As we have long tolerated, the Viennese have a general tendency to stare at those who do not fit the Viennese “norm.” Tony walks with an uneven gait and is constantly stared at; when he was in a walking cast for a small period a year or so ago, the staring was almost unbearable at times. The Viennese are who they are, but every once in a while I am still surprised. Like on a recent school holiday…I was on the U6 with this Omi and her granddaughter. A short man alit from the train, and Omi practically shouted, “Ein Zwerg!” (“A dwarf!”), and she and her granddaughter continued to stare at the man. Teach your (grand)children well, Omi.
Parking. Last week Anna Grace and I watched a woman simply stop and park on our linguine noodle-wide street like this, fully a meter from the curb. By sheer coincidence we were returning home later in the day just as the driver returned to discover the little white note on her windscreen–judging by her ranting, her car had been hit. Perhaps the €1.500 cost to obtain a driving license in Vienna does not include parking instruction.
Not uniquely Viennese, but a sight I spy regularly on nice days. This Viennese woman drives over to our hood to walk her little dog for about 10 minutes in the park. Obviously neither of them enjoy the outing, so I wonder why she bothers.
In times of heavy Autobahn traffic drivers create a “Rettungsgasse,” or “emergency lane” in the event authorities need access to the highway, and it took us a while to get used to this concept. Would. Never. Happen. In. DC.
It is no secret that I am a Leberkäse Semmel fan, especially on a damp day while waiting for my tram.
I do not understand graffiti by (most likely) disaffected youth, especially in Vienna. For goodness sakes, the government subsidizes most of your life; what in the world can you possibly be upset about?
To close, a snap of one of the loveliest museums in Vienna, its art history collection. A mere €34 annual ticket allows one the pleasure of roaming this (and 6 other equally enjoyable museums!) as often as you might like, and yet some of my friends rarely bother to visit at all. For shame, ex-pats.