When Vienna became 'Wien', Part 2

Departing Julius Meinl am Graben, I followed my nose away from the crowds, noticing that the lyrical cadences of Italian often made their way into my ears on these streets. Ducking into an art gallery on a small but visually alluring lane, I was again greeted by the sounds of a middle-aged Italian couple enthusing with the owner. There was only one painting in the whole place that was worth my attention, but it made me smile: a single smooth, thick black brushstroke curving from the top to the bottom of a mid-sized canvas. It was called 'Cascade' and the artist's name sounded like a woman. I once started writing a poem on my blog called 'Cascade', and was reminded of its experimental qualities as I viewed the chiaroscuro.

Back into the dreamy lane of creams, yellows and light greens, I noticed a bakery which looked like it catered for locals, and noticed an architectural vision in pale pink, white and gold at the end ahead. This is how I made my way into Judenplatz ('Jewish square'), where I felt a discrepancy between the sombre signs (detailing antisemitic violence in the Middle Ages) and a sobering, boxy tribute to victims of the Holocaust in the centre, and the otherwise pretty, peaceful and potentially lively space it was today. It's true that I didn't go to the Jewish Museum there, as it was closed at the time. 

I never did find out much about the pastel pink building which appealed to me so much. A nearby waiter couldn't tell me anything about it, and I'm yet to google the sign on its side I took a picture of. I noticed two eagles, which I associate with Austrian imperialism and nationalism, so I hope that, whatever institution it houses, it's one that is responsive to the Jews. The whole square was full of picturesque architecture.

Unlike the busy Graben, Judenplatz was mostly quiet, with only a scattering of people, including a handful of tourists. The next day I would find an even smaller square, Schulhof, where a synagogue had stood before being burnt down, and I could rest for a while on a public bench. My view included grand gates flanked by two muscular, nude men, the back of a small church, the Clock Museum and horse-drawn carriages passing by on the cobblestones every 3 minutes. Signs of local life drifted by: older women walking their dogs, elderly couples dressed in their best, besuited men, and the chatter of young colleagues on their work break. 

I chose Ofenloch restaurant on my first day of the area, a typical Austrian establishment back in the cream, yellow and light green lane, which allowed me to prepare to see Vivaldi's Four Seasons in the nearby St Peter's Church. My mum had recommended this free organ concert, and I was seated behind an American-looking family which seemed hopeful, uplifted. The familiar music imbued the space with a cosiness and made my gaze playful as it drifted from angels to warriors, gold to pink, angle to curve. 

Retracing my steps to catch the D tram y the Opera House, I was thankful for Wien's convenient public transport, and my luck in securing the same hotel (near the Central Train Station) the third time round. This allowed me to develop a familiarity with my surroundings, and return to the locations mentioned with ease. 

*More to come*

When Vienna became 'Wien'

You see and hear it many times: the local name of the city in which you're travelling. It's easier to get the hang of some names ('Roma' for Rome) and more difficult with others ('Warsaw' is pronounced "Varshava"). "Veen" sounds different to the way most English speakers read 'Wien', and in my jet-lagged and disoriented state, late July, I couldn't cross over. Sometime around the 5th day (for I gave myself 4 full days in September) it seemed to suit my growing familiarity with the subject matter. 

I wanted to be a flâneur in Wien because the city is so walkable and there are over 900 UNESCO World Heritage buildings in it. Basically, if you deposit yourself in or around the Innere Stadt (one of the oldest neighbourhoods) and leisurely walk around, you're sure to bump into something interesting, historical, beautiful. So I let random discovery shape the day. 

I entered 'flow' states (where you get lost in the moment) while taking in the Karlsplatz train station (an Art Nouveau structure in white, spearmint and gold), viewing the Albertina Modern (Vasarely's optical illusions drew the eye and inspired a sense of play after a while), admiring a luxury supermarket called Julius Meinl am Graben (where I also had my first melange [the local type of coffee]), trying marzipan-coffee cake in the lesser-known, cosy Frauenhuber café, and, to some extent, enjoying the aesthetics of the Judenplatz (a square of significance to the Jewish community) and the areas immediately around it. 

On that first day in September I spotted a expansive canvas full of movement, with blues and reds particularly fetching on a background of white. Amongst the many shades of most of the rainbow's colours were highlights in yellow and pink. Some parts were stark, the others delicate. A charismatic blend of vivid shapes and delicate details. The art dealer handed me a compilation of the best of Sinasi Bozatli's works, which I eagerly devoured later in my hotel. He had been born in Istanbul before migrating to Vienna for education and career development. He had departed, for New York City, but still regularly exhibited in Europe. The art dealer mentioned his most recent show in Mallorca, Spain, and also revealed a price quite unaffordable: I forgot it instantly, that's how out of reach it happened to be.

I had just come out of Julius Meinl am Graben, the luxury supermarket, café, bar and restaurant that an immigrant from Germany recommended. (She recounted her year of living in Melbourne as leading to dissatisfaction with her hometown of 5,000 residents, and pursuing another liveable city closer to home, where she had found employment in hospitality. The pierced nose and friendly demeanour made her memorable.)

The presentation was exquisite, on the macro level as well as the micro. Blue walls, black and white square tile flooring, transparent glass elevators as well as a taupe spiral stairway, a bakery on the 2nd floor, and outdoors seating. And don't get me started on the products... the price tags also featured the flag of the country of produce, which is how I knew that the peach I savoured the next day came from Italy. I browsed marshmallows covered in salted caramel-flavoured chocolate from Belgium, sweet olive oil cakes from Seville, and the store's own blend of coffee with images of Queen Sisi and Mozart.

I had an enjoyable time of drinking my melange that first day, despite finding myself wanting for space and being a bit bemused by the combination of conservative glamour and discernable lip surgery gathered among the women around me. I took selfies and admired the blue and white coffee cup. The tray also came with a small glass of soda water, and a chunk of chocolate cake so delicious, I wanted to return on another day to relish a proper slice.

*Continued in Part 2*

The Day of the Deutschland Museum

I wrote my prior post on an early Wednesday morning, instinctively guarding the mental space of the day before. I don't have an absolute political affiliation. I vote for the Greens in Australia because they are the left-of-centre party with the most influence over Labour, in what is a relatively centrist country. Sometimes socialism makes sense to me, particularly in the light of potential global collaboration over climate change mitigation. But I know for sure that democratic socialism is alive and well in the Nordic countries, and that is a system I can rely on to work for most people, most of the time. Socialism (with free elections) in a rich country like Spain or Australia is as yet an unknown. 

Anyway, I finished my post and descended to the reception area before any other customer. The two workers on the night shift were both women, and were enjoying a cigarette break outside the hotel in the pitch dark of 5am. I worried about their safety, unsure whether the relative isolation of the hotel made things better of worse, but eventually they came back in and started playing the dance music I had been hoping they would. 

Breakfast was of the high standard I'd come to expect from an Ibis. I would be taking the S-bahn into Alexanderplatz and changing for Potsdamer Platz a couple of hours later. I was glad I took a stroll along the River Spree the day before, while the weather had been good, for today's forecast was mostly rain. Indeed: I found the café I was after, not far from the station, just as the drops made their appearance. 

Maxim's was a glitzy, modernist affair decked out in bright orange and more subdued browns. I had found a space I could simply 'be' in, in this busy, upmarket suburb, and while the people-watching was disappointing due to umbrellas blocking people's faces outside, and the more businessperson vibe of the place, I did enjoy a slice of Red Velvet cake while I waited for my designated time to enter the Deutschland Museum. 

Eventually I walked a block to the site, and found Berlin's Korean Cultural Centre almost right beside it. (In Vienna, too, I spotted the Austrian version: it was as if the Sydney site had alerted the European ones to my presence and made sure they would stand out to me. Something relatable and at the same time posing a new question: what sort of identity is forged between German-speaking Europe and Korea?)

Anyway, the museum involved fun and educational moments. I thought I knew plenty about Germany's history, but there was a lot of new information to absorb, sometimes presented with humour, always with interactive elements, and the many rooms we passed through were works of art in themselves. From cavernous, wooden, floor-to-ceiling décor evoking the Middle Ages, to the inside of an U-bahn carriage (the trains that connect Berlin proper) replete with videos playing where the windows should be, the Deutschland Museum earned the right to call itself immersive. 

I learnt the following:

- The earliest form of German writing was in the form of runes

- In addition to being the root language of Dutch, Danish, Swedish and Norwegian, it also provided the root for Frisian

- The Protestant ideas of Martin Luther coincided with the popularisation of the printing press - perhaps the first form of mass media. This allowed his work to be influential without precedent 

- In and around the Thirty Years' War between Catholics and Protestants, people belonging to what is today Sweden, Denmark and France entered the conflict. France fought for the Catholics, and the Nordic countries for the Protestants

- There was a lot of opposition, for a long time, to Germany becoming a distinct nation, as opposed to a collection of independent communities

- The three colours of the German flag, black, yellow and red, have no meaning

- Hitler's soldiers used crystal meth while fighting

- The average wait time for a new Trabant car in the DDR was 12 years

- In Medieval times, Jews were invited into the lands that comprise modern Germany only to be severely restricted in what jobs they could undertake. One of those jobs was moneylending, and the majority developed a hatred of them over a perception of their high interest rates. There was antisemitic violence in those days, too. 

Perhaps the most fun moment was when I constructed a song with lyrics chosen by multiple choice on their interactive computer. Apparently I was successful enough at thinking like a white, heterosexual man trying to woo a lady, for '[I did] not get a basket' - i.e. I was not rejected. Instead, a woman, high in a tower, pulled 'me' up through a basket attached to a rope, evidently swayed by my poetic efforts. Her animated hair was long and blonde. 

In a quiz on the Enlightenment period, though, I scored 2 out of 8, and the program told me 'the fire of the Enlightenment does not burn bright with you' - a bit harsh, perhaps, but at I appreciated the humour of its metaphor. 

I'm glad I had this time to enjoy a carefully thought through and meticulously designed museum, even if my time in Berlin felt rushed for the most part. 

I would gladly return to this city, where people watching is rewarding, and I'll never run out of things to do. 

A Matter of Framing

Depending on where you go, when, you can experience a very different Berlin. From the subculture hotspot of Kreuzberg to the moneyed classes in Kurfurstendamm, there are many neighbourhoods rewarding to the wanderer.

Yesterday I found myself, like so many a ferry, by the River Spree, navigating a popular tourist attraction named the DDR Museum. Holding a space for the former East German dictatorship (1945-1989), which once reshaped Berlin, I was prepared for controversial themes and strong emotions. I got these, but not quite in the way I expected.

For a start, the museum made little attempt to be objective. Any success of the DDR or progressive credential was undermined. When describing international recognition for its excellence in sports, the final word on this phenomenon was that we currently have no idea just how much the East Germans used performance enhancing drugs. 

There was a missed opportunity for learning from the social engineering of the ruling elites. Policies such as making the health benefits and morale raising of physical activity widely known, and making it easy for the regular citizen to join in, could be reinterpreted for today’s democratic nudges. I was impressed that you could access sporting teams through your workplace, though not so much about associating them with patriotism. (I don’t like patriotism.) As someone who has looked for free or low cost physical activity groups to join in Sydney and found little there, I think Australia could do with more accessible pathways in that direction, and certainly, if all of your friends and colleagues are participating in sport, you are more likely to do it too. But did it occur to the creators of the museum that this was something that actually transformed people for the better?

Another example of this black and white mindset, where capitalist democracy is good, and Communism is evil, was the attitude towards nude beaches. Even though public nudity was illegal, the government turned a blind eye to the many Baltic Sea beaches where people would indulge in it communally. (The Baltic Sea was a popular destination for affordable holidays.) This was more progressive than Western Germany, however the Museum claimed - to paraphrase - that this small freedom only drew attention to all the ways the people lacked *real* freedom. This kind of bias was not acknowledged as opinion, but represented as the truth, as only a piece of explanatory text in a museum can do. 

My view is that there were a lot of things in the DDR worth criticising, but there are also things worth incorporating into contemporary capitalist democracies such as Germany and Australia. We should be critical of attempts to discredit and dismiss worthwhile achievements. In the case of strides towards gender equality where Western Germany was behind, such as women’s participation in the workforce, and abortion rights, the museum had little to say.

So while I learnt interesting details about the former Communist government, I was open to learning in a way that wasn’t catered for. My German friend explained that the dominant ideology in Berlin is that capitalist democracy is ‘The Better Way and The Only Way’… this may not be clear to everyone who enters the DDR Museum with an open mind. I wish it were.

The globe according to Bremen

When we celebrate [romantic] love, it’s usually by consuming something - such was a link made by Bremen’s Universarium (a science museum) in its exhibition on love. The reach of capitalism into our most intimate relationships was placed under the microscope. However, I didn’t feel it went far enough in critiquing these norms, or suggesting alternatives. 

Something the exhibition did do was take children’s views of sexuality seriously, in a way that Australian curators might be too squeamish to do. Rather than pretend the young ones don’t have musings about this ubiquitous part of life, a display features real-world examples of kids’ jotted down thoughts, such as ‘Can a man have sex with another man?’ (There’s an image of two animated penguins, “Peter and Klaus,” represented as holding hands, above this question.)

Overall, I liked the concept of an exhibition on love more than this specific one. I’ve taken an interest in this topic for ages, particularly through the lens of gender inequality. The Universarium hinted that gender inequality was the structural barrier to healthy romantic relationships in Japan (given that most women are strongly discouraged from keeping up paid work after getting married, and other factors), but struggled to articulate it head-on. 

It was, however, fun to watch visually striking scientific experiments, which the viewer was encouraged to take a hands-on approach to. As someone who developed an interest in science later in life, it was fun to exercise my curiosity and view things (a rainbow-coloured shadow, glow-in-the-dark rockfaces, a tilted room, smoke clouds and whirlpools) from a different perspective.

While I was somewhat out of my comfort zone in the Universarium, the Overseas Museum saw us visit more familiar territory: Bremen’s portal into the Pacific Islands, Asia, Africa and the Americas.

I learnt that the nations of Oceania historically excelled at Wayfinding, a mixture of interpreting the waterways, wind and stars in an integrated style which could be called holistic. This knowledge was interrupted by colonialism (first from Germany, then from Japan and the US after WW2), but seems to be experiencing renewed interest from younger generations. It is said Wayfinding was one of the most sophisticated forms of navigating the ocean.

In the Africa section I learnt that only 40% of its land mass was liveable and/or able to be cultivated for agriculture, and that people are very creative with the resources and goods available to them. For example, an African ‘taxi driver’ needs only a basic mobile phone and a reliable motorcycle to receive calls from potential clients, meet them at their chosen location, and deliver them to wherever they want to go. It may not be the latest tech, but it works well enough to keep them in business, and give community members options for transport.

In the Asian section we saw an impressive, large-scale recreations of a Thai temple and a Japanese residential house (complete with garden and artificial pond), which took me back to my twenties, when I was exploring these countries. It’s fine to socialise in temples, and they can get quite lively, the sign informed us. This articulated something I had partially sensed, but couldn’t have fully grasped on my own. Sometimes you need cultural expertise to open up the world to you.

At the Overseas Museum, the exhibitions were spacious, user-friendly and immersive. They had both style and substance. They were appreciative of their subject matter. 

As I sipped on a hot chocolate at the Africa Café and analysed its artworks with my travel buddy, I felt lucky to be perched on a part of Germany few international travellers get the chance to interact with. I was experiencing the world according to Bremen.

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.