Wien Day 1

So we set off for Wien, Me, Mrs, Big Red & CPT. "Call me Jane", said CPT, with the look of pity, kindness, & condescension only the chinese have mastered for thick English tongues.


"Call me Tarzan!" -- it's the only proper response, I say.


"She already has a Tarzan" interjected Big Red, unasked . . .


"Are we there, yet?" I said retreating into juvenile sulkiness as a defense . . .


Big Red masterfully wheeled us out of Prague, thru Brno, and across the border, where she whipped into a shop to get a permission sticker for driving in Ostreich from CZ . . . "ooooh, they have a duty free shop!" the girls squealed and left me to guard the car. Only Mrs came out with something, a bottle of Australian Plonk, which was inexpensive . . .


"Wrong OZ, darling!" I cavilled.
"Emergency provisions!" she snapped.

I grumbled, but a few klics later as we crawled thru Poysdorf, I said, "Oh, look, there's a wine markt." Big Red hurtled around the circle on 2 wheels and slid into parking slot. By the time I'd crawled out of the car and snapped this picture, Mrs & CPT were inside cadging wine tastings.


The charming young woman bore with us patiently while we spoke our pidgin German, ignoring her flawless English as we tried to assimilate into our weekend. We bought 18 bottles of wine, Gruner Veltliner and a Cab-Sav Zweigelt Cuvee'.  .  . the Veltliner, we would come to find out is ubiquitous in OZ, but the CSZC we really enjoyed . . . milder than CS, and any change for CS that's not Merlot is welcome.


Big Red was getting fruit juice as the Designated Driver, so she was quickly ready to go . . . but the rest of us could've camped out there . . . they had 20 different kinds of wine to sample . . .we got coffee, bottle openers, puzzles and what-not, in addition to the wine, and left in the same flurry: we came, we tasted, we bought.


Arriving in Wien was anti-climatic, after that . . . I mean, we were expecting to see Mozart walking around, or something, but it's a very modern town . . . with antique adornments . . . we just dropped off our stuff in the hotel, admired the spartan modernity of it, had a quick drink in the bar, just to settle our nerves and whet our appetite for lunch, bot train tickets from the clerk and headed out. We were pretty central to Wien, but still a few train stops from the Old Town . . . 


Mrs asked me, reading about Frimwiggles, the famous restaurant , if Wiener Schnitzel was particularly Wien-ien . . . "yeh, they named it for Wien, like Hambuger & Frankfurter". So we went across StephanPlatz to there, but the line was long, so we sauntered on down the street. We ate outside, but they had burners to keep us warm.

It was Italian, not Ostereichian, but that was ok . . . the waiter was a hoot, friendly & funny. Mrs & I got Veltliner, Big Red got a big beer, CPT some juice. For starters we had some bread, Big Red got Caprese Salad, and Mrs & I had minestrone . . . not too bad . . . not as good as Mrs' Famous Homemade, but she made nummy sounds . . . it actually had enough vegetables for her, so it musta been pretty good, if you know what I mean . . .


For mains, Big Red had pasta ("Where's my pepperoni?" she kept muttering. CPT had seafood linguini ("Oh my god!" she said, "Like in Malasia!") Mrs & I had saltimbocca ("what is that again? You'll see!")

"What is this, bacon?. . . no, it's prosciutto!"
"What is THIS, pork? . . . no, it's veal!"
"This is the last tiime you order for me!"
We shall see . . . 8^) . . .


We were all pretty sure we didn't want any desert, but I like to look anyway . . . "You don't have any Sacher Torte?" I accused the waiter. 


"No! We are an italian restaurant: we have Tira Misu!"

"Naaaah. We don't want any desert or coffee!"

So we staggered back off across StephanPlatz, taking care not to plotz ourselves, full of saltimbocca and wine, breathing the earthy scent of carriage horses . . . thank goodness it was cool . . . Mrs suggested we could walk up the 343 steps to the top of the tower, but that was voted down.

Instead we walked down to the open-market . . . we were really too late: many of the vendors were packing up to leave, but it was still claustrophobically crowded. Compared to the big market in Barcelona, sadly lacking; compared to the open market in Toulouse, not as exciting in smells and sights . . . we bot some olives, some bread, and some walnut-stuffed dates, for snackers -- no way we wanted dinner that night . . . 

It's mostly a flea market . . .but there were some really interesting looking restaurants nearby, all of 'em with people hanging from the rafters . . . so many interesting chances and so little time. . . we jumpt the train back one stop to StephanPlatz then walked around the ritzy shops, all the boyz are there, Salvatore, Pierre . . .After a while, footsore, headachey, and suffering from sensory overload, we wanted respite . . . Mrs pulled another place out of her book, famous for its strudl, Demel . . . but it was too crowded so we backtracked to a place less travelled, but they had open outdoor sofas to sit and people watch.

Big Red had a beer, cuz coffee would keep her up, and CPT had tea, like a civilized person, but we had viennese cappacios and sacher torte. When in Rome, I say . . .

Well, after that, lethargy set in . . . we had just enough to get back to the hotel  . . . We felt like this building looks . . . it's like some add-on to the Gasometer, 3 circular buildings that used to store gas (for lighting?) but has been remade into . . . something . . . Mrs & I had a picnic of olives, bread, & dates while we watched our movie . . . Meet The Parents.

"Hey!"said mrs, "Where Barbara Streisand?" That's what I wanted to see!

"Sorry," says I . . . that's the sequel to this one.