Snowing in Vienna

Waking up and looking out to see the old red rooftops covered in snow gave me an intense rush of nostalgia.  Granted, it’s October and the snow softly fell overnight much sooner than expected, but I was glad to see it had come.  I felt like I had suddenly looked out into the quiet world of a Thomas Kinkade painting, rooftops dusted with white powder, the warm ground still wet, and hunched over people bustling down the street under out-of-season umbrellas.  All I needed was a horse-drawn carriage, and the scene would be set (to be honest, if I had waited long enough, I probably would have seen one; Vienna has its own industry built around carriage rides).

 A very light dusting of snow on the Museumsquartier.

It’s funny, though the Halloween season which is so popular in America is currently upon us, you only see traces of it here in Vienna.  They don’t really do Halloween like we do – no carved pumpkins, no candy from strangers, and only a slight trace of costume on the weekends.  The season is more of a fall festival than anything.  Pumpkin is ripe in the markets, as is squash and roasted chestnuts (which are delicious), the leaves fall much longer than they do in Minnesota.  The common drink is Sturm, or pre-wine made from fermenting grapes which have not quite reached the level of real-wine.  

 Roasted chestnuts.

Between now and Christmas, I find myself wondering what these people do.  At home we have Thanksgiving, which I've often explained to my students.  The conversation always goes a little like this: "Well, we get together.  And eat a lot of food.  Pumpkin pie, turkey, stuffing, corn.  And watch football."  Then I have to explain to them the tradition from which the holiday came: "Well see, it's a little bit questionable, but they say that a bunch of Indians... oh sorry, Native Americans (write that word down in your notebooks, not Indians) ... helped the Pilgrims ... um, write that one down too (followed by scribbles) survive by sharing food."  "You mean American football, right?"

Only a few weeks ago I was warm in the lazy autumn sun, sitting on the street side at my favorite cafés and enjoying a Wiener Melange or Espresso.  Jacket optional.  Now, it’s dipped below freezing and flecks of cold ice tumble into my face as I walk down the streets.  They say that the seasonal change here is much gentler, but really it just sneaks up on you.  You’ll get the tease of warm days, reminiscent of summer aside from the thick fall smell, and then all of a sudden it’s raining and cold, foggy and overcast.  

It's been looking like this for the past week - I suppose it was

inevitable that it had to snow sometime.  It just seems so soon! 

I’ve had the last week off due to Midterms (which weren’t really midterms – one German one and then the rest, for me, were just essays, due before the midterms week even started) and many of my classmates chose to travel.  I didn’t.  Again, I felt that it was more important that I stay and savor Vienna instead of tout around Europe in a clueless frenzy of ‘need-to-see-this, need-to-see-that’.  However, I did make travel plans for two weeks from now to get to Amsterdam.  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t really looking forward to it.

It’s strange to have feelings of nostalgia in a foreign country.  The only real familiar things are the sounds and smells of fall; the look and cold of snow; and then the Facebook updates of all my friends in their sometimes-goofy, sometimes-sexy, sometimes-strange Halloween costumes.  Regardless, there’s a sense of familiarity about seasonal change that I think everyone can relate to.  And yet again, looking out my window over the line of red rooftops and paned windows, it feels familiar like a painting, something I’ve seen before.

 A street, wet with snow, near the Museum.

           

Forgetting that all museums (regardless of location) close on Mondays, I wandered up and down Mariahilfer Straβe to get to the Kusthistorisches Museum near Museumsquartier.  I received my museum pass from IES, and figured it was high time that I actually go to another exhibit.  When my numb-from-cold fingers touched the locked door handle, I was a little disappointed in myself for not checking before leaving.  Ah, well.  So it goes.  I ended up going to an art supply store and picking up some new sketching pencils, so not all was lost.  Just a little bit of the feeling in my nose.

Walking back, I passed a pedistal-ed statue in front of a church for whom someone had knitted a shawl and hat.  Aha, now this is winter wear anywhere. 

 Stay warm, Haydn!

On Windows

        Something I come to value from living abroad is the sensation of riding in cars.  Here my choices are limited to public transportation: always the U-Bahn or Straβen Bahn, maybe a bus on occasion.  Gets you from point A to point B.   Crowded, stressful, easy, cheap, efficient, sight-less travel.  You spend so much time under the pavement that by the time you’re at your destination, you realize that you’re completely disoriented.  I lose my sense of direction in Vienna a lot, and not just because everything is shaped in circles rather than squares.  So I’ve come to somewhat miss the American car culture and the feeling of riding on an open road, direction to my own discretion.

 The city of Melk, on the way to Krems.

            The last two weekends I’ve embarked on school-sponsored trips to different areas of Austria.   Perhaps part of the reason I haven’t been blogging so much as late, and then the other part is the sheer heaviness of school work on my motivation.  Anyway, I found myself on a series of bus trips, each of which was more or less 2 hours one way.  First, along the Danube to Krems, and second into wine country and Graz. 

            Both were unspeakably beautiful.  Not just the cities, but the country in between.  On one hand, the blue Danube (for which many songs have been named) which stretches widely through scenic villages, still touched with the hand of old-world architecture and littered with baskets of flowers.  On the other hand, the Austrian Alps, high and heavy and in the morning, sheathed in a thick fog that ebbs between spread-out mountain farms.

 The alps, from a bus window, shortly after the fog

cleared and the morning sun could come through.

            Riding on a bus, I found myself unable to part from my prime window seat views.  In the Midwest, I’m so used to corn field after cornfield, flat land, and sometimes a forest or lake which, in the end, is more or less just as flat.  Austria is something entirely different. 

I quickly came to realize that I spend hardly enough time just staring out windows.  My iPod and Kindle were either dead or just plain comparatively un-interesting when it came to looking out.  With no music to distract me and new sights around each passing hill or valley, I spent some good time really thinking, and it was so refreshing.

 Wine country.  Honestly this is one of my favorite pictures

I've taken yet.  Side note- I've used up at least an entire

memory card at this point.

The second strange realization I came to was a recurrent thought provided a new context.  It may seem silly, but when viewing scenery in the States, I would often have the thought “I wonder what the natives thought of this.  How beautiful!”  Driving past the Alps, the thought came again and I realized that here it has no context.  In a sense, there were never real natives here, unless you count the people still living in Austria as natives.  How strange. 

In an invaded and discovered-settled-then-settled-again background culture like America, removing me from my reactions to scenery by supposing the thoughts of a native is natural.  Here, the thought makes no sense.  European culture transcends nativity, people have been living here and settling here since time before the land we now call America was even known to exist.  What is one to think except for: “How beautiful!”

I  find it a simple perception change, really, but one that I value.  Through my American eyes, I can see things in a different light than anyone here, but in a sense, I will always see it as a foreigner.  Even walking the streets of Vienna at night, the way that cheap street lamps light up the side streets and dead storefronts is amazing to me.  I tried explaining to some of my Austrian students this sense of awe that comes in waves.   I hope it never disappears.  And I want them to feel it someday, too.

 One of the many back alleyways in Graz.

Partially because I’m forced to and partially because it was inevitable, I speak with more and more Austrians every day.  Most of the time it’s because I’m teaching a class (which is going great; much better than my expectations could have told me) and the rest of the time it’s just because I’m getting comfortable improvising in German.  I love hearing what they have to say about Americans and Austrians, comparing notes on the two cultures and other cultures as well.  Talking about things like politics in an intensely neutral way while art discussion more often becomes heated.

Every day, in every conversation, I try to savor the concept of looking out a window.  Not just looking, but observing.  Seeing and thinking about and feeling the moments as they pass by.  Enjoying them because in a sense they all are beautiful.  It’s something I’d like to impart with everyone I meet.  Contemplate out the window.    I want to put it on an existential t-shirt.

Taken by a friend - Me at Schönbrunn Palace

The other morning I spoke with my younger brother over Facebook.  I would have never considered us close siblings, so I was a little surprised and a little not when he messaged me out of the blue.  For him, 3 am, for me 10 am.  He talked about how he’s been travelling about the Midwest with friends on the weekends, and even that has been culturally eye-opening. I can’t wait until he visits.  Because I understand.  I so understand. 

From now on I’m giving myself the ability to really let my eyes see.

Potato Love

            More than a year ago I remember sitting in some unnamed philosophy class talking about seemingly unrelated subjects when the idea of ‘love’ came up.  “You know,” said the professor, chalk hovering barely from the board and gazing into the distance, “there’s a philosopher that equates the love that two people feel for one another with the kind of love that two potatoes randomly thrown into a sack must feel for another.”  A pause, a sigh, then a nod, and she moved onto another topic.

            I can’t say that I fully embraced the concept of ‘potato love’, if potato love were real love, we’d have to love all our other potatoes depending solely on proximity.  But there was some inviting ambiance about the phrase.  It simplified the closeness of all human interaction into to two cute words – potato love.  It was appealing and poetic.  I attempted many times since to write a song called potato love, but it never really came out.  It explained a little about love, but certainly not enough.

            Travelling, I’ve found that this little bit of missing something is actually a big bit of missing something.  In most cases, yes, the people you bond with are those that you are most proximitous with.  Spend more time together, and most likely you’re going to learn to like one another.  Consider, however, that the reason you may initially come into contact with other potatoes is because you may have thrown yourself coincidentally into the same sack.

            The last week I haven’t had any classes.  Post intensive break, they call it.  Hell yes, time to travel around the rest of Europe, said my classmates.  I’m not ready to travel, I’ll just stay here for now, thanks, says me.  A whole week to explore Vienna on my own – the idea was very appealing.  At the beginning of the week it was rough.  You can see in my last blog post that I was struggling with the idea of alienation and what good it could do me.  Safe to say that while it was useful to me, it’s impossible to live in that kind of state forever.

 Outside of the Arena.

            Monday night, 10^th of September.  I forcefully pushed myself out of the house to go to a Dum Dum Girls/Crocodiles show at the Arena, a well-known concert venue in Wien.  I hopped on the U-Bahn, and walked through the front gates by myself and then stood around for awhile by myself because the show didn’t start for another two hours.  Well.  What to do now?  I wandered around a bit; I got used to the atmosphere.  Crumbling walls literally covered with layers of spray-paint graffiti, a cool crowd of people my age who also had piercings and tattoos, and a cool bar inside of which was playing another band.  That killed about 20 minutes.

            Standing outside with nothing to do, I get approached out-of-the-blue by a girl my age.  Hey, you speak English?  Yes?  Hell yes I did.  We began talking.  We were both here to see the same show, and were both studying in Vienna for the year.  She’s from Russia, I’m from America.  We didn’t seem to have anything in common in first, but as time passed and as we got some wine from the bar, we found that we have a lot more in common than usual.  Our taste in music was a given, but then we had the same taste in movies and books.  

 Crocodiles at the Arena.  New almost-favorite band.

            The rest of the week, we have honestly gone out every night together.  It’s nice to have someone else to share interests with, and since we both liked live music and the bar scene here, we began to branch out.  The feeling is satisfying.  While she is not the only person I’ve met since, she is one of the closest.

            This experience has made me want to revise my definition of potato love.  Maybe at home, the place where you’re raised, you can get thrown randomly into a sack of other potatoes and make common bonds with those potatoes.  Traveling, I realize now that we’re all making choices that lead us to bond with the kind of people we want to bond with – buying that attractive person at the bar a drink, going to see this or that show, wearing these pair of shoes, going to this university, studying in this country.  No matter what leads you to these choices, you immediately have a common interest with anyone else standing in near-enough proximity.

            It’s exciting, and it’s encouraging.  It makes it easier to approach people that I am initially not familiar with.  Many times, they are in the same boat as me.  And as far as the German language goes?  I remember being at the Chelsea to see another show and this Austrian guy comes up to me and starts talking to me.  Jesus, don’t be so afraid to make mistakes in German.  Someone will understand you.  You will LEARN.  That’s what you want, it’s to learn, isn’t it?

            Time to start learning.

My Viennese Sketchbook

             A hectic three weeks of German intensive screeched to a halt on Friday to allow room for a much-needed 10-day break.  No classes.  No obligations.  Just show up next week relatively unscathed and then your Viennese education can continue.  Many of my classmates elected to travel around Europe – some on a school-sponsored trip to neighboring countries, and some on their own ventures.  Talking about it, exotic locations like Rome, England, and Krakow flew past my ears.   

 Ahh, the view from a very large (and famous) Farris Wheel 

in the Prater of Vienna.

            Sounds fun, but after I hucked my luggage into the most remote cabinet in my small apartment, I came to the conclusion that I am not going anywhere this week.  Nope.  I’ll travel later, I just got here!  There’s so much Vienna to explore!  So many places and things to see while it’s still beautiful!  Bike rides, museums, public parks, gardens, operas, concerts, markets.  The real Vienna.  No ‘school bubble’.  No homework.  No appointments.  I’m more interested in finding a home here than getting a broad understanding of the greater European continent, anyway.  And besides, all by myself, who knows what I’ll discover?

            Yes… well.  All by myself.  Any beginnings-of-friendships are gone.  I don’t know many Austrians.  And if I get lost, well… I’m pretty damn lost.  The street names still don’t make sense.  The place is just so… foreign.

            I’ve come to equate the general experience of studying abroad with the phrase ‘purposeful alienation’.  On one hand, you’re simply a foreigner living in another country for school.  Legally, you’re granted alien status.  On another, the word ‘alienation’ goes much deeper than just what your card reads if you get arrested.  You’re isolated in many aspects.  Language and cultural barriers the most common – everything is just so blatantly auf Deutsch.  But other barriers exist as well, all of which have been mounting against me as I force myself to put on shoes during the day and just go see something.

I find myself developing a slight case of anxiety when it comes to simply finding a place to eat.  Sometimes it even appears when I consider leaving the apartment.  There’s no ‘comfort zone’ out there.  It’s so wild and unknown.  So full of people that I can’t communicate with or who won’t communicate back.  I often pace, imagine that there’s someone else with me to bolster my confidence, but it’s sometimes so difficult.  I practice German in the mornings just so I can be more comfortable at night.  And in the end, it’s all just so tiring. 

Because of my lack of companion for the time being, I find that it helps me a lot to keep my sketchbook with me when I go out.  Since I started a sketchbook, I’ve always chosen to take it with me wherever I go, but it never seemed so important.  Now it’s essential.  When I go to a restaurant or out to a bar, it fends off the obligation to start a conversation.  It lets me work through problems, sketch out memories of places I like.  Keep pamphlets, pictures, and brochures of the places that I visit.  Draw out maps.  Practice conversations.  Keep my hands busy on the U-Bahn.  Halt the strange anxiety in its place.  It makes me… less alienated.

Even in the short time I’ve been here, I’ve become so much more proud of the things I’m now keeping in my sketchbook.  I’ve always liked having one, but now it has meaning injected into every page.  Things have a purpose, whether or not they’re aesthetically pleasing.  I’m filling it faster than I think I ever have.  And I’m proud of myself for it.

This morning, I went to the Kunsthalle Museumsquartier to check out an exhibit that they are currently running on William S. Burroughs.  If you’re not familiar, he’s the writer of Naked Lunch and is well known for being at once a woman-killing psychopath and an influential American experimental artist and writer of the 50s and 60s.  The exhibit focused on his ‘cut-up’ technique – bits of things put together at random to create something meaningful for the viewer or listener.  

 The entrance to the display.  This area is lovely.  It's a ring of museums

surrounding a park, a couple coffee shops, and some interesting 

scenery.  I want to come here more often.  I found it relaxing.The big 

walkway in the middle - Vienna fashion week is next weekend.  Might

go check that out.  I picked up a brochure at least.

Browsing through his sketchbooks, paintings, and audio works, I realized that they all had something familiar to them.  The seemingly random-yet-meaningful assortment of pictures, words, and other mixed media struck my senses in a way that I was familiar with.  So familiar, in fact, that I was already holding almost an entire book full of these concepts that I had done myself.  My own sketchbook, meaningful only because of its randomness.  Ah, sehr gut! 

A couple of Burrows' pieces.  I like the mixing of text and image. 

I am certainly not the first person to travel to a foreign country only to be plagued by anxiety and isolation.  But I realize now that it is an opportunity to learn and grow.  Not only about myself, but about the processes of other human beings.  I understood, through looking at the works of William S. Burroughs, that learning to cope and understand in this way will be something I will carry along with me for a very long time.  Conversing with myself through my sketchbook is helping me get through the difficulties of ‘culture shock’ (I hesitate to call it this, because it’s such a vague concept).  Things will all turn out in the end.   Purposeful isolation.  I like that.

 Some of my originals.  While they're not as text-heavy as Burrows', I feel

that many elements are similar.  Some of the pages that I didn't post here

have that feeling represented more strongly, but I didn't feel comfortable

posting them here.  (If you know me and see me, ask me about them.)