Dear vicarious travelers:

As promised, here are some observations from the next leg of my trip, a stay in Vienna.

(Internet is infernally slow and spotty, so image sizes had to be scaled down.)

I had never been here before and find the contrast between the beauty of this city and the political (re)emergence of  right-wing forces with nationalist appeal somewhat hard to digest. On the surface, the world around me is suffused with light, art, culture, stunning architecture and seemingly innocent history which makes it a tourist’s paradise. Yet it’s brown   underneath.

I took the subway from the airport to my neighborhood in the 2nd district  – the public transportation system is remarkable and remarkably easy to use – and was greeted at the station with holocaust commemoration. The neighborhood is home to orthodox Jews, sights and smells reminding of years back in Brooklyn.

First meal was at a small, delicious Jewish cafe, then a a walk through the neighborhood. Markers of losses and persecution, as well as memorials to those who helped, can be found at various street corners.

Commemoration of war and fascism is visible in many places in the city, looming large, which makes you wonder why that dark history seems to be forgotten.

 

One of the most famous Viennese who had to flee in the 1930s was, of course, Sigmund Freud. The Berggasse house where he lived, practiced and wrote is now a museum, albeit not for long.

The house is up for renovation and they have to find an alternative place, one that is large enough to accommodate all those international pilgrims to the birthplace of psychoanalysis.

 

The museum displays some of his original writings, some furniture, lots of pictures, copies of letters etc – well done in the sense that it seems to preserve the atmosphere of those rooms. A display guide offered lots of text by Freud, from letters to those depicted on the available photographs. (Letters that confirmed, in my humble opinion, some of his misogynistic tendencies at least when it came to members of his family or patients who were not among the rich and famous.) The couch and chair were only there as models – they have found a permanent home in London since he took much of his household with him, seemingly without problems.

 

 

Contemporary art is displayed at the entrance of the house,

 

contemporary wit across the street. (Not a single Freudian joke to be had in the museum giftshop, by the way, it’s all very serious business….)

At the street corner is an old drugstore that seems to be frozen in time. The chatty proprietor, approaching his eighties and spright in his red sneakers, showed us a stool that Freud had sat on when he came to visit for chats with the owner’s father. He also smilingly pointed to the drawers that contained cannabis, apparently a frequent purchase in the 1920s. I now own a pack of bandaids that sat on the counter once touched by the master – perhaps I’ll use it as a gift to someone who is psychoanalytically inclined,which I am most assuredly not. The bandaids might not last long, though, given my swollen feet.

The heat is sweltering. People walk their dogs in fountains, the pigeons dare to lose their balance to get a sip, and the sculptures keep drink nearby.

 

 

Fire hydrants seem to be behind lock and key….and A/C is non-existent.  I am in heaven, regardless. The amount of visual stimulation has me buzzing!  To be continued.