but our dynamic was blissfully symbiotic.
I forced a quick nap when we arrived at our hotel. I slept with the window open; an airport hotel with views of the runway and occasional sounds of sonic blast takeoffs made sure I didn’t enter REM and spoil the day ahead of me. The crisp, refreshing air of September in Austria hit my lungs like an oxygen tank.
I met my pilots downstairs, and we took the train into the city center, with no plans other than to walk where our feet took us. The train was quick, efficient, and proper. Austrians griped at passengers attempting to board the train before all the arriving passengers were off. Even if there was a lull in the deboarding group, you could not squeeze your way on until it was your turn. Social etiquette is strict and must be respected here. The cleanliness and efficiency of the facilities and the personalities are a unique part of the cultural experience.
Even after years of living in Europe and countless trips, the architecture never fails to envelop me in awe. I gazed upon the Vienna State Opera building in all its baroque opulence. The intricate carvings between archways, the grand columns, and copper roofs oxidized to turquoise- the history of the city is preserved even through modern advances. It's all so consuming. The unique design of the city is reminiscent of its deep history. The best way to know a city is to walk its streets with eyes of wonder and a vague purpose to get lost until you are called in a certain direction.
Thousands of steps later, we made it to a cafe for a sausage and a coffee. Local cuisine paired with caffeination. This was my first time in a German-speaking country, and we reveled in the opportunity to say weiner and Guten Tag and Danke. The only words I knew. By the way, Wein is German for Vienna. This was something new I learned as my pilots, and I reverted back to middle school humor, making weiner jokes all along the way.
After our snack, we walked by St. Stephen’s Cathedral, an 889-year-old church. Inside, we discovered an ongoing mass service. We don’t speak German, but out of respect and veneration, we sat through part of the service. Imagine your local parish is a building nearly 1,000 years old and a tourist attraction.
After this excursion, I was pressed to get to the Belvedere Palace, for my true mission all along had been to see Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss. I led the way to the museum with a sense of urgency and rushed my companions along. I couldn’t travel all this way and fail to see my favorite painting.
Belvedere Palace is exactly that. An impressive palace with oversized structures and marvelous gardens. As soon as we entered and bought our tickets, I moved by sense, desperately hurrying to find my painting. I carelessly abandoned my coworkers; I would find them later. I hurried up the marble staircase to the second floor and darted through rooms until I found a crowd of people holding their phones up, focused on a large painting in the center of the room. The modern crux signaling the most famous painting in each gallery.
The six-foot glittering gold masterpiece was even more passionate than I imagined. I stood in awe and felt the sensation of time stopping. This 120-year-old painting was communicating with something deep inside me.
My romantic side emerged as I watched countless couples wait for their photo-op, recreating the sultry kiss on the cheek and careful embrace of a lover. My mind entered a fantasy.
I imagined being proposed to in front of the masterpiece. Surely an unoriginal thought. I daydreamed of one day being there with my mysterious love. On this hypothetical day, the museum seems extra empty, but I assume it's just a quiet day in the shoulder season. Little did I know, he rented out the place, posing staff to carefully peruse around as patrons, so as not to raise my suspicions. We take our own photo, roleplaying The Kiss. He plants a delicate kiss on my cheek and steadies his shaking hands by innocently cupping my head. Suddenly he goes down to one knee and pulls out a ring.
I snapped back into the moment and realized tears had welled in my eyes. I’m in a room full of strangers, united by our admiration. All our eyes gazing into the glittering gold robes of our own fantasies.
I tried to move on and pursue other paintings, but my foggy mind kept drifting back to this one. I would move to the next room, do an aimless pass, and circle back to The Kiss. Two girls my age must have noticed my forlorn glances and offered to take my photo. I originally declined and, minutes later, realized I was pompous to pretend I was above everyone else documenting their connection to the piece.
How impressive to create such emotions, such light. The unique advantages of large canvas work. Details can be analyzed up close- brushstroke, texture, and technique. But far away, one is moved by the sentiment. The color choice- pure joy jumps into your own body as you view it from six feet away. The symbolic beauty of love meaning something different to each viewer. Bathing in some old Austrian man’s physical manifestation of it.
How powerful can a depiction from 1909 be? Art, in all its brilliance, is capable of communicating emotions that even the most gifted writers cannot convey so concisely. A singular peek can move one to immeasurable personal growth. A piece of the artist’s soul is left behind in every creation. The vulnerability to produce art and allow it to be seen, unable to control whether it will be adored or criticized, is a brave feat. It takes total acceptance of self for one’s soul to be perceived. I felt as if I’d been waiting my whole life to be allowed that kind of presence.
It’s not necessarily about “The Kiss”. It never is. It’s about what it makes a hopeful romantic feel about her own life.
They swindled me so perfectly in the gift shop; I couldn’t help but buy a souvenir or two. It started with a magnet, an easy, inexpensive item I could add to my collection. Then I saw the tote bag. Woven with that same magnetic gold, I couldn’t help but commemorate the moment with a gift for myself.
For dinner, what better authentic cuisine to try than Wiener Schnitzel? We went to Figlmüller, a classic institution with a revolving door of schnitzel exiting its kitchen. When we first saw the massive line outside, we thought there was no chance of getting in without a reservation. After further observation, we noticed the line filing through quite quickly. We took our chances and were able to land a table after just a short wait. I shared a schnitzel with my captain as these fried planks of pork took up more than the entire plate. Paired with a German Riesling, I enjoyed this dinner 1000x more than I ever planned to. The crispy thin meat with a sprinkle of lemon and a dash of tart cranberry sauce was the perfect balance of flavors on the tongue. An unexpected treat was the potato salad. This is not like American potato salad, slathered in mayo and mush to the palate. This potato salad is fresh, zesty, oil-based, and addictive. Such a simple dish had expanded my taste buds.
That night, I was desperate for rest, but instead I dreamt of the textures on the canvas. Oh, how I love love. Each square of pigment was woven together to incite a feeling singular to its viewer. The glittering golds and color-blocking metallics. The flow of the dress in stagnant quarters. The caress of his fingertips on her face, holding such an innocent creature.
My time in Vienna was brief, but just enough to incite a burning desire to return. Next time, I plan to see a show at the opera, not just admire its beauty outside. It was the one thing I wished I had been able to do during my time there, but as they say, Vienna waits for you.