Postcard From Vienna

Monday morning, I stumbled into my new kitchen and, finding it hot, opened up the window and caught myself looking out across the rooftops of the Inner Stadt of Vienna, the twin spires of the Votivkirche towering over my head in neo-Gothic splendor.

“Holy crap, man, you did it. You freaking live and work in freaking Europe!”

Such were my thoughts before the first Nescafe of the day. Yes, not only am I alive, but well.

My new job is pleasingly challenging, my new home is amazingly modern and spacious with an old world twist, and I take the U-Bahn home and back again in a clean, safe, amazingly wonderful city. A new place for me, I didn’t really know what to expect from Wien. Here are snippets, stolen during the workday, of what I’ve found.

* * *

Vienna is the city that works. I don’t care what Portland city officials declare as their slogan, Portland does not work compared to Vienna. Here not only to the trains run on time, they are also reasonably clean, run every 2 to 4 minutes, and are stuffed with people actually conscious of some sense of duty to their fellow man and commuter. Unlike when riding the Max, I am not forced during my time on the U-Bahn to listen to bad hip-hop blaring, listen to skateboarders dropping f-bombs, listen to young women talking loudly about their sex lives on mobile phones, endure the obvious deep dysfunction and mental illness of many of the commuters, from nervous tiks to uncombed hair to clothes that obviously haven’t been changed in weeks. By the end of the average Max ride I was already more than half way to planning a military coup and dreaming up ways of shaping up these slackers and malcontents. By the end of an average U-Bahn ride, my faith in my fellow man’s capacity to live in a decent urban environment is increased.

* * *

It’s HOT. I don’t mean warm or summer is here hot, I mean HOT. The sun sears you awake at 4.30 am and by 5am it’s already a very warm 77 and rising fast. By 7.30am I’m on my way to work, walking to the subway, and in full business attire. Then down into the crowded metro. By the time I get to work I’m pretty much toasted and roasted.

And relief? Forget about it: it’s hot on the two week forecast and the sun doesn’t go down until 10pm…for a whole 6 hours until it rises again. They say I will miss this when winter comes. I say I won’t. We’ll see.

* * *

As I had guessed from afar, news of European multi-racial diversity has been vastly oversold by, on the one hand, dishonest American conservatives and, on the other, good European comrades who don’t realize that they, like their nations, have a much, much lesser tolerance for racial diversity than do Americans and Canadians.

Vienna is the whitest city I have ever lived in. Everywhere I go—and I roam all over—there are tons and tons of blond and dark-haired white children going on summer school and camp outings, young people going to university and to work, middle-aged folks sitting in the cafes talking over a glass of beer or wine, or sleek businessmen Blackberrying away to their next meeting. All are white, overwhelmingly so.

There are some Turks and other Muslims here, to be sure. Some. However, to my American mind three things stand out about them: 1) they are present in vastly inferior numbers as a percentage of the population than are minorities or even just Muslims in America—in fact Washington DC is much, much more Muslim than Vienna, Austria, the Gates of Vienna notwithstanding; 2) their children speak German and are dressed as the young Austrians are; and 3) there are very few signs of cultural pissing matches, i.e no streets named after Dr. Martin Luther Turk or Cesar Chavez Ataturk.

* * *

Speaking of which, a short story: Like in Paris, this city abounds with Tabacs. Or, as they call them here, Tabaks. Like their French counterparts, Viennese Tabaks cell cigarettes, metro tickets, candy, gum and mints, soft drinks and newspapers. At the foot of the building in which I work is a Tabak. I went in after work to buy a drink. Here was the conversation, in relevant part, with the Tabak’s owner, a women of late middle age. Note that I had made no mention or hint whatsoever of my politics as this conversation began, as I am very careful in the capacity in which I operate to present only the USG version of reality:

Shopkeeper: Ah, the USA. I thought you were English for a minute. I’ve only visited once, years ago in the 70’s. We went to New York but we left after just a few hours because it seemed too dangerous. I’d like to go back sometime soon, and maybe see relatives in Florida too, and I hear that it is much more safe now. Is this true?

Me: Yes, it is true. New York is much safer now than it was in the 70’s. But, you know, you still need to be careful, it’s not safe like here. It’s still a big American city and can be dangerous if you don’t know the city well. But, yes, you should go, it is a very different place now than it was in the 1970’s.

Shopkeeper: Well, not so safe here now anymore either. Too many peoples have come in. They dropped the border checks and now we have people from all over, and our crime rate has gone up.

Me: Really? What kind of people? From where?

Shopkeeper: (After looking around to ensure that the Tabak was otherwise quite empty of people) The Turks of course! I worry. I worry about the future for my children and their children. They tell us we have to respect other people’s ways and understand, but they don’t respect our ways or even try to understand. So now we have the stealing and trash on the ground and violence…ay, it’s terrible, terrible.

Me: That bad?

Shopkeeper: Yes. Believe me, we are headed for a religious war. I am quite scared of it for my children and their children.

Me: Perhaps we have forgetten the old American saying that good fences make good neighbors?
Shopkeeper: Completely forgetten. The opposite now, we are all to mix. We’ll have to be reminded of the need for fences and it won’t go good for anyone then.

The conversation went on from there until a nice lady walked in to make the shopkeeper wish me a pleasant evening and move on. But I found it very interesting that she had spoken to me of this at all. After all, I’m an American and being in the building she must know that I’m not just some random American at that.

* * *

I note in re-reading this that the last two comments may appear contradictory. In one, I state that the race thing is hardly noticeable here, certainly many, many times less noticeable than the vast demographic change in Washington, DC or Los Angeles, Calif…or even, God help me, Portland, Oregon. In the next, a woman portends religious war. Which is it?

The reality is that both are true. The difference is the Austrians, like their other European ethnic counterparts, have a much lower tolerance for “diversity” and react strongly against its blessings at a much earlier stage than their American cousins. The American therefore sees vast homogenous populations, while the European already sees the threat of a dangerous situation. The difference in perspective is telling, given the history of the two sets of Western peoples.

* * *

The women here are beyond beautiful. I would bore you with expressing the exact nature of this bounty of feminine and exquisite beauty, but it is simply beyond my meager powers to describe. Every few seconds one encounters a new level of implausible beauty that is staggering to behold.

* * *

In the morning the bakeries offer every type of croissant imaginable, along side steaming hot strong coffee and the trademark glass of tepid water. In the afternoon the Pizza and Kebap stands and the Weiner Wurst stands do busy trade. In the evening, the beer and wine gardens offer the local stuff, with appetizers made of cured meats, goat cheese, light olive oil and paprika.
Not even the ever-present cigarette smoke (oh, yes, these people smoke!) can ruin the atmosphere. In fact, I find that I have gotten used to it again very quickly. Perhaps too quickly…must…be…careful.

In spite of all this fabulous eating, drinking and smoking, the Austrians are almost to a man fit and in shape. Which explains why I’m walking so much. I do want to lose the weight but to be honest I really just don’t want to look like a freak out here. I’m sure on return to the U.S. it’s going to be shocking!

* * *

We’re at McDonalds with the kids so they can determine it’s suitability for consumption and comparison to their favorite U.S. fast food.

The credit card machine isn’t working at the register, so the manager (all, ALL, of the employees of this inner city McDonalds are white, German-speaking ethnic Austrians) has to de-ring up the order on this register and re-enter it on the next, so I can use the functioning one
.
As this takes time, my middle child stolls up to me and without so much as pausing says,” Vos est meine McNuggets?”

Me and the manager bust out laughing.

* * *

More soon. This place is amazing.