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*