A Cold Shock

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And so we were back in the land of the comfortingly strapping Germanic people. Large of face, gutteral of tongue, sturdy of jeans and boot, it felt good to be back amongst them all. Once again, processed meat was a food group and people looked at thongs like they were dirty, and the people wearing them, equally so.

Vienna managed to successfully incoporate two major themes of the trip - late night welcomes, and freak weather. We met Satie at JFK at 3am, ushered Amber into our hostel in New York at 2.30am, and so it was only fitting that we found Miss Gee Ross at the train station at midnight, asking a conductor how to get to our hostel. Said conductor backed away at the sight of Dee, Satie and myself running towards Gee, our shrieks falling only on the ears of the shady characters who populate Vienna's main station at midnight. We inexplicably robbed Münster of its Summer in June, took the rain to Paris, the winds to Santorini and then the freak cold snap to Vienna (which followed us all the way to Münster where, hitherto, the sun had been shining). And when I say freak cold snap, I mean 12 degree days and icy rain storms. We flew out of 40 degree Athens and, upon our arrival in Athens, the temperature dropped and the heavens opened. No weather channel could explain it, but we knew. It was the simple fact of our presence.

And so our sightseeing was hampered somewhat. It was freezing, we had bags full of linen and summer dresses, and it was raining nonstop. The Imperial Palace is beautiful, but not when your face is about to snap off. Thus we found ourselves in the most favoured store of the Australian traveller (because we don't have it back home, despite the fact we severely need it,) H&M, perusing the sale racks and buying such necessities as beanies, scarves, enclosed shoes and gloves. Admittedly my cream knit gloves have not been worn yet and were probably overkill. However, when I do wear them, they will look fantastic.

Rugged up, we attempted to assault the cultural hotspots of Vienna, only to seek refuge in Starbucks at around the same time everyday because, at around the same time everyday, the rain would start as soon as we set foot outside our hostel. And, as much as we would persevere through the biting drops, as soon as the familiar green sign came into sight, we would run in, and then glare bitterly at the suave Europeans to whom rain is but a blip on the fashion radar. They, no matter the weather, remain chic in knee high boots and tailored trenches. Life is unjust.

I would like to entirely blame the weather, however it cannot be denied our own laziness played a small part, for the fact that our night life consisted of the hostel bar and a deck of Greek playing cards. And yes there is a difference between a normal deck and a Greek deck given the Greek penchant for sexual deviancy and alternate orientations. Aaaanyway. Of course, the WomBar was full of Australians, Germans, Poms and Americans, served rancid red wine for 2 euros and the barstaff, inexplicably, wore hawaiian shirts and spoke with some sort of ghetto twang. Our evenings were whiled away playing Arsehole, and teaching it to various nationalities, whilst watching CNN's seemingly endless coverage on the passing of Pavarotti and the imminent arrival of the Pope. One blight on this blissful schedule was the thieving of our sangria from the hostel's communal fridge. I mean, really, who does that? And worse, it was done under our very noses, most probably as we shuffled the offensive deck 2 metres away. Photographic evidence was taken and word disseminated throughout the hostel, to no avail. The sangria was never recovered.

In the name of psychology, did get to two important sites, the Sisi Museum and the Freud Musuem. Sisi first, to warm us up - this extraordinary woman had an eating disorder and depression (both undiagnosed, but us shrewd psych students discerned it with ease) lost a son to suicide and then, just to top it off, was assassinated in Switzerland by a knife through the breast. Sisi's dresses, preserved in glass cases, revealed the thinnest woman of Nicole Ritchie proportions, with placards beneath photos reading, on alternate occasions, 'Sisi displayed concern for retaining her extremely trim figure' and 'but Sisi did love her food, she often bought large amounts of pastries from the bakery.' It doesn't take a scientist to see an unhealthy relationship with food happening with a woman who wrote incredibly dark poetry in an effort to express her all encompassing unhappiness (depression). It was three smug girls who sat in the old offices of Freud, nodding sagely at each other, soaking up the pervasive atmosphere of world changing knowledge.

A visit to Vienna isn't complete without seeing the Naschmarkt. And when I say seeing, I do mean eating yourself into a coma. Olives, nuts, stuffed peppers, cheeses, baklava, dried fruits, lollies - every conceivable type of treat is sold by this long line of fresh food stalls and, every conceivable type of treat is able to be sampled ... so the belly ache you walk away with will most likely not be a result something you actually purchased, instead a result of over exuberant sampling. Well, it was in my case anyway.

Vienna is absolutely beautiful, the people are lovely and, when it isn't raining, the Imperial Palace gardens are extraordinary. The WomBar isn't half bad either and there is an english cinema if you run out of things to do. Which you shouldn't. But if a movie happens to open (Hairspray) when you are in Vienna, keep it in mind.

We left our hostel at 5.45am on Sunday, after frantic packing, bound for Prague. Vienna farewelled us with a telling off by a cafe owner at the airport, a telling-off being a farewell custom we long ago resigned ourselves to.