Vienna - Day 2
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| The Grand Gallery |
JUNE 29
Quiet and still; warm, and not breezy. The air is heavy, even. The sun will come up over the river, perhaps behind the wavy building. Merlin tells me that my friends the crows are back, but at a distance. And also a Great Tit. You never give up, do you, Merlin? And a swift.
The bridge is deserted; we have often heard during the second half of our trip, as we travel in more Catholic regions, that everything is closed on Sundays; it is more a day of rest than we have.
The sunrise may or may not be beautiful, but the pre-dawn is. Pink and blue pastels in the sky and on the scattered clouds near the horizon; the flash of orange sunlight reflected on the sides of the junior skyscrapers. And there's the first solid evidence of the sun, a steady orange-purple glow on the edge of the building I originally though was an apartment building, then thought was the UN office, and now – since Abbey pointed out the actual UN building last evening – I'm back to assuming is an apartment building.
Speaking of last evening, a number of interesting things to report. First, the sunset: a very slow, gorgeous shifting of colors along the horizon, lasting maybe a half hour – not a dazzling display, like some sunsets, but a progression of blues, purples, yellows, oranges and reds in the air and on the occasional clouds. It was a treat to be on the roof deck to experience it. Abbey was painting; I was reading, but we were really part of a slow-motion Vienna sunset.
Second, the goulash. Every couple days there's something going on in the lounge or the front deck in the evening; I've noted most of them, and last night, it was goulash. One of the chefs came up with a pot of it at about 10PM, onto the front deck dining area, and ladled out bowls of it to whoever was interested. We were. It was just wonderful, just like most of the food here. I have heard – probably a long time ago – about Hungarian Goulash, and although that's not what it was referred to last night, the fact that we'll be in Hungary tonight was probably the inspiration for the dish.
The chef said it was really “goulash soup,” and that was the consistency – a hearty soup with potatoes and cubed meat and lots of other good stuff – including Hungarian roasted paprika, which Abbey thinks is the main flavoring. The chef went on to say (under Abbey's relentless questioning) that we'll have goulash stew for dinner soon. Can't wait.
Third: the Prague extension. As you may know, we're adding a couple of days in Prague to the end of the trip, because Prague is apparently an awesome city, and also because Koutnik is the Americanized version of a Czech name. My great-grandparents came to America from Czechoslovakia – actually it wasn't Czechoslovakia that long ago, but we do know that they came from the region known as Bohemia, which did exist; actually, the Kingdom of Bohemia was kind of a significant player on the European stage for quite a while.
Anyway – I have been anxious about the Prague extension because I didn't know how to approach it – what were we going to do? Where were we going to go? What were we going to see? How to get around? I've read a lot but that's not enough.
Ah – a window on the apartment building – just one window - is flashing with sunlight.
Anyway, last night, when we returned to our room (after the sunset; before the goulash) we found information about the next day on our beds – which has been the case every evening when we returned to our room – but also some paperwork about Prague. Including a list of guided excursions.
That in itself was very exciting and very relieving. Apparently, there will be three “Viking Hosts” at the hotel, who will function like our cruise's Program Director, kind of concierges to the city. And there's an “included excursion” (which means there's no extra charge) that is a walking tour of Prague, for most of our first day. More to learn about that one, but it seems like it's just what we need.
And that's not even the best part! As I mentioned, my father's grandparents emigrated to America from somewhere in Bohemia. I had been told, a long time ago, that they came from Kutna Hora, a town whose name I repeated and repeated and memorized because it's really the only thing I have from my father's family history – as you may know, my mother's side is traced back all the way to the sixteenth century. Kutna Hora. That's it. Oh – and also, the fact that our name might have come from the name of the town.
And guess what? There's an excursion to Kutna Hora available on the second day of our stay in Prague!
I am strangely elated about this. This is exciting, and moving. Kutna Hora is about an hour's drive east of Prague (thanks Google), and is distinctive enough to rate its own excursion. Apparently, it was a silver mining town for a long time, and it's got a stunning cathedral which is Gothic and – can you believe it – Baroque! Both at once! The center of town is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, “because of its outstanding architecture and its influence on subsequent architectural developments in other Central European city centres” (thanks Wikipedia). Whoa!
Anyway, I can't wait. We're going home!
The sun is up, and warm on my face; the walkers are walking; a woman on the ship tied up next to us is doing a long session of yoga. There is still very little traffic on the bridge.
It is getting to be the end of the trip, and, like most cruise lines, I suppose, Viking is taking this opportunity to promote its other voyages and encourage us all to sign up for them now, before we leave the ship and become distracted by the rest of the world. I've been leafing through their catalog, and came on an interesting page: “What Viking is Not.” It's just a list, which includes “No children under 18,” “No casinos,” “No nickel and diming,” “No umbrella drinks,” “No waiting in line,” and so forth. Quite a number of these do distinguish Viking from other lines. My favorite, though, is “No formal nights, butlers or white gloves.”
Once again I refer you to a former rant, in this case, the formal, distant and almost obsequious approach of staff – especially waitstaff – in other lines, especially Cunard. Once again, I won't repeat it. Here on this ship, anyway, the staff seems a lot more approachable, genial, cheerful and talkative. More like real people you encounter in your home town who are exceptionally skilled at their jobs. It's obviously something that is deliberate and developed uniformly throughout the fleet, but it does make for a more relaxed environment, especially at meals. Our waiter regularly yells at us for mispronouncing the names of the dishes on the menu.
Every morning of this trip, I have had a chocolate chip muffin with my tea. I have no regrets.
Speaking of that – a difference between ships: On the first ship, the muffins were out at the coffee station whenever I got up, which could be 4:30 AM or so in the early jet lag days. Here on this ship, they don't come out until 6:00 sharp. What's that all about? Various kinds of cookies the rest of the day. Other than that, they have a very nice coffee station, although since I no longer drink coffee I can't vouch for the quality. AKP, what did you think? Maybe ten coffee choices from one machine, plus hot water and a wide variety of teas, including peppermint, so I'm set for the duration. Also taps for cold still water and bubbly; the latter is close enough to seltzer to make me happy on a hot day. Like today – in the 90s.
So it's sunny and brutally hot, but breezy, which helps, and we're under an umbrella on the roof deck. We just had a ten minute tour of the wheelhouse/cockpit (left), which I thought would be fascinating, but it was given by the first mate who mumbled and whose thick accent made it hard to understand him when he did speak up. I'm not sure I know a lot more than when I started; lots of digital maps and lights and tiny steering wheels you operate by twisting, I think. There's also a Viking helmet on the dashboard* (left). We rode the wheelhouse down like they have to do when the bridge is low, then rode it up again. I'm still not quite clear whether the captain can see ahead of the boat with the wheelhouse down.
We went to the Schonbrunn Palace this morning. If you've seen “The Regime,” an HBO TV show with Kate Winslet, yep, that's the one. Once Versailles went up, everybody in Europe had to have one, and this is Austro-Hungary's version. It's not quite as grand – the Hapsburgs as much as admitted that – but it's not bad, as these things go. They wanted to build it up on the hill, looking down on the extensive gardens, like at Versailles, but it turns out the hill was unstable and they'd have to dig it all out, build a stone foundation, and then put the hill back. So they built it down on the flat, with a pretty cool structure - called "Gloriette," meaning "little room" - up where the palace was supposed to be.
Anyway, this is the summer palace, and it is exactly four miles from the Winter Palace inside Vienna. What? Your summer place is a longer drive? Apparently, both the air and the water was better out there than in town (“You just didn't drink the water in Vienna,” says our guide. “You just didn't.”) And it was convenient for the Emperor and his or her hangers-on to get back and govern now and again. “Schonbrunn” means “nice spring” - other sources will say “beautiful spring,” but our guide, who was outstanding, but who also was a little spectrum-y and insisted on a high level of precision, told us that the word “schon” means something a little dialed down from “beautiful.”
There was a nice spring there, which they organized into a pretty elaborate fountain (Neptunbrunnen, or Neptune Fountain), and built an extensive park (“the size of Monte Carlo,” says our numbers guy, the guide) around it. The whole affair was started in the late 18th century, suffered from grandiosity of design for a while and then neglect for 30 years, and then finished by Maria Theresa, who is a fascinating figure herself. She basically ruled Austria (her husband with the Emperor, of course, but she ruled) for forty years, at the same time giving birth to sixteen children, including Marie Antoinette. And also finishing the palace.
It's huge inside (not as big as Versailles...), and Baroque, but much more restrained than the other monstrosities we've seen. Almost sedate, with a beneficent Maria Theresa as the center of attention of the busy, but not outrageous, frescoed ceilings.
The palace is a real tourist factory, and it was crowded (it's Sunday). Our group had a small check-in window, and had to move at a pretty brisk pace. We saw only a small number of rooms in the main building, but we did see the biggest room, the Grand Gallery, which was actually three previously separate rooms combined into one (top of page), so there should be something as grand and long as the Hall of Mirrors. Versailles envy again. Each of the rooms had had a ceiling fresco, and so the big one had three, all huge and ornate but, as I said, much less outrageous than we're used to.
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| Neptunbrunnen (Neptune Fountain) and the Gloriette |
We went out through the gift shop, which was a real mess. The gift shop was long and narrow and every visitor had to go through it, so if you actually wanted to shop you had to press yourself up against the displays at the side, and if you wanted to go back to get something, you had to fight your way upstream.
We went around back to have a look at the gardens, although it was getting up to the predicted 90 degrees and the sun was very hot. It's a big but, strangely, sparse garden; the size of a tiny country but with very little to see. Abbey noted that it would be much better if they had built the whole thing on a much smaller part of the back yard, and I think she's right. There were lots of statues, lining the gardens and also on the roof of the building proper.
We took some pictures and made our way back to the bus without getting heat exhaustion, and then back to the ship. I'm not sure I've adequately described what it was like in the heat during the really hot days; always some anxiety about being able to get to some shade. A very heavy, oppressive heat, which often felt dangerous.
Soon we pass a container port with a huge crane (look up WienCont), and then into one of those enormous locks that can fit four of our ships but, according to the Captain, only takes two at a time, and makes the rest wait.
Long dinner again; service on this ship is definitely slower – more relaxed, on purpose? - than on our first one. But I really want to get up to the roof deck and watch the river. The weather is perfect.
Sunset on the Danube. After passing a cluster of five different castles above a small town, the sun sets behind the hills, which are gently rolling. Deep, dark woods for miles, no bridges for a long way. Closer to Vienna, we passed dozens of very small huts – looked like plywood construction – on stilts near the river. The river bank was gently sloped for a while, coming out of the rier, then about a 15 foot rise, and the huts were at the top of the rise, and most were on stilts that were about 6' high. Assuming these are fishing shacks. Each is a different style and color, obviously homemade. The floods here must be epic.
Abbey and I played our one and only game of shuffleboard; she wanted to do it once before the tour was over. She won, apparently, using a scoring system I have yet to figure out.
We're coming into Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia, one of the two countries Czechoslovakia was split into. There's a levee and a wall at the top, with gates allowing access to the water, which can be closed up with panels when it floods. The part of the city facing the river is almost all modern design, and very pleasing to look at. It's a pleasant waterfront, and there's what might have been an abbey on the heights, with some castle-like walls just below, surrounding it. And then a modern bridge, and we're downtown. The ever-present TV tower in the distance. Hotels and excursion boats right on the water. The SS Maria Teresa pulled up to the pier. A big office building with a neon sign on top: “Met Life.” Then some junior skyscrapers, including a few barrel-shaped apartment buildings. A very tall pillar with a sculpture of a lion on it. An older building with “Dopravny Urad” on it. Google says it means “transport office” in Slovak. The industrial section, including some science fiction giant robot invaders, probably used to load stuff on barges. What looks like a business district in the distance. Another bridge. Another industrial area, behind a screen of trees; lit up by clusters of bright lights on towers. Birdsong! More trees; we're leaving town. But wait – more industry, inlets or tributaries between concrete walls, cranes and warehouses. Then the forest returns – but wait – a big dredge pulled up to the shore, with enormous piles of sand on the shore. Four big smokestacks in the distance, just the tops, striped red and white with red flashing lights on top. Then again the dark forest, as darkness falls all around.
And then another big new concrete bridge,** in the middle of nowhere. The bottom was outlined in neon colors, bright against the gathering darkness. This is a wide river now, with banks well back from the shoreline in many places, so bridges are huge. And, apparently, the land on either side is classified as floodplain.
Abbey's doing laps in the dark; a large black bird follows us for a while on his way home from work. The glow in the west, where the sun went down, is not-quite-red, to orange, to yellow and then a faint green before resolving into blue, light near the sunset but getting darker. Time for bed.
Oh - and she spoke four languages and raised sixteen children.
Maria Theresa's husband, who was supposed to be doing the ruling, seemed to be content collecting rocks and minerals. His vast collections can be seen today in the gorgeous, architecturally diverse Naturhistorisches Museum Wien (Vienna Natural History Museum), which faces the Kunsthistorisches Museum (Museum of Art History), also an architectural beauty, pretty much a true copy, except that "the Naturhistorisches' façade has statues depicting personifications of Africa, Asia, Europe, and the Americas. The Kunsthistorisches façade features famous European artists, such as the Dutch Bruegel, among others." They face each other across (get used to it) Maria-Theresien-Platz, a Platz which contains a heroic statue of the woman herself.
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| The Woman herself |
I'm spending so much time and space on these two museums, and the Platz between them, because they really struck me. It's where we got off the bus and so it was my first real experience of being in Vienna since 1980. I also liked the idea of the dotty old husband, the "real" Emperor, sitting in one palace or another, gazing at a set of mineral samples in the afternoon sunlight. Also, the complex was built in the second half of the nineteenth century, so it is Victorian - a marvelous hodgepodge of styles, and probably some wonderfully bizarre displays. I am really sorry we didn't get to go in.
And also, this guy:
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| Busker at the curb of the Kunsthistorisches Museum |
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* - OK, not really. The Vikings never wore horned helmets. Go look it up. Various Bronze Age tribes did, but that was millennia before the Vikings. Thanks, Wagner.
** - TIme to get lost in a rabbit hole! I went looking for a picture of this bridge, because its illumination was so striking. I didn't find a picture, but I did learn a lot about all the bridges over the Danube in Bratislava. This one, the "last" one (most eastern or most downriver) is the Floodplain Bridge, also know as the Lužný Most. It's the newest bridge over the Danube in Bratislava; it's only four years old. "Most" is Slovakian for "bridge." Here's why it's the Luzny Most: it "was chosen through a public vote in 2020. It refers to the floodplain forests (lužné lesy) found in the area where the bridge is built." So they had a public vote and they used the name that won. Amazing. If it were the US, it would be the Bridgey McBridgebutt.
I also learned about another Bratislava bridge, the SNP bridge, which was named Nový Most (New Bridge) until 2012, when it wasn't the newest bridge any more (did they think there's never be another bridge ever?). It's got a restaurant and observation platform at the top of one of its towers, 285 feet up above the river. The restaurant is named UFO, because... that's what they think it looks like. The SNP bridge belongs to the World Federation of Great Towers. Did you know there was a World Federation of Great Towers? Neither did I. Let's find out about... No! No more! Back to work!
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