Austro-Hungary? More like Austria and Hungary!

Austria and Hungary: My Quasi-Grand Tour of an Obsolete Empire

Austria:

Austria, according to my Lonely Planet guide is a “little country with a big history,” which I suppose sums up quite nicely a land famous for, amongst differing circumstances, Mozart, the Sound of Music, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Adolf Hitler, and melting ski slopes. At one point it a global superpower, but these days its so small, I think even Canada could kick its butt if we were so inclined.

Vienna, the capital, was my first real landport of call, so to speak (it’s a landlocked country you see), but surprisingly enough there are no direct flights between there and Brandon, Manitoba. Huh. Then again, unless you happen to have a Learjet, a crop duster, or a WW2 vintage Spitfire, I doubt there are much direct flights from Brandon to anywhere.

To go from one city to the other, I basically had to drive 2 hours to Winnipeg, stay there a night, fly 3 hours to Toronto on Air Canada, fly another hour to Montreal with Zoom, then fly 6 hours to Paris from there, switch airports jetlagged and in a foreign capital, and then fly 2 more hours to Vienna (layovers not included). Needless to say, getting between the two places was a bit of an ordeal… especially for someone like me who has an irrational fear of flying (I hate planes, don’t know why… probably has something to with an inheritance of the motion sickness gene), but it was the cheapest way to do it, and I wasn’t exactly going to be able to hitch a Greyhound to Europe, not to mention transportation by trebuchet had never been developed past its military zenith in the late middle ages.

At any rate, I arrived in Vienna, alright and my friend Yen-ling (whom I inevitably referred to as Lian, as that was what she went by when we were living in the same dorm in Taiwan), was there to meet me at the airport. Yen-ling, for those of you who don’t know her (who I’d imagine are all of you now), is a petite girl in her early 20s, who tends exaggerate emotions in her face in an unintentional yet charming way. In other words, she’s kinda like a walking cartoon character, except traditionally Taiwanese, and all of the exaggerations are unintentional, and probably she’d be embarrassed if you mentioned them, so yeah, uh, shh. She’s also very sweet but pragmatic, and I think my sarcastic manner drove her more batty than she felt polite to mention. Like I said, she’s very traditionally Taiwanese, often stands completely befuddled when it comes to Westerners. When the Europeans who lived in the residence were talking about her impending move to Vienna (she had come here on exchange), we established a rather light bet as to whether or not her first major trip outside of Taiwan would cause her turn more inwards or let loose like a party animal. In the end, she still seems fairly sheltered, though I was happy to note she now says “damn” and “shit” to a not high but still unprecedented degree (for her), and even “sexy.” (I had asked her in Mandarin “你想不想的文很好聽?” and she responded in half Mandarin, half-English with “不是,不好聽! But Russian is sexy.”) Apparently the Western corruptive influence is slowly working its magic on her bit by bit. No offense to any Germans who might be reading this, I’m sure your language has its poetic elements, such as how you call a butterfly a SCHMETTERLING! But I think in Lian… I mean Yen-ling’s case, her parents were forcing her to learn German (rather than that sexy Russian she secretly yearned for), for some reason, so its only natural for there to be some kind of resentment. By the way, in case you’re wondering, (but of course you’re not) Austrians speak German, not Austrian (I often wondered if they called the German language “Austrian” when the Germans weren’t looking).

At any rate, she brought a guy friend, Li, along with her most of the time we hung out in Vienna (another Taiwanese exchange student, although he happened to be in Poland, which I happily pointed out spoke a language not so different in sound than Russian). Apparently, I had met while in Taiwan, but I didn’t remember him, he was rather quiet around me, only asking the occasional question like did I think Chiang Kaishek (former president and “Generalissimo” of China who fared poorly against the Japanese during WW2, only to lose China completely to Mao during late 1940s and found what is now the pseudo-republic of Taiwan) was stupid because he couldn’t beat either the Japanese or Mao (I think he was trying to show an interest in history, cuz I mentioned I was interested in it, but I don’t really think it was his bag of marbles as I tried in vain to explain the complex causes for war as being more important than whether not one guy was stupid). Actually the three of us didn’t hang out very much, because both Li and Yen-Ling only had a short amount of time left in Vienna, I kinda figured they wanted some alone time together, and neither was all that interested in history (when I suggested going to museums as something I wanted to do in Vienna, they agreed to go to the actual building, but never wanted to go inside—which I found a mite strange, as what was the point of going then, but perhaps it’s a “cultural difference” as stuff like this I quickly remembered happened all the time in Taiwan. At any rate, the buildings were quite lovely from the outside.), so we often split off, and I did my own thing. Nevertheless, Li was very nice to me and seemed to go out of her way to help me and the poor girl caught my cold on the last night I saw here (and just before leaving to visit her friend in Romania).

Just so you know, I am going to talk about Austria, but first I’m going relate one last strange anecdote that will transition nicely into talking more specifically about Vienna. If you’re not big on paragraph transitions, and think I’m too longwinded (which I am) anyway, then skip it. Basically, I had a dream about a year ago, about Yen-Ling, some random Taiwanese guy, in Europe, talking about a camera I had lost, and me complaining that this was the second time this had happened when I was on a trip like this (I lost one to a pickpocket in Beijing, China). At the time, I didn’t pay the dream much attention, as far as dreams go, it wasn’t that exciting (I didn’t have hovercrafts for feet or wasn’t the captain of an intergalactic battleship that actually looked like an ocean going battleship, and I had a first mate in a talking bi-pedal golden retriever and a second mate in a guy whose lower body was a potted office plant—other dreams ask me later), at the time I hadn’t heard or spoken to Yen-ling in months and the prospects of being with her and some random Taiwanese guy in Europe complaining about how I lost another camera seemed too preposterous to be taken seriously. But just last night, as we left the Viennese café, I checked my pockets and no camera, so immediately I started complaining about how I couldn’t believe I lost another camera, and we tried desperately to find… and only when I realized I had actually forgotten in my dorm room, that dream I had a year ago was actually déjà vu that had absurdly come to pass—which makes me wonder about the aforementioned hovercraft shoes and battleship-spaceship.

Anyways, Vienna! Ah Vienna, you opulent centerpiece of the Hapsburg dynasty you. The Hapsburgs were a family of aristocrats who ruled from Austria much of southeastern Europe and sometimes Spain, from the Renaissance up until the 1800s. Just think of every stereotype about decadent, lavishly-dressed, and incest prone monarchs and you’re basically thinking of the Hapsburgs, not to say there weren’t a couple who were less decadent or lavish or… well actually I don’t think there were any exceptions to the incest rule. They really loved their incest.

Anyway, so basically they’re gone now, but Vienna is still littered in palaces and riding schools, people painted like statues doing burlesque. They’re also big on Mozart (this is effectively where he cut his first record deal). Straus is there too sometimes, and Beethoven well I think people are aware of him and all, but Mozart is the man of the town even when converted into a cartoon ghost form (well I suppose it beats being converted into a St. Bernard for a series of cheesy family movies).

So what did I do? Well Lian was nice enough to hook up with a place in her old dorm near the old city, so I basically just strolled though old alleyways, grandiose apartment blocks, and the occasional palace as I poked around. The dorm felt eerily similar to the one in Taiwan, although I had no curfew, had my own key and could come and go as I pleased, and I had a room to myself (I think I connected it to Taiwan mentally, because of the distinctively green exit signs with the little man running through them… that and probably Lian). Also they had odd rules, like I was supposed to leave my key at the door when I left the buildng and pick it up when I returned. There was no screen on my window and it opened out on to a centuries old courtyard where the church bells rang every hour (no matter how late it was) and Austrian college students had relatively loud and I presume interesting conversations, during the midst of which they’d inexplicably make occasional animal sounds. The elevator (probably no bigger than a portopotie) was the smallest damn “lift” I had ever seen and had the added oddity of you constantly having to manually open the outside on every floor despite the fact, that the inside doors were automatic. Claustrophobes be warned, the locking mechanism takes a couple minutes to unlock.

I did see a fair share of museums, the Schlossbrun (Hapsburg’s traditional palace), Belvedere (also another Hapsburg palace), the Kuntshistoriche Muzeum (previous use unknown, probably a former Hapsburg palace), and even the Leopold Museum (whose art was a tad too modern/post-modern for me to understand with a jetlag hangover). These were all basically art galleries (with works from people like Rembrandt or Cervantes, but mainly people I’d never heard of), and while much of the art was quite well produced, it started to feel a tad TOO sophisticated after awhile. Perhaps the funkiest art experience was in “Sharon Stone’s Austria Souvenir shop” across from the Belvedere Castle. I gone in there to pick up a cheap “hey, I went to Austria” key chain for my collection, but the clerk was insistent that somebody buy a scarf today, so brought me and two people I think he just kidnapped off the street to the center aisle where the scarfs were and served us orange juice in little wine glasses while he showed us pictures of Sharon Stone and him showing off the scarves (Sharon Stone’s a famous American film actress I believe) while I tried to use my broken (okay non-existent) German to explain that all I wanted was the keychain and that, even if Sharon Stone came to your little hole in the wall shop in Austria every year, scarves weren’t really my thing.

So I got out of the museums and strolled around town some more. Saw an old church (obligatory for visits to European cities) and one of the rooms where World War 1 was supposedly ended. I also happened upon the Spanish Riding School, which someone had told me was a big deal, although I don’t know anything about horses. After walking all afternoon, I was tired so I went to a nearby park to sitdown and relax. The park was well-lit (broad daylight), full of people, surrounded by major landmarks like the Austrian Parliament and well more Hapsburg Palacese. When I sat down however, 3 Austrian teenagers who I had been oblivious too suddenly stopped what they were doing and stared in my direction. I had a nasty suspicion they were involved in some form of illegal activity, which became all the more probable when one started flitting a switchblade casually about in his hand (this was my first full day in Europe). This I took as a sign that the park was perhaps not as relaxing and inviting as it had seemed on the brochure, and I quietly excused myself and wandered casually away (hey it works for bears and the People’s Liberation Army of China, why not disgruntled Austrian teenagers?) back down the path where more people where hanging out. The teens watched me go, one even standing up to watch from a bush, but as far as I could tell they didn’t follow me, but just to be safe, I joined a nearby crowd which happened to have gathered for an Austrian Theater and Film fest and soon I was gorging on Viennese street-vendour delights forgetting about my near-miss with local wannabe hooligans.

Speaking of food! Man, it’s good isn’t it? Vienna is famous for a bunch of things, but I tried Viennese coffee (after which I couldn’t sleep all night, or maybe that was delayed jet lag), Austrian goulash (apparently a favourite of the Hapsburg Emperor), Sausage, and of course Weiner Schnitzel! (why do I always feel the need for exclamation marks when I talk in German?) It was all good, though my favourite was surprisingly the goulash, as name sounded less than appetizing (Goulash to me sounds like some form of torture at a Soviet prison, but it doesn’t taste like a Soviet prison). As for my German, well it improved from nothing, rapidly to the point where I could say “Sprachen zie Englische”, “Bitte” , and “Danke”

All things considered, Vienna is a very nice place. The people are nice—except for the ones with switchblades—and while German is maybe not the most romantic language on the planet, I still think Vienna is one of the most beautiful cities I have seen. Many of the old buildings have been restored and are in impressive shape. I’m looking forward to what the rest of Europe has to offer. But for now HUNGARY!

Hungary.

Okay, I’ll admit it. Hungary wasn’t top of my “to go” list when I first started talking about taking off for Europe. Hell, when most people I know back home hear “Hungary” they probably think of that elementary school pun associated with minor famine and associated with other cliché satirizations of quirky country names like “Turkey,” “Uruguay,” or “Sao Tome and Principe.” (Incidentally, “Hungarians” call their country “Magyar” so the joke is entirely lost on them) Nevertheless, I got wind of a small city, about the same size of Brandon, just an hour south of Vienna by train that apparently is one of the most picturesque places to visit in Hungary, so I thought what the hell. I had a day to spare, as Lian had taken sick and needed to get ready for Romania anyway, so I figured, I’d give Hungary a whirl. Why not? You only live twice.

Sopron (pronounced Shopron) is in northern Hungary, just across the Austrian border, so I got to see a lot of the Austrian country side (which actually is like a quainter and more environmentally friendly version of Alberta, minus the oil) and got to come to the realization that despite my hostel’s assertion that leave the key with them if I left the building I had left the key in my pocket and was now going to smuggle it out of the country.

So I smuggled the key out of the country, not that anyone’s given me much trouble at border security (I probably had more troubles in Canada, than anywhere else). In France and Austria, they basically just looked at my passport and waved me through. In Hungary, the guy looked at it, then stamped what looked a child’s drawing of a choo-choo train on it, and waived me through.

So I’m in Hungary, and I suddenly realize A) I don’t speak Hungarian B) I have no Hungarian money (they haven’t switched to the Euro yet) C) I don’t know any Hungarians. My Ottawa friend who himself is a bit of an international traveler was going to set me up with some friends from Budapest, but I wasn’t in Budapest and it was too late to contact them. At any rate, considering A) B) C), I thought, “Hmm, this might be a problem,” but of course it wasn’t. So after admiring the Hungarian advertisement for Rataouille (Hungarian by the way is a non-Indo European language, so its like no other language around it), I strolled down a street called Mátyás király utca (say that 10 times fast), and learned how to say Thank You (Köszönöm), Excuse Me (Bocsánat), and Do You Speak English (Beszél angolul, spoken pleadingly and with desperate hand gestures). Despite this being 1 hour from Vienna (where people who understand English are fairly common, even if they don’t make up the majority of the population), I was amazed at how few people understand any English (not that I blame them, mind you, as I’m not exactly writing essays in Hungarian). To me though, this just made the experience that much more awesome as I was forced to resort to the old point and click method of communications, which means—through acts of miscommunication—you are shown things you never thought to ask to see. For example, I spent most of my day hanging around in the old Medieval town center of Sopron (which is just one of those places that are awesome to just walk around) and I stumbled upon a sign that I thought said Muzeum (they get far more German-speaking tourists down here than English-speaking ones). As it turns out, I had walked into a medieval Jewish synagogue (well I guess all synagogues are Jewish), and the two older ladies casually guarding the door happily welcomed me (I think) as I paid them with what little Hungarian Forints I had received from asking a pizza guy to give me change for some Euros. They gave me the English photocopy of the tour, which neither of them understood (all they could say in English was “no…. Photo…”, pointed to the various rooms. I ventured into these rooms (which included a main altar, separate prayer hall for women, a Jewish bath which probably its heyday was a cross between a hot tub and a sauna, but now reminded more of Craig Ebber’s basement in Ashern, Manitoba), indeed taking no photos, and every time the lady showed me another room, I would say the only Hungarian word I could remember (Köszönöm), which meant I said it a lot, and each time the Hungarian lady would laugh, clap her hands, and say to her friend in Hungarian xxxxx x xxxxx “Köszönöm” “Köszönöm” xxxx xxxxx xxx, which I think meant that by the end of tour, I had been nicknamed the “Köszönöm” guy in Hungarian. The ladies were cool though, and even showed me a private chapel that wasn’t part of the tour, when they misunderstand my question about where was the bathroom. I had similar experiences in a couple other of the small museums which dot the medieval city of Sopron, but all the writing was in Hungarian so I’m not sure exactly what I saw at those other museums. All well, Hungary is gloriously cheap compared to Austria, so I didn’t mind (and one of the museums was free). The big tourist attraction is a medieval tower on the north gate of the old city wall which apparently was used to spy on invading Turks or Mongols or Australians or whatever group happened to be rampaging through Hungary at the time. The tower was basically like the pagodas in China, its nice view, but you really have to climb for it. Oh well, I needed the exercise.

After all, it wasn’t long before I was dining on Hungarian paprika chicken (apparently Hungarians love their paprika) and watching the sun go down, before hightailing back to my hostel in Vienna. Which reminds me. I still haven’t returned that damn key.

Anyways, I should go to bed now. I gotta head to Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia tomorrow. Yes, another funny sounding country that I don’t know much about, but couldn’t really resist. Besides I get to travel there by hydrofoil down the Danube River (that's right, I'm leaving a landlocked country by boat). I’ll let you know if they let me waterski.

Cheers,

Ryan

Manitoba Nights

So now I’m back on the road again, ad people have been asking me to restart my blog, so I thought I’d revive my old blog from Asia, so here it is. Feel free to peruse my ancient posts, if you want to see what I was writing about a couple years back. Keep in mind, I sometimes write this on the fly (and in true rapidfire travel blog fashion, I consider editing to be an unnecessary frivolity), so enjoy!

But now, I’m not in Asia and in fact I’m going to write about Manitoba of all places, Yay, Bisonland. I arrived here about a week ago, thru one of the most frustrating times I’ve had the airport. I arrived plenty early, as I’d emptied out my apartment and didn’t have much else to do, I hopped a bus and headed down. The adventure, however, was just beginning. First the plane was delayed an hour, because apparently there had been a medical emergency on the previous flight, so they had to redirect to a different airport. Then when we finally did get on the plane, Pearson Airport apparently had a security breach so we all just sat on the plane for 45 mins until they marched us all off and back through security, while I tried avoid giving the Airport guys any ideas about cavity searches. What this all meant was that instead of arriving at 9pm in Winnipeg, I arrived at 1 am. My sister (Christy) and her then-husband-to-be (Carl) were there to greet me, along with my long lost cousin from Vancouver (Paige) who had arrived on an earlier flight. Then we all drove back to Brandon, 2 hrs from Winnipeg, arriving at about 4 am. Fun times.

The Wedding itself though went off without a hitch (other than the intended pun of course). The groomsmen surprised the groom, Carl, with a limo on the night before his wedding, so all the guys piled in and we cruised the wild streets of Brandon trying to avoid the $280 fine for waving your hands in the air like you just don’t care out the sun roof. We hit all the major hotspots in town, the double decker (where I saw one man drink an unheard of amount of bloody caesars), the Roadhouse (One of the top 2, cowboy themed danceclubs in Brandon), the friend of Carl’s who happened to be having a barbeque, make that giant bonfire in his backyard, and all these dudes in long hair and biker duds offered Carl beer and a bus ticket out of here before the wedding (jokingly Christy, if you’re reading this). Carl of course just accepted the beer.

The Wedding itself was in our old Anglican church, which is a nice kind of prairie Victorian building in one of the oldest neighbourhoods in Brandon. My sister looked beautiful, Carl had his fly done up, the ceremony went off without a hitch (except in my ushering duties, I forgot to hand out bubble blowers to people to use in lieu of messy confetti). The reception was held at a golf course (in the clubhouse, not out on the holes), and it was my job (in addition to drinking, eating, and schmoozing with the waitresses) to make a toast welcoming Carl into the family. Basically the toast consisted of me going through Carl’s various introductions to each member of the family, and poking fun at each member as I went through, and then getting all the members of the family to chuck cauliflower at him at the end of the speech. Trust me there’s context for this—I just choose not to provide it here. My speech went over very well, people kept coming up to me all day saying I should be a speech writer, or an author, or--and this especially tickles me--a freelancer for Maxim or FHM. One bridesmaid even said I was the next Dave Barry. BTW, who's Dave Barry? Anyways, I'm just happy I got to pelt Carl (my sister's fiance turned husband) with cauliflower in front of family and friends, and it all had glorious social justification.

After the reception, and a few minutes pushing the bridal corvette to the repair shop after it broke down in the parking lot. Then there was a pool party, a backyard BBQ, and copious amounts of alcohol was consumed by all (Something like 24 bottles of wine, 42 beers, and 5 bottles of the hard stuff), then as the bride and groom had whisked themselves away to consummate the marriage, I was left to entertain the younger guests, who split themselves into two warring factions or “tents” in the backyard, who revealed debaucherous information and glared at each other like two male bullmooses during mating season, while they harangued me for showing favour to one tent over the other. Following the resolution of the tent wars, I went with the “Popular Tent” (What can I say, they had all the bridesmaids) to go to Houston’s (Brandon’s other Western themed night club) but we could not get in, despite the fact I had a flashing Sound Wave shirt on. So instead we all piled illegally into one car, throwing one valiant groomsmen into the trunk, and headed over to Christy and Carl’s abandoned house to whoop it up with their dog (Wilco) and guitar.

Following the wedding I took a few days to recover, and actually came down with a cold. Nevertheless, I didn’t know if I’d get a chance to go waterskiing again, so we went down to the lake and I learned a valuable lesson. Don’t water ski when you’re sick as a dog. It is not a good idea. Go seadooing instead.

But anyway, it all worked out (except I can do nothing but wipeout with my flu), and we all played some game called “If you had to choose…” which as far as I can tell could also be called “What Jon and Christine have a ridiculous argument about.” Apparently they’re still not talking about their differences of opinion over whether one would rather be Moses or Bob Marley or some such thing.

We also made a point of hitting up all the solitarly ethnic restaurants in Brandon. Ie the only Japanese restaurant (Tokyo Zone), the only Indian restaurant (Chilly Chutney), and the only Irish pub I hadn’t drank at yet (Clancy’s, which was new). There’s also a new Mexican place opening up called Mexican Chilly (The Chilly’s spelt this way, because its owned by the same folks as the Indian restaurant, although I still think it would be awesome if they did correct it, but instead of saying Mexican Chili, said Mexican Chile, just to give a shout out to, or perhaps annoy, the one Chilean who lives in Brandon)

A few days before leaving, I hung out in Winnipeg for the Winnipeg Fringe Festival, which rivals the Edmonton one for being the biggest in North America. For those who don’t know what the blazes a Fringe Festival is, let’s just say it’s a series of really low-budget theatrical presentations in small theaters for cheap admission, and they often have crazy premises. For example, this year I saw a show about how to do CPR; a family comedy about loansharks, narcotics, and domestic violence; Beowulf; Hair: The Musical; Giant Killer Shark: The Musical; and some improv, among other things. Good times.

Anyways, now I’m back in Brandon and I have to pack. Talk to you all soon, and next time you hear from me I should be in Vienna. Talk to you then, Ryan.