Saturday, December 29, 2007

Unlike Golf, We Had A Good Walk NOT Spoiled

The title of the post refers to someone's famous definition of golf as "A good walk spoiled."

You can tell it's an ancient definition, because if I ever saw a golfer actually WALK the course, I think I'd have a heart attack. Not to mention the fact that THEY would have a heart attack from the expenditure of effort. These days they drive around in golf carts, swilling hootch.

But fuck that and them, because B and I had a great walk here, through the neighborhood.

Her neighborhood is filled with Heurige...wine taverns. Many were closed, however, and I noticed the traffic through the neighborhood was almost non-existent, very unusual for a Saturday night.

It was dark and still and very quiet, and the orange glow of the street lights on the wet pavement made everything extra surreal-seeming. We found one Heuriger that was open, but for a private party only...people had already gathered, some of them in an inner patio, huddled around a fire, smiling and drinking mulled wine.

However, we found another Heuriger just a block or so away and sat among the locals enjoying our drinks, B a nice house white and me a Glühwein, which comes in a coffee cup. It's heated red wine with a teabag containing spices. Good stuff for a winter night walk through the 'hood...

We wandered around a bit more, making our way to Fidelio. There I had a fantastic Parmesan Prosciutto Creme soup. Un.Be.Lievable! B had a broth, and the waitress treated us afterwards to a pear liquor aperitif. On the house.

Beethoven lived around here. This neighborhood is very old, and in fact was once a separate village, Nussdorf, which later got incorporated into Vienna. It's the place I'm most familiar with in Vienna, a place I walk almost every day. I have a little ritual on weekdays, walking down to the bakery for some bread, to the Trafik for B's daily newspaper or a pack of smokes, then back again...past the pensioners walking their dogs, past the little kids on the way to school, past the frantic drivers zipping through the narrow cobblestone streets on their way to some nameless nothing.

Back at the house, we ate the spinach quiche B had prepared earlier. I slept, still carrying the residual effects of the sleeping pills and the booze, I guess. Time gets out of whack, me brothers and sisters, but that's what happens when you transport yourself Elsewhere.

The Stumbling Eagle Has Landed

OKC to Dulles via United, no problems (except being crammed into a seat next to a linebacker-sized guy).

On the flight to DC, I scanned the SkyMall catalog out of boredom. In this, the land of singing plastic fish you can hang over the mantle, one would think we've exhausted our supply of horribly tacky, useless novelty shit. But, no. Among the winners I spotted: A travel mug with a clock built into it so you can keep track of time while guzzling your grog AND, the Alive Elvis Animatronic Robot.

No thank you. No thank you very much, man..and no wonder this country is going to shit, with people willing to design, manufacture, and worst of all BUY shit like this.

One cool thing at Dulles are the "mobile lounges," elevated boxcars on wheels with drivers compartments on both ends. These are designed to take passengers from terminal to terminal and even lift up to the aircraft door if need be. I thought I was in some kind of Mad Max movie...

On board the plane, got into a great conversation with a young dude from Albania, heading home to visit. He's been living in the States 11 years...designs software. His English was nearly without accent. And, in an odd turn of events, he confessed to me that he first thought I was the foreigner, a European on my way home somewhere.

I was once mistaken for a Frenchman aboard an Air France plane, so I'm not sure what the confusion is about. Maybe I need to gain 75 pounds and start wearing tacky t-shirts.

My Albanian friend and I took advantage of the civilized Austrian Air hospitality and each had a beer and a couple of glasses of wine prior to and during our dinner. (Dig---FREE HOOTCH!)

I had a number of questions for the guy---how is Albania moving forward since the fall of Communism, what exactly are these "ethnic Albanians" I keep hearing about, what does the country look like, what should I see if I go there. He also filled me in on the troubles that occurred since the breakup of the old Yugoslavia, patiently laying it out for me----who the players were, which republic had what in the way of natural resources, weaponry, etc.

We talked openly about differences in attitudes and behaviors between Americans and Europeans. He liked almost everything about America but did have some good-natured jibes for some of our attitudes and behavior, particularly under-age drinking. By the time he entered college, he'd been drinking for years in Albania and couldn't understand the forbidden-fruit, drink-way-too-much 'tudes of his American counterparts, who drank like thirsty fish all the time. He also couldn't understand the panic amongst the kids when the cops showed up for the first time at one of the parties.

We ate, I popped a couple of Halcyon, walked to the head for a last minute piss. While standing in line for the facility, I glanced into the rear galley and saw a cool picture---the Austrian Air flight attendants in their red dresses and stockings, sitting on metal boxes, eating their dinners. Like campers huddled around an imaginary campfire. It would have made a great picture but I respected their privacy.

Back to the seat, a bit more chit-chat, and the next thing I knew I was knocked dead. Slept as I have never slept on a plane. Was awakened by the flight attendant, telling me to put my seat in the upright position. I've taken two Halcyon before, but never with two glasses of wine and an Ottakringer beer, so I may have to moderate my dose somewhat next trip.

It was kind of hard to walk, and I was still fucked up hours later. Slept for about 4 hours at B's.

B then fixed a magnificent breakfast---cheeses, orange juice, yogurt, bread, different kind of meat. There's a quiche in the kitchen for later.

Skies have been gray in Vienna for weeks, and it gets dark really early---about 4:30. I can hear church bells tolling in the distance. The street below is quiet. From this third floor window, I can look through the trees across the street, uncovered by leaves in winter, and see the rest of Vienna spread before me in the pitch darkness.

Jethro is back.