17. Churches, Concerts, and Cafés

Some say that there are two ways people take their vacations – go around the world to see it or sit down on a beach and see the world go around. It seems to be largely a matter of personal style. An engineer by training, I find that the temptation to maximize utility, be it the number of destinations or the amount of activities, too hard to resist. While I could definitely see myself for once lazing on the beach for a week, I have been compelled to adopt the former style.

Some say that how people travel depends on the amount of money and time they have. I shall spare you the two-by-two diagrams that the consultants love so much despite the fact that I am a management consultant by profession now. Squarely in the corner of little money but plenty of time is the student, a demographic group I belonged to not so long ago. The student backpacks through Europe for weeks, sleeping in hostels and eating out of supermarkets. He generally wants the bang for the buck. In the diametrically opposite corner of sufficient money but little time is the yuppie working stiff – read management consultant. The consultant flies to Paris on a moment’s notice to spend a weekend. In the corner of plenty of money and plenty of time is the affluent retiree. He can do pretty much whatever he wanted. My goal is to move to this corner, but I suppose it would take a while.

Some say that when it comes to travel, there are planners and there are wanderers. The planner knows exactly where he will be and how he will spend each day of his trip. The wanderer, on the other hand, would have a plane ticket in, a plane ticket out, two weeks in between, but he will only think about those two weeks after he has used the plane ticket in. I have been a clinical planner. Ed and I booked six-segment airplane tickets in July for a trip to South America over Christmas and New Year.

My travel style had evolved over time, but I had been a student for twenty-one years and an engineer for ten until only recently. Old habits are hard to shake off. I could spend my six-day break (between Thursday, June 24 to Tuesday, June 29) all in Vienna, or all in Prague, or all in Budapest, but since if there was enough time to run from one place to the next, then I will. The itinerary was simple – fly into Vienna on Thursday, go to Prague on Friday morning, leave Saturday night on an overnight train to Budapest, spend Sunday there, take a hydrofoil up the Danube back to Vienna on Monday, and fly out on Tuesday.

Most cities in the world with some history are laid out by cows. That is, you start with a plot of land, set the cows loose, and wherever the cows trample into a path is where you call a Strasse. This is in distinct contrast to younger cities, including the majority of American cities, which are planned by unimaginative Cartesian mathematicians. Since Vienna is planned by cows, I said that I shall see it like a cow, when Emi and I set out to see the city. I shall simply find a general direction and allow myself to wander. This is in distinct contrast to how I usually attack a city – with a list, a map, and a plan.

The problem with seeing a city like a cow without a list, a map, and a plan is that at times I had little idea where exactly I was and what exactly I was seeing. Compounding the confusion is the similarities among the three capitals. The similarities between Prague and Budapest can be uncanny at places. They are both divided by a river. On the west side is a hill. On top of the hill is a palace. In the middle of the palace is a church. Come down the hill, cross the river on one of many bridges to the eastern part of the city, and you are in the historical town center. Although I had fairly good recollection of the whole trip, I had to do a little research after the trip to get the names of most of the places right for this letter.

Vienna is conveniently divided into concentric circles of zones. Most of the tourist sites fit roughly into the innermost zone. From Hotel Post on one side of the ring we walked towards the center. Soon, after a cup of coffee and a sandwich somewhere, we ended up at Stephansdom.

To cover the large glass pane on his door, my Ph.D. advisor put there a large poster of Stephansdom, with several happy looking people sitting in a horse-drawn carriage in front of the church. It must be a well-known picture as I had spotted it near the church. I instantly recognized the picture as I had looked at it for nearly four years. There was no mistaken that horse-drawn carriages could be found around the church, particularly if you had approached them from the downwind. The two spires towards one end of the church can be climbed. The shorter one had an elevator supposedly. The entrances were in the back and not so easy to find. We happened to have found the entrance to the taller one, partially because I was not constantly consulting my guidebook or map. It must be scaled on foot. I counted the steps – 339. At about 10 steps per turn inside the claustrophobic spiral stairwell, it was 34 turns clockwise going up and 34 turns counterclockwise coming down. The view from the top wasn’t all that impressive thanks to the generally flat and uncharacteristic skyline of Vienna.

The fact that after the third cathedral they all start to look more or less the same to me somehow never stopped me from going to them. It must be noted, however, that they are rather nice, dark, and quiet places to sit and recover from walking around too much. The people outside Stephansdom selling concert tickets seemed to implicitly understand the same phenomenon. We got a brochure or two of some concert but I wasn’t too sure whether it would be wise to buy the tickets there. People in Prague and Budapest seemed to also understand. In front of major churches and town squares where tourists frequent, there would be people selling tickets.

Continuing on to the other side of the inner zone, you’d find a concentration of grand building – Staatsoper (State Opera), Hofburg (Imperial Palace), Rathaus, Parliament, Museums, etc. We took great advantage of the No. 1 and No. 2 trams that circle around the inner zone in opposite directions. It wasn’t clear from the brochure where the concert would be as it listed three theaters. We found Musikverein but learned that it would be somewhere in Hofburg. The concert turned out to be in what seemed like a grand ballroom in one of the buildings, and the tickets turned out to be a bit more expensive than we would have paid in front of Stephansdom. The concert itself wasn’t too remarkable.

I have always been wary of helpful people at train stations, or bus stops, or airports. The ones that greeted us at Prague, however, did not seem to be the persistent "professional" kind, who’s got a line for everything and could talk you into anything. What they offered was budget accommodation to either cheap hotels or pensionis. They’ve got their market segment right. I do look and travel like a student with my backpack, jeans, and T-shirt. However, they were not the most persistent and persuasive kind. It’s as if they had seen better days and done better things. It’s as if they’d rather be doing something else. Indeed the man who offered us hotel looked and sounded rather educated. We decided to give him a try and let him take us through the metro to his hotel.

As we got onto our second train, a rather burly man blocked my way. I moved to the left; he moved to the left. I moved to the right; he right. He wasn’t pushing me, but he was nudging me back. What’s his problem? I didn’t bump into him or anything. This went on for some fifteen seconds. It was getting ridiculous. The hotel guy finally saw it and intervened. Then the burly man got off the train. As the door closed and the train left the station, I touched my back pocket – where my wallet used to be. It took me five seconds to realize what was going on, but it was five seconds too late.

I had the theory that it’s okay to keep the wallet in the back pocket of the more fitting jeans. I’d feel it if someone tries to take the wallet. Well, so much for that theory. The burly man was a diversion. There had been someone bumping against me on the side, fishing my wallet out of my pocket a mere inch below the cummerbund of my backpack. Sure, I’d feel someone’s hand in my pocket under normal conditions, but all my attention was on the big dude. There would always be a distraction. Attempts had been made on my father’s wallet in the front pocket in Paris and on my mother’s in her handbag in Berlin. The mustard artists had attempted their tricks on Ed and me in Buenos Aires. I have weathered all those. Thirty-nine countries, and I got my first wallet stolen in Prague. These guys were good. Very professional. Impressed.

One could never be too careful. Following the hotel guy and keeping a conversation with him, I wasn’t nearly as observant of the surroundings as I could be. The mustard artist incident happened to Ed and me on our first day in South America. We were super-vigilant the rest of the trip. As luck, or rather bad luck, would have it, I had quite a bit of money in the wallet. From that point on my passport went into the money pouch underneath my jeans, even though it’s rather uncomfortable. That’s a lesson for me and a rather expensive one. Well, it’s always a lesson, but can you always afford the tuition?

I was upset, not so much by the loss, but by the thought that I could have been targeted. I was offended by the suggestion, even though it’s my own suggestion, that I had looked like a dumb tourist after all. I had the theory that it’s impossible not to stand out, but to avoid being a target I must not look like a dumb tourist. I am revising the theory. It’s impossible not to look like a dumb tourist. Keep nothing on the surface or in the bags that I couldn’t afford to lose.

Now that I had been relieved of my money, I got one less thing to worry about and could enjoy the city. Prague is probably the most beautiful European city I had seen. Its old town center is completely historical and free of ugly socialist buildings and the depressing mood of the Eastern Bloc. Behind every turn awaits another pretty old building. It’s simply a wonderful city to wander and to get lost in. As darkness fell we walked over to the old town square, had something to eat at a sidewalk café behind St. Nicolas Church, before seeing a brass and organ performance there.

The guy from the hotel said that we should not miss Karlov Most (Charles Bridge) at night, so we walked over to the bridge after the performance at St. Nicolas. Across the bridge, we wandered through the quiet back streets, only to be lured towards the laughter and the clinging and clanging of dishes and silverware coming out of a grand old building. Hoping for a fine restaurant, we sneaked our way into the building and found the source of the noise. Unable to tell whether it was a restaurant open to the public or a private function, we sneaked out the same way.

On the way to the metro station, we walked past the Polish embassy and found the fruit-laden plum tree behind the iron fence to be deliciously inviting. There were very few people on the street, so we reached in and picked off a few. The plums were a little green, but were already quite juicy and tasty. I joked that perhaps I should find the Indian embassy now to try my luck at getting a tourist visa here since the embassy in Riyadh wouldn’t give me one saying that I had to go to the U.S. to get it. What do you know? Next door to the Polish embassy is the Indian embassy. Too bad I was in Prague on a weekend.

Prague really deserves more than a day and half. Still, we decided to go on to Budapest the next night, so we started Saturday with a visit to the main train station to drop off our bags and take care of the tickets. A short walk away is the National Museum. It’s in an impressive building at the end of the Vaclavske Namesti, Prague’s most fashionable boulevard. Its collection, however, has little what you cannot find elsewhere.

The No. 22 tram took us across the river Vltava up the hill to Hradcany where Prague Castle is. We had earlier read a notice, in multiple languages, in the metro station about the fines for riding without a ticket and had seen a picture of the badges the fare inspectors should show. When the crowd got off the No. 22 after a few stops, two plain cloth men showed us their badges and demanded to see our tickets. We had fortunately gone through the trouble of purchasing the tickets in a metro station and validating them after boarding. Two American girls didn’t have the tickets and were fined on the spot for 200 Czech crowns, or about $6. It’s a great system. First, make the fare structure incredibly complicated. Second, only sell tickets in the metro stations and not on the trams. Third, make the fine large enough to be profitable, but small enough to be unworthy of dispute. Lastly, set loose your best English speaking guys to cover the tourist routes. Those guys never asked to see tickets from the locals. They only asked the tourists. These guys were good. Very professional. Impressed.

After a visit to the Loreta Convent and some iced coffee at an outdoor café, we strolled down Loretanska towards Prague Castle. Down the hill, we arrived at the same metro station we were last night, but we lingered around the big lawn near it for a long while. A short distance away is Charles Bridge. Under the bridge at yet another outdoor café we sampled some Budvar, the only original Budweiser as LP explained, and sausages. The view from Charles Bridge was charmingly romantic at dusk.

After seeing the sensationalistic exhibits at the Torture "Museum", we made our way back to the main train station. The overnight train to Budapest left around 11 p.m. and would eventually go to Bucharest. It’s one of those Eastern European trains where the toilet had instructions in five different languages but none in English. On the wall in the bathroom was an engineering schematic of the plumbing system. It showed how the water tank is connected to the wash basin and to the toilet and how the foot controls work. I couldn’t figure out what purpose the schematic served.

Soon we were out of the Czech Republic and into Slovakia. Hours later, we were out of Slovakia and into Hungary. I had two Slovakia stamps in my passport – one entry, one exit – but I never set foot on Slovakia. All I had seen was the border town of Kuty, Slovakia, and that was only a few minutes from the window of the train. Can I claim to have been to Slovakia? If I had only transited through an airport in a country, I don’t count it. If I had only driven through a state, I don’t count it. I had only passed through Slovakia on a train, can I count it, given that my passport positively says that I have been there? On the way back to Vienna, we passed through Bratislava, Slovakia, in a hydrofoil on the Danube – a similar situation. I decided that putting the two together I can count it. This made Slovakia the 40th country that I had visited.

If I had to give one recommendation on traveling in Central Europe, it is that you should not visit Prague and Budapest back to back. You’d get too confused about the two. Off the train, we were approached by some women offering budget accommodation. We followed them through the metro to their apartment building, which is extremely conveniently located outside of Astoria station. We took a little stroll through a pedestrian street along the Danube on the Pest side and had something to eat at a sidewalk café. We crossed the river to the Buda side and went up Castle Hill. We visited the National Gallery inside a building that used to be a palace. We bought tickets for a folk performance in front of Matthias Church and took a long break inside. Down the hill we found a floating hotel on a boat and had dinner there. Then we went to see the folk performance, which had lots of yelling and stomping.

Budapest, compared to Prague, had far fewer tourists. It is also less charismatic. It is not as quaint as Prague and it has a lot more newer and uglier socialist buildings. From Castle Hill, we could see a lot of matchbox apartment buildings off in the distance across the river. Budapest is otherwise an okay place. It’s just that it should not be visited right after Prague.

On Monday morning we took a hydrofoil from Budapest upstream on the Danube back to Vienna. From time to time it would be announced that there was something to see along the river – a ruined castle or the like. I napped most of the way and didn’t really see much. It was interesting to see the boat passing through two dams, waiting for the water to rise in the lock and seeing the gates open. It is more interesting to note, however, that the waitresses on the boat wore translucent blouses, under which you could see not only their bras but also the lacework on their bras. I kid you not. It’s their uniform. Granted that this was summer, but material that thin? Of course, this was no more than you could have seen at your local (Saudi Arabia excluded of course) beach. Perhaps it’s a sales boosting trick?

Back in Vienna in the afternoon, we decided to go see an opera at the Statsoper. Tonight it was Richard Wagner’s Lohengrin. Only standing room tickets were available when we got there. They sold for 30 schillings, or about $2.50. The best seats in the house sold for something like 2000 schillings. Markus had told me about the standing room tickets. People go there early and tie something like a scarf on the railings to mark their territory. We were entirely too late to do that. We were in the last row. After the first act, which lasted more than a hour, most of the people in the aisles were gone. After the second act, which lasted more than a hour, another third, including us, cleaned out. I couldn’t stand standing for that long. Also, I would have enjoyed the opera a whole lot more if I could understand what they were singing. Out of the thick program, there was only one page of a synopsis in English.

My trip wouldn’t be complete without a little snag with my departure flight on Tuesday. Air traffic control had some problems at Zurich airport because they moved from one tower to another. If anyone could do things right, you’d expect the Swiss to. Many flights to and from Zurich were delayed, but I had no problem catching my connecting flight to Riyadh.

I was glad that I had seen the cities like a cow rather than an army quartermaster. In Vienna, in Prague, in Budapest, we walked around town; looked at old buildings; got bored in museums; crossed bridges; rode the metros and the trams; took breaks in churches; dozed off in concerts; drank iced coffee in sidewalk cafes… The days were gloriously sunny, pleasant, and memorable. Late June is such a wonderful time of the year to see Central Europe. Coming back to the barren desert of Riyadh put me in somewhat a lousy mood – "What am I doing coming back to this f&#*!^% place?"

Terrence
Riyadh
Saturday, July 31, 1999