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*
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