Coffee and cake in Dresden

I am quite fond of the German tradition of ‘kaffee und kuchen’. The Germans mostly do this at 4pm, however the best time for my circadian rhythm is 8-10am, so I was pleased that Google AI recommended a café that opened at 9, an hour earlier than most of its fellow providers. I was looking for the best place in Dresden’s Old Town to try the local delicacy, Eierscheke. 

Finding the place with Google Maps, and having enjoyed the walk past the Women’s Church and the pastel-coloured facades around it, I was now in an unfamiliar situation: The German sign on the locked door instructed the customer to wait until a previous customer exited, since there were no free tables at the moment. A seeming contradiction were the two tables and four chairs directly in front of high, open windows. I assumed the open windows indicated signs of life, and Google’s business database was pretty reliable, so I assumed that I would do the inconvenient thing of waiting in the wilting sun for someone to leave the miniature establishment. 

After a few minutes I started to get restless. I tried the door again, and decided to call the café, but just as I was doing that a couple of Germans joined me in front of the door. It turned out they had also googled the best Eierscheke in town, but the white man of the two had an advantage over me: height. He could see people inside the cafe through the windows. We made small talk and mused over why nobody was sitting at the outdoor tables. The Black woman was rueful: “It looks like a scam.” The man opined that I had come from the “better” part of Germany when I shared I had come from Hannover. I was unwilling to disparage Dresden before having given it a chance, but this was not the first German to share such sentiments with me. I was, however, warming to them, and offered to share a table if a four-seating arrangement was available.

Just at that time a few people left the café, and soon we were seated (at two different tables). The wait staff was an elderly gentleman who treated each of us with attention. He gravitated to the new couple, with whom he could speak with in German, and I heard him recommend a restaurant I had already eaten at, known in town for its Saxon cuisine. 

When it was my turn to order I did so in German, and continued, with a mixture of German and English, to show interest in the city by explaining that I was there for 7 days. He recommended a funicular experience which had not been in the guidebook, and for this I was thankful, but I wanted to stay on my feet where I could… I’d have many calories to walk off after trying the various desserts Dresden had to offer.

When the wait staff was attending to other tables I took note of my surroundings. There was Hollywood film memorabilia from previous decades on the walls, and something about ‘be friendly, please’. Having only four tables probably contributed to this cosy atmosphere, and the man’s warm welcome to me and the mixed race couple inspired me to return the warmth. 

The cake? Delicious, but I was expecting that. The cappuccino was too bitter for me, so I added a little sugar. Eierscheke is a kind of cheesecake, the Eier meaning eggs, and this particular cake had three layers, one more sponge-like, and another more creamy. While I hadn’t had it before, I could tell that it was of exceptional quality. 

The white guy felt it too, and communicated his appreciation with a hand gesture as well as words. I commented on the cake’s freshness and superlative goodness in German, and got a smile from the senior. 

Like many German interiors, the walls were white, and the colour came in accents: red and white tablecloths, light green curtains. Little ornaments and life-affirming sayings came in dark brown with white text. I got the impression of a lot of attention to detail. 

Without my limited German, I would not have known to wait at the door, and may not have received the personalised recommendation. I’m thankful for the gift of language learning: appreciating that not everybody speaks English, or that even if they do, there is no language that feels like home more than one’s native tongue. 

Why I write

Writing synthesises contradictory impulses.

While I was wondering whether to pick yellow or blue, I realised silver was my colour.

Out of multiple paths, a single stream is forged. Out of a simple way forward, forks appear like blooms.

I chase after a suitable digression.

I reinvent integrity.

I regather confidence.

I maim the inner critic (for the time being).

I caress faded insights into newfound vivacity.

Why do you write?

I write to return to a state of not knowing.

Let old certainties fall away.

I can’t tell if I’m resting or active: 

Different parts of my world are animated.

Viennese Wanderings

Disembarking from the D tram and walking a little bit in the direction of the Hofburg, I noticed St Stephen’s Cathedral dominating the skyline to my right. The third day of Viennese explorations, I set out to receive what this landmark had to offer by way of meandering through the Innere Stadt.

There seem to be no two of those wedding cake buildings alike. I wove through construction workers and delivery men, gaze directed upwards, appreciating Baroque renderings of humans seemingly holding balconies in place, and other lyrical details. A smooth blend of angles and curves danced around each other. Eventually I emerged into a quiet thoroughfare, where a pretty mural representing people from the Middle East was vaguely reminiscent of Klimt, with gold overlays. I noticed that it housed a Swatch branch. 

Nearby, a delicate, medieval mural beckoned, with rich, solid colours such as lavender-hued blue and garnet bringing figures of women to life. A stately font declared something in German which eluded me. My perspective recalibrated to take in the full picture: I was standing in front of the Aida café, where Mum had suggested I enjoy something sweet in. Right around the corner: the Cathedral.

The distinctive geometric patterns of the Gothic structure appealed to me, the diamond shape recurring in several variations. With its high-contrast colours in black, white, emerald and gold, it invited pondering. Luckily, the best seat in Konditorei Aida was available, allowing me a good view of this roof, as well as passers-by. 

I asked for kaiserschmarmm, a Viennese specialty, and, while it wasn’t quite the same as that of the Kunsthistorisches Museum, it was tasty. It is a caramelised, shredded pancake with plum jam and ice cream. The ice cream was to die for.

After having sated my appetite, it was finally time for St Stephen’s to open to tourists, but I wasn’t appreciative of the monotonous dark browns of the interior, and, after noting some pleasing stained glass windows, and a wooden carving of a man in medieval attire which had atmosphere, it was time to depart.

One last glance at a cornflour blue clock built in to the wall of the cathedral’s exterior, and I set out to explore more of the Innere Stadt, this time with the Kunsthistorisches Museum (Art History Museum) in mind.

Along the way I noticed more famous brands - Swarovski, Hello Kitty, McDonald’s - and the invariably beautiful buildings that gave them a home.

This two-part journey represents most of the flaneur-ing I did in Vienna. 

Viennese Fragments and Trails

Where last year I stopped to admire the Austrian embassy in Valletta, this year I spotted a Maltese church in Vienna. The European nations are intricately interconnected.

One unexpected find from the Royal Apartments of the Habsburgs was that Empress Sisi installed circular grips, dangling from the ceiling of a personal room, so she could work out inside the palace. This horrified many in the court, but she refused to give it up. 

I recognised in Sisi the longing for freedom, and attempts to escape the confinement of the Hofburg (the palace). She seemed to have some insight into the fetishising of travel though, seemingly gained after ordering a holiday residence in Corfu, Greece, and then losing interest in it at some point down the line. On this topic, she reflects that travel was only exciting because it involved a collision with the unknown. If she stayed somewhere long enough, she got itchy feet once more.

*

The D tram would take me part of the way from my lodging to the Old Town, and the rest of the journey would be completed by foot. This had the effect of manifesting two places of interest I’d read about but hadn’t expected to get to: St Charles’ Church and Café Schwarzenberg. 

I recognised the Church at a distance, with its distinctive dome flanked by giant spires, and instinctively crossed streets to meet it at eye level. Unfortunately, the building was somehow too grand and imposing once I had an unobstructed view, so I didn’t linger in the square it was on too long. I circled the building, and found ornamentation on the building behind it which was more digestible in scale. With Christian crosses, angels and an ornate style, this scalable beauty invited slowing down and taking it in. Perched on a typical, wedding cake style Viennese facade, it was a vision in white, teal, black, red and gold. Distinctive elements, which would have on their own constituted a masterpiece, came together over a generous expanse of wall, to create a splendid whole.

Spotting Café Schwarzenberg, remembering it being recommended by a blogger, and nabbing a table by the window, I observed both locals and tourists making themselves at home in the brown interiors gilded with gold. In truth, I felt unsettled: it was too late in the day for a melange (the coffee preferred by the Viennese), and too early in the day for me to feel I’d earned rest. I left after half an hour, wary of the easy smiles of white, heterosexual-looking men who either chatted amongst each other or took advantage of the free newspapers. (Was it them who had supported the far right in the last election?)

That same day I had pre-purchased a ticket to the Albertina (the modern art museum), and I was eager to go in at its opening hour of 10am. I enjoyed the exhibitions, especially a painting of flowers by Matisse, and doting drawings of Rubens’ children. Enjoying a world-class museum is to be expected, however, which is why I’ve focused on the unplanned parts of my journey.

All in all, Vienna might not be the first city in Europe you associate me with, but if you look for radical and alternative cultures, you will find them. The setting is often one of great beauty, sprinkling many memorable moments along the way.

Some thoughts on travel plans for this year

It can be humbling to remember that, as a traveller who is making plans to see Bruges, Belgium, this year, I will be part of the problem of overtourism. I am well aware that Bruges is highly sought after amongst people travelling to Europe, yet I, too, dream of its picturesque Old Town, its Hanseatic history and its beautiful art. I will go to the effort of memorising some basics of Dutch and support local businesses where I can. I will also be mindful of the way I travel, and make it as sustainable as possible.

I will be spending a week in Dresden, Germany, to make up for it. Dresden is comparatively little known on the global stage, with less than 20% of its visitors being international. One Youtube influencer described it as 'The most beautiful city you've never heard of'. Of the German tourists, most of them come from neighbouring states, like Saxony or Bavaria. I suspect that a city of its kind of aesthetic and historic importance is overlooked in part because it is in the former DDR ('East Germany'). It could also be that, in a continent of Parises, Berlins and Pragues, it doesn't stand out in quite the same way. But Dresden has been on my radar for many a year. 

My entry point, Vienna, enchants me with its gleaming, walkable and ornate city centre. I am staying four nights here to recover from the long, cross-continental ride, see what I missed in the Kunsthistorisches Museum the first time round, visit the Albertina (its premier modern art museum) for the first time, and get some of those palaces in. 

I don't know if I'll be able to incorporate a stay in Berlin this year, but there's easily a week's worth of sights I'm keen on seeing, including the Neues Museum, the Deutschland (History) Museum and the Futurium. 

Cross-Continental at the Sydney Film Festival

I managed to see 10 films in 12 days at this year's Sydney Film Festival. Here are my thoughts on 2 of them:

The Cycle of Love - directed by Orlando von Einsiedel:

The external circumstance of meeting a soul you feel deeply connected to leads to a journey of tapping into rich reserves of inner love. The protagonist, PK, born in an India which boxes him into the 'Untouchable' caste (Dalit in the Hindu tradition), overcomes negating social conditioning to advocate for himself and others. This is partially achieved by cycling from Delhi to Sweden and learning from Indian, Afghan and Iranian hospitality of the 1970s. Along the way PK encounters the kindness of strangers, which keep him going in his darkest moments. Enchanted by the bloom of romance with Borås-based Lotta, which is punctuated by many memorable co-incidences, easily interpretable as fate, he must find his way to her without a physical map, when they are separated by geography. It's clear that there is serious potential for a lasting relationship waiting for him, with Lotta describing her time in India as "magic" in retrospect. Love propels PK into the unknown, and a willingness to sit with and absorb the wisdom of everyday people - over the painting of their portrait or the sharing of food and drink - further opens up possibilities to healing and proactivity. This is an invitation to keep your heart open. 

The World of Love - directed by Yoon Ga-eun:

This is not a happy story, but one with lots of twists and turns, compelling viewing about the vicious cycle of abuse. The director, a South Korean woman, shows how a single act of abuse can be, and often is, reproduced by the victim. As an example of the moral ambiguity and unpredictability of each character, I will trace the narrative arc of one non-central character, the main character's mother. Introduced as having a problem with alcohol, she is able to be receptive to and soothing towards her daughter's processing of difficult events. She then provides additional support by encouraging her ex-husband (and the father of her teen) to be more attentive to said teen's need to have more of him in her life. However, she is not able to escape a cycle of physical violence. Witnessing someone pinch a young girl hard on the neck leads to her acting out internalised suffering by pinching someone else in turn, at a moment in which we expect tenderness. She is a character of complexity, and cannot be neatly categorised. This insightful film occupies many people like her, who both earn our sympathy and disquiet us. Incisive and marvellously acted, it asks the viewer to constantly re-evaluate what's going on in light of new information. It will leave you questioning power dynamics, both in South Korea and every society on earth.

Canada in the Imagination - Part 2

This year I read intriguing texts from a Canadian academic with a Czech background, Ivan Kalmar. He looks at what I regard as the under-studied reality of discrimination against Eastern Europeans. The title of his 2022 book, White but not quite: Central Europe’s Illiberal Revolt, introduces the concept of the ambiguity of Eastern European people in the Global North: they are treated as superior to People of Colour, but inferior to people who are ‘the right kind of white’.

Kalmar argues that Eastern Europeans are associated with non-democratic regimes such as the region-wide Communism that fell in 1989, or the fascism of a modern-day Russia or Hungary. Nevermind that Italy, Austria and Sweden have far-right governments at the moment, or that Germany’s Neo-Nazis are expected to lead the country in one of the next elections. When Western Europe or the United States upholds ‘illiberal tendencies’ nobody accuses them of having insufficient moral integrity. However, the Global North accuses Eastern Europeans as having a flawed character, some sort of inherent inadequacy, and this racism has a real impact on the rights, opportunities and Life Chances of this group.

Ivan Kalmar’s groundbreaking and formative work has been affirming to me, and I have only discussed the aspects of his work which most resonate. I sometimes think about paying him a visit at the University of Toronto, or at least sending an email of solidarity.

Another Toronto-based writer who has influenced me is Margaret Atwood. I shared some thoughts on her book of essays, Burning Questions, a while ago, on my blog. I still haven’t read The Handmaid’s Tale, but a recent interview on Dua Lipa’s Service95 Book Club educated me on the extreme structural misogyny of Romanian Communism. (Content Warning for the paragraph below: Forced Pregnancy, humiliating gynaecological examinations, degrading conditions of orphanages.)

The Handmaid’s Tale made a point of only drawing inspiration from already existing injustices around the world. Margaret Atwood turned her eye to Ceausescu’s regime, where married women were required to have four children. This law was enforced by monthly gynaecological ‘examinations’ - under the supervision of the police. There is a popular Romanian saying, something about “the women were undressed in public.” Quite aside from the psychological damage to the women affected, which I imagine is a generational trauma, the economic burden of bringing up four kids was commonly experienced as unbearable. Mothers turned to their doctors in distress, and were told that if they put their offspring in an orphanage, they would be well looked after. This was well-meaning but far from the truth: the orphanages had so many children and so little funding that the conditions were unsanitary and not enough attention could be given to the individuals by the staff.

(Romania and Bulgaria share a border, and are often mentioned in the same breath by nationals of immigrant-receiving countries in Europe. My travels have not included this Northern neighbour, but in the future it’s possible I could visit. It would be in part a gesture of pan-European solidarity, and more specifically a mission to discover what the Balkan region has to offer. I want to know more and see the beauty I imagine waits for me there.)

Anyway, the clear advantage of the world’s most successful multicultural country is that its people tend to be informed about what happens beyond its borders. Canada is not geographically isolated in the way that Australia is, with shorter flights to Europe and Asia, similar time zones to Latin America (which makes visiting more attractive on a practical level), and that long land border with the United States. Kalmar and Atwood are the beneficiaries of this interconnectedness, and have, in turn, expanded my international imagination for the better.