Miles of hilly vineyards to your left, your right, and behind you.
11:45 PM, New Year's Eve.
It's dark here, of course, and there's snow on the ground. But spread before you in a vast 180 degree panorama is the city of Vienna, its lights glowing. (This pic, of course, shows only about a 50 degree field of view, with only a few fireworks going off...imagine something three times this wide and more, with hundreds of explosions in the sky.)
In years past you might have had this place to yourself, but over time others have figured out that it's one of the best seats in the house to one of the best shows you'll ever see, and that's what happens at midnight January 1st in Vienna. People are gathered here and there, but none of them closer than a hundred meters or so. Mostly young people, some with actual torches, others with flashlights. Some higher on the hills have brought rockets with them to fire off.
You've got your sweetheart, champagne, two glasses, and two radios with which, at the stroke of midnight, you can hear Ö1 broadcast the ringing of the massive cathedral bells at St. Stephen's (known as "Pummerin"--boomers) followed immediately by the famous Blue Danube Waltz. If you're not on a snowy hillside---and if you know how to waltz----that's what you do.
Non-waltzing alternative: you pop the cork on the champagne, pour a couple of glasses, deliver a nice couple of kisses to bring in the New Year, and watch the most massive fireworks display you've ever seen, one that goes on for about an hour across the horizon. In the foreground, miles distant, to the left, to the right, and behind you. All of these are unofficial efforts, not really endorsed by any central authority---in fact, half-heartedly discouraged.
These fireworks aren't necessarily the most impressive in terms of size (though plenty big enough) but in terms of sheer numbers and the length of the show, it's damned impressive.
It just goes on and on and on...it sounds like the invasion of Baghdad.
Meantime you drink champagne, take pictures, listen to the celebratory singing and "Ooohs!" and "Ahhs!" and Germanic jabbering around you, and you think:
Now this is a memorable one. Actually, the most memorable one ever.
And the only way to equal it is to come here again some fine New Year's Eve.
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We walked home and stayed up until 3 AM. Called my buddy Will, who's looking after the cat and my house while I'm gone, and wished him a Happy New Year.
This morning we watched the Vienna Philharmonic present their New Year's concert. I've seen it before, tape-delayed and hosted by Walter Cronkite on PBS. Kind of special to watch it here in Vienna. The boys and girls in the band really got into it. The conductor, Frenchman Georges Pretres, has a face like an ex-boxer but at 83 was conducting himself like a guy fifty years younger. This was his first and likely only time to be asked to conduct this concert, and he seemed to pull out all the stops.
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All in all this beats the usual New Year's Eve routine which is:
Stay home, avoid the hassle, and go to bed early.
What a wonderful thing to finally experience with my sweetheart.
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