When the Urge Strikes...

One of the criteria that is often used to judge a metropolis is the accessibility of public toilets. Sure, other factors are important.  Things like safety, public transport, climate and business opportunities are factors that media-type folks use when they are compiling "Best Cities" lists.  But if a Brother or Sister has to do the inevitable, a safe and clean place to accomplish the deed is a factor in "livability."

As an itinerant traveler, I am always on the lookout for the local way of dealing with evacuation.  Yes, if one finds him or herself in Sri Lanka or the southern Thailand, it is handy to know the tsunami escape routes, but we are speaking of other things here.  When you gotta go, you gotta go, so it's good to be in the know.

Most major cities in the USA fail miserably in the public toilet category.  The cagey US urbanite knows the trick of ducking into Starbucks or Mickey-Ds.  This works in Vienna as well.  Say what you will about either of these company's contributions to banality, they usually sport pretty clean crappers.  But what if a traveler wants to take it to the next level, to truly revel in the joys of free evacuation, unencumbered by the Down-Pressor Man?  For that type of personal freedom one needs to look across the shores to Europe, particularly Vienna. 

Here is a link to an article about why Vienna is tops:
Wien is #1

So, without further ado, let's start our little tour of the Pissoirs of my adopted home.

 This is the very secure and very unwelcoming door of the US Consulate in Wien.  I'll probably end up on some watch list for publishing this.  Don't come here expecting easy access to a Badzimmer.  The security is intense, including a explosives detection swab.  I was here this morning to get yet another piece of notarized paper for the Austrian paper-munchers.  And not the paper you wipe your bum with.  So let's move on.

In Wien, there are public toilets and then there are public toilets.  Pissoirs are usually free, but not always.  A stall (Kabine) is usually .50-1.50 Euro.  When I am out and about in the Stadt, my needs tend towards a place to micturate, so that is what we are going to concentrate on for the rest of this blog.  Sorry Sisters (or sitters) but if you want to go for the closed door, it is most likely going to cost you.  But not necessarily, as we will see.  Part of it depends on your personal fortitude.  I feel it incumbent to add, however, that after some of the loos I have experienced (Laotian Market Loo, Southern Indian Bus Station) Wien is a cake walk.

Language and technical note:  Kabine is pronounced like Cab-een-eh.  Breathe out on that last "eh."  On the technical side, Kabinen are usually much more private than the typical American toilet stall.  The doors and walls will usually extend from the floor all the way or most of the way to the ceiling.  This is true in Deutschland as well as Austria.  

Okay, starting with the creme-d'la-creme, this is the one that everyone talks about:  The Opera WC in the Karlsplatz U-Bahn station.  Just down the escalator from the State Opera, it doesn't get much posher than this.  Free?  Hell no, not even for a pee.  But if you need to have piped in opera music to encourage, sooth, or cover the noises of your necessaries, this is your spot.  Clean as a whistle (or oboe) and oh so memorable, it's probably worth the 1.50 Euro.  Me, I've never graced the inside.  There is a reason for that.

A fairly short walk down the gleaming tile corridors of the same U-Bahn station is the real public toilet, the one for us poor working stiffs.  This one is also spotless and the pissoir is free.  Not only that, the attendants are very friendly, actually welcome you, and keep the place smelling as sweet as such a facility can be.  One of my favorite in the city, highly recommended. 

Gleaming inside as well, this is what you can expect to find.  You'll pardon me if I did not include and "action" shot.  Use your imagination. 

Naschmarkt is the sprawling collection of food stalls, market stalls and kiosks along the Wien Fluss.  It is a huge tourist attraction as well as a shopping bazaar.  Think of an open-air Pike Place Market in  (Seattle) and you get the idea.  Older and a bit more fragrant than the Karlsplatz Badzimmers, this is still a good option.  The three-urinal pissoir is free.  A stall is going to set you back .50 Euro.

Now is the time for a cautionary word or two.  There is a big difference between the attended public toilets and the unattended ones.  Many of the attended toilets will cost you something, while others have free pissoirs.  What all of them have is a degree of sanitation that is (more or less) dandy for the use to which you will put it.  There are differences, of course.  The Pissoir at the exit of the Westbahnhof U-6/U-3 station is top-notch, very clean and one of my regular stops.  Oddly, the busy tourist station of Stephansdom (U-3) is okay, but pretty smelly.  Both are attended.  Go figure. 

While we are speaking on this matter, here is a little image that I feel goes with the theme:

Really doesn't require a caption, now does it?  There's lots of these.  Bothersome when the urge is on you.

Ahem, well, moving on.  What to do if you aren't near one of the spiffy new U-Bahn stations or a nice modern shopping area?  What if, let's say, you are at one of the older U-6 stations or possibly the U-4 or near the rummage sale area west of the Naschmarkt?  Well, first, do not despair.  There will be a place.  But now we have moved into the more fragrant and earthy category of facilities.  

The Herren at Kettenbrukengasse Station.

When the need strikes and this is where you are, my first suggestion is to take a few deep breaths.  Literally.  Then plunge on in and waste no time.  You will find the place suitable for the transaction but not necessarily somewhere that you would want to linger.  I don't mean to pick on this particular crapper.  There are lots worse.  If you find yourself one of the older stations north of the Westbahnhof on the U-6, well, good luck.  The single room fixed toilet stalls are private, but that's the only benefit.  They are also used by those who need them the worst, the homeless and the junkies.  You have ventured out of the tourist land, so things can get a bit more real. 

That about wraps it up for this little installment.  On the streets of Wien, you are not usually too far from a public facility suitable for your needs.  The aesthetics of the experience will depend a bit on your proximity to the tourist center and luck.  Still, the level of civility that is present in Wien is, I dare say, a breath of fresh air.  Yuckity-yuck.

Until the next time, be well, be happy, pee freely, and as always, "Ciao for Now!"

Random Tests

This man is up to no good.  Count on it.

Sometimes I do things because I have to.  Sometimes I do things because I am overcome with the notion that whatever inane thing I have just thought of is, in fact, a good idea and not inane.  Go figure.  Usually things work out more calmly when I'm just doing the stuff that I have to do, but what would be the fun in stopping there?

One of the things that I had to do was take and pass the Deutsch A.1 exam.  A certificate saying that I have done so is a required part of the paperwork package for my residency title here in Austria.  There is a whole lot more paper required than just this little ole' certificate, but one step at a time.

I grant you that the A.1 exam is not that difficult.  Having wrestled my way through A2.2 classes, complete with Dativ case, Akusativ case, etc, etc, I was ready for the A.1.  I plopped down my 110 Euro for the privelege.  I downloaded the practice tests, I studied them, I got my test mojo primmed.  Last Thursday and Friday I climbed the five flights of twisty marble stairs to the testing office.   The upshot was a 99 score out of 100.  Basically, armed with the A.1, I can say "Those are not my drugs.  I have never seen them before."  Also, as an added bonus, I can understand it when someone yells "Stop or we will shoot."  Always important information in any language.  

Having vanquished the thing I had to do, I walked off through the Alt Stadt to do the things I wanted to do.  A friend had sent me a postcard from Seattle.  The card was, ironically, an artist's rendering of the Alt Hof courtyard in Vienna.  The setting was captured in the late 1800's, so I set out to try and find it.  After all, there are only what, 30,000 courtyards in Wien?  How hard could it be?  

The walking was fine, the day was perfect, and I actually found what I believe is the same courtyard.  If not, close enough to call it a win.  Either way, it's a damn fine courtyard don't you think?

After walkabouts, I met my Heart in the Alt Stadt.  We did our necessaries, shopping for this and that, having a coffee and and ice cream The shopping I had to do, the coffee and Eis, not so much.  

Sometimes the end of the day is its own reward.

Saturday was Pride and we wanted to attend, not only for the fun of the parade, but to show some solidarity with the victims of the tragic Orlando shooting.

Pride here is like Pride in most places, except this is Pride with Jagermeister!  I took a pass on that.  It was a beautiful sunny day, people were happy and silly, and there was lots of painted flesh and costumes being flaunted.  It seemed that a good time was being had by all.

Whatever your kink is, I sure these guys could help you realize it.

So, language exams, wandering around the Stadt, sunsets and sunrises, the occasional parade, life goes on here in Wien.  There was no real point to this post, so there is no real conclusion either.  The arm and wrist are healing and I ended up back out on the trails this week, but that is the stuff of another post.  

As always, "Ciao for Now!"

Wien Essen

When one's Heart returns from a hard day's toil saving the world, it behooves a gute Hausemann to whip up some satisfying vittles.  Besides writing novels and crashing my mountain bike, vittle procurement is one of my main justifications for sucking air.

So, casting aside all namby-pamby notions of bean sprouts floating on a gentle sea of chilled soy beans, I go to the Turk Market and get myself a big bag of vege and a packet of stew meat.  At the Turk Market, one has to talk to a real live butcher, make a request, and wait for the fleisch to be wrapped in paper.  Ain't no cellophane wrapped pre-cut here.

In my big stained cast iron skillet, I brown the meat fast, throwing in fistfuls of secret spices while chanting ancient incantations.  Okay, mostly I'm singing Tom Waits songs, but it has about the same effect.

Setting aside the meaty bits, I scald up a huge mess of onion, garlic, peppers and tomatoes.  I add a few more fistfuls of powdery stuff, three head nods and a back spin and it's about right.

In goes the meat, down goes the heat, and the whole mess simmers for an hour.  After that, it gets popped into the pressure cooker for thirty more minutes, which, through the amazing laws of thermodynamics, tenderizes the meat to a succulent state of yumminess.

My Baby doesn't cotton much to carrots, so I add some taters to the stew, then serve the hearty blend up with a big dollop of smashed taters.  Yeah, you got it, double taters!!  I am sure I hardly need add that the smashed taters are loaded with extra goodness in the form of butter, a bit of creme fresche, and some herb-y treasures.

You want comfort food?  I can supply it.  A bowl of this will make you feel as if you can spear a dragon better than Saint George, or save the world, or both.

On alternate days, I snug my Old Hippie hat down tightly over my unsightly ears and commence to doing the tofu dance.  I brown up some tofu, never forgetting the turmeric or the cumin.  I add heaps of vege, not skimping on the garlic, and let the whole pan transform itself while messing with some pan-roasted taters in another skillet.  You want to get your organic-hippie-heading-to-Burning-Man Thang on?  I got that too.   Not only will a plate of this give you the strength to save the world, you'll feel like you're saving the world just by chowing down.

"But Rev Squeaky-Eye, what about those long mornings when you are alone with your maniacal thoughts?"   I hear you Friends, I do.  When it comes down to the nitty-gritty of setting words to electronic paper, nothing sets a Brother up for writing like a big plate of left-over hash, eggs and buttery toast.  And here in the land of "We Worship Gluten," the toast is good.  Damn good.  If you add a big french press of coffee to this whole thing, the words just about plumb jump out of the air.

 When I'm out running errands in the Alt Stadt, nothing works like a slab of Leberkase from Pepi's.

Now when it comes time to kill off a character, it's better to go for the hot and spicy to start with.  If you bury your eggs in a steaming arrabiata sauce hot enough to melt the wings off angels, it will help you get into the mood off snipping the mortal coil of one of your characters.  Or so I have found. 

When the soon-to-be Father-in-Law gets his cooking thing on, you can rest assured that the main feature is going to be meat.  And more meat.  Done rotisserie style on his crazy home-made gas contraption, this is the result.  I swear, if Wile E. Coyote built a rotisserie machine, it couldn't be any crazier looking than the one that rotated this fine schwein and chicken.  Oh  Lordy, where's me
hammock? 

Last, but damn sure not least, when you go out for a traditional Father's Day lunch at an Austrian guesthouse, this is about what you can count on.  Schwein on a skewer with rice and vege.  Oh My.  Because, as Vincent says....  (it's a Pulp Fiction reference.  Watch the movie if you don't know the line)


Well, there you have it Friends and Neighbors, a brief overview of chow in Wien.  Life is too short and too tenuous to skimp on the grub.  From the kitchens of Wien, it's "Ciao for Now!"

Lainzer Tiergarten Strecke

This photo has nothing to do with the following Blog post.  I just love the Wiener Pumpe.  I feel it shows what a civilized cycling town Wien is.

The heavy rains of Sunday had abated, life is for the living, and it was time to ride.  The goal of the day was to find and ride the Lainzer-Tiergarten Strecke, the mountain bike route (Strecke) around the Lainzer Animal Park (Tiergarten).  Simple, no?  I reviewed the route on the amazing Wien cycling website and I had already reconnoitered where the Strecke intersected the little Gutenbach (good brook).  So mounted on my trusty bike Scott, we set out for hijincks and adventure of the two-wheeled kind.  

It was a wondrous day for cycling, all blue skies and a few puffy white clouds, almost no wind, and dry pavement.  I rode my usual route up the Liesingbach Radroute, the lovely main bike path that is a stone's throw from the homestead.  Turning north, I headed up into the Wienerwald on Gutenbachstrasse, a quiet lane through lush meadows.

 Here is a link to a video I shot from the bike on the way up the Gutenbach:

Lainzer Tiergarten Strecke

I found my link-up spot where the Strecke joins the Gutenbach and then heads up the valley.  Hurrah! I climbed the little valley, soaking up the rays and digging on the day.  What could possible mar the peace of a day such as this.  Oh, you poor benighted Git, you.

 Tres Bon, no?

I crossed the Gutenbach just where I should, leaving the pavement and continuing up a gravel two-track.  Even better, after another kilometer or so of steady climbing, I found the intersection of three trails with signs for two different Strecke.  And here is where the best laid plans of mice and men went astray.  I chose the path less traveled, the interesting one that seemed to go in the right direction (it didn't).  A nice bit of technical uphill single track with roots and whatnot, it was a slippery mess from the thunderstorms of yesterday.  Scott's tires were clawing for purchase and I was wailing away for all I was worth to help, but it was just too damn steep and too damn slick.  For shame, I had to dismount and climb the steepest section on foot.  But it was great, the woods were cool and dark, punctuated by brilliant shafts of sunlight.  Sheer magic.  

Once up the very steep section, it was mountain bike heaven, trails and tracks running hither and thither, and thus I riding hither and thither.  The trail conditions were still sloppy and a good bit of mud was being added to my mien, but what better than to return from a hard ride bespeckled in the mud and debris of the forest?  There was the nagging question of just where the hell am I, but I was having too much fun.  And then I came to an intersection with Stadtwanderweg 6.  Well, that ain't right sez I to myself.   Interesting, but damn sure not where I am supposed to be. I backtracked and foretracked for a bit until I had to concede that I was so far of the route I might as well make my own Strecke.  Which is what I did.

Here is a link to the Silly Man Lost in the Woods:

Lost in the Wald

I wandered about, riding over open meadows atop the Wienerwald, drifting in and out of wooded patches.  Now, I know, I know I should have quit whilst I was ahead, but that just ain't in me nature, Mr. Froggy.  Why, if I'd a quit the many, many times I knew I should have, I would have missed out on most of what's been interesting in my life.  And I'd have a few less scars too.  

Now, our good Lord Buckley (Richard "Lord" Buckley 1906-1960) used to do a bit called "God's Own Drunk and a Fearless Man."  I urge you to check it out.  Anyway, in this tale that Lord Buckley called a "Wig Bubble" there is man, a moonlit night, and a still.  The kind that makes whiskey.  Not the moon, the still.  There is a line in this wonderful bit that comes after our hero has had a good and healthy sampling of the whiskey that went down his throat "like honey dew vine water."  See, after a few "slashes" of this stuff, he has become "God's own drunk, a Fearless Man!"  

Now you know, Friends and Neighbors, I ain't had a slash of that devil liquor for going past 31 years.  And I do believe it is safe to say that the world is a better place for it.  But, true to say, I have been know to get good and drunk on Adrenalin, silliness and misjudgement, which is very much akin to corn liquor if memory serves.  I promise you, this is all part of our story, as you will soon see.  Thanks for bearing with me.

So, our hero is up on that mountaintop with that beautiful still and now he's a Fearless Man.  And then he says: "That's when I first saw the bear."  Uyup.  I was on my own mountaintop, basking in the glorious rays of sunshine, the rightness of the world, and my innate abilities.  And that, Friends and Neighbors, is when I crashed.  

Now you would think that a Fearless Man, a man of innate ability, a man crossing muddy meadows and muddy forest groves, would find himself a nice soft muddy spot to crash upon.  And you would be right to think it, damned if you wouldn't be right.  And did I do that?  No I did not.  I waited until I was next to the only rocky spot for a kilometer in any direction and then, with wild abandon, I threw myself onto that rocky spot.  In so doing, I banged hell out of my elbow and right forearm, adding a lovely bloody spot to my jersey, and whiplashing all of the soft connecting bits that hold the "wrist bone connected to the... arm bone."  Can you hear the words of the Lord?  I did.  And it was the Bike God saying "Silly Rabbit, I'll show you innate ability."

And miles to go before I sleep.  So, rattling and bashing down the trail (rattle-Ouch!, bash-Ouch!) I made my way back to the Liesingbach and thence to home.  I washed Scott off, it not being his fault, threw my bloody kit into the washer, and then examined the damage to myself.  Standing naked in the bathroom, checking out the bruised bits, quoth I: "I've had worse."  Since then I've become reacquainted with the pleasures of ice packs and aspirin.  And I have lived to tell the tale.  I also had to take action to appease My Heart, who was less than pleased with the damage to my person.

Behold!  Robo-Cyclist with his new body armor.  I will live to ride another day!

Now I am just about healed up.  I have my language certificate testing on Thursday and Friday.  Monday will find me back out on the Strecke, trying to find out where it was I took that wrong turn.  

Until then, from my rainy Garten in Wien, Ciao for Now!

Passages

Our quiet life in Wien was dramatically altered on Saturday, June 4th.  In the early evening of that day, My Love's mother passed away.  Her passing was sudden and unexpected.  In the days that have followed, life has been interrupted by the process of death and the process of grieving.

Of necessity, life goes on.  We prepare meals, attend to life's daily chores, go for walks, the usual passing of time.  And we talk.  Up until today, keeping the Blog current has not been a priority, as one can well imagine.  But like the other daily joys and sorrows, life continues for the living.  So too do we, so too the writing.  We move forward as does everything else.

Love and loss, joy and grief, the most basic strands in the fabric of life.  And so it goes.

From Wien, with much love to all,

Marco