Random Notes From the Underground

Literally, notes from the Underground.  For me, the Underground is the U-Bahn, specifically the U-6.  That is my daily train to Mariahilferstrasse, one of the great shopping streets in Vienna.  Running from the Westbahnhof to the MuseumsQuartier, Innere Mariahilferstrasse is a wide walking boulevard, choc-a-bloc with shops big and small.  There are cafes in abundance, Turkish kebap stands, and boutiques with everything from hats to sex apparel.  It is also the location of my torture chamber, the classroom where I daily suffer the rigors of Deutsche grammar.  Everyday at eleven AM I tramp across the Liesing Fluss, past the towers of Alterlaa, to the U-6 station.  Armed with my monthly transit pass, I am wisked into the Stadt aboard one of the best transit systems in the world.  My commute complete, I engage in a daily three-hour battle with Dativ, Akkusativ and Nominative cases.

Doing battle with a language that randomly changes its skin like a demonic chameleon is not an easy task.  Sustaining oneself is an important facet of daily life.  Eat hard to work hard.  Fortunately, street food is also a part of Viennese life.

Noodle stands are as common as Wurst stands.  Here is my favorite stand on the shopping street, where I stock up on calories to keep myself going through a long class.

When noodles won't do the trick, there are Knödel, the Austrian staple that will give a brother strength for the struggle against possessive pronouns.  Pictured above are the spinach variety, complete with a nice cheese sauce.  I would guess there are about 100 calories per bite.  One cannot live on street food alone.  When it's time to pull out the big guns, My Heart's Eltern (parents) pick us up and schlep us out to Lower Austria.  Lower Austria is the Austrian state that abuts Vienna, which is not only a Stadt but its own state as well.  Lower Austria is not named for its location, but for its elevation.  It is the lower section of northern Austria that slopes down to the Hungarian plain.  So, it was off to Lower Austria for some serious comfort food in a traditional Gasthaus.

 

Vegans abandon hope.

This is the real deal, set out in a small village in Lower Austria.  What about a nice light soup to start with? 

 

 Leben Knödel Suppe.  Yes, that's right, liver dumpling soup.

The main course, Bauenbraten.  That's the Farmer's plate for you English speakers.  Fleisch, fleisch and mehr fleisch, swimming in gravy atop a sea of kraut.  And to ensure that no one leaves the table hungry, another Knödel!!  With a flair for presentation, the wurst are cut to look like tentacles.  

Alas, weekends come to an end and the grammar battle continues.  I have my small diversions, however.  There are other kinds of wurst in Wien, but they come from the dogs, die Hunde, which the Viennese love more than children.  (that is not Die Dogs, that is the German article, "die Hunde" which is plural.  If it was a single dog it would be "der Hund"  Easy, no?)

Vienna can sometimes rival Bangkok for the sheer amount of dog-doo that anoints its sidewalks and paths.  The City of Wien is engaged in an anti-poo campaign.  Bitte, put the Gackerl ins Sackerl or the fine is 36 Euro.  Based on the poo-dodging that I am forced to engage in on my daily treks, I'm not sure the city folks are making any headway with the dog-loving Wieners.

Besides grammar and poo-evasion, I enjoy my wanderings to and from class.  There is always some small new treat, whether on the street or in a shop window.

Oops.  Should have checked that shirt before printing I guess.

Spring is a slow and tentative business here in Wien.  March is still a cold and windy month, punctuated with the briefest sunny promises of the end of winter.  The wind rolls in off the Hungarian plain, biting hard.  A sunny day above fifty degrees (yes, Fahrenheit, I cannot yet think in Celsius)  is something to celebrate.  We finally got a few such days and, like the rest of the Wieners, we rushed out to soak up some rays (and dodge some Gackerl).

 

This is the tiny backyard of the Schonbrunn Palace.  That little hut at the bottom of the hill was one of the homes of the Habsburg Emperors. 

Finally, I am learning some hard facts as I enjoy my days and nights in Wien.  Here is one of them:

Che died young.  The advantage of dying young is that you get to keep your hair forever.

This is not the case with yours truly.  Nor will I ever be iconic.  Ah, well, Che fought the fight for the underclass and I fight the battle with Deutsche grammar.  I guess the declension of adjectives will cause a little hair loss amongst even the most valiant.  

That is about as random as I need to be for the moment.  Between the grammar class and the yammering of the Serial-Z characters, I am a very busy little Wiener.  I believe I will let The Reverend Squeaky-Eye take over blog duties for a bit while I struggle with Chapter 10.  I have stories to write and characters to kill.  Busy, busy little Bokononist.  So, it's Ciao for now beloved readers.