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*
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