I bet you didn’t know that I was named after an Austrian countess (or rather my name was passed down to me by my mother, who was the one originally named for said countess). Okay, so I don’t think my ancestors hung out with Mozart (more likely Liszt), but it’s rumoured that the ghost of my maternal grandmother is wandering the streets of Vienna as we speak! She’s probably checking to see if anyone makes better apple strudel than she did.
Which brings me to Wien. What was initially supposed to be a short visit three years in the making turned into a whirlwind of activity and a combo work-holiday/food orgy. No sooner did I arrive at Vienna airport than Teddy and I were whisked off in a Fiat Panda (yes, I said panda!) to Radio FM4 ORF to be interviewed on the “Reality Check” programme by Kerry Skyring, who turned out to be Australian rather than Austrian. Perhaps it was inevitable, since not only did the car I was riding in have a sticker in the rear window of a koala bear with an Australian flag, but my hostess for the weekend (Sylvia Petter) is herself Australian. I should’ve known the shrimp was on the barbie when I was treated to an authentic Austrian Australian breakfast of Vegemite on toast. (Why does Vegemite always conjure up Men at Work and their song “Land Down Under“?) Not even 24 hours had passed and already I was wondering which country I’d come to. Had I boarded the wrong plane at Gatwick? It was all becoming a blur: Austria, Australia, Vienna, Vietnam. Whatever. As long as I could get some nice cakes I was cool with it.
I didn’t even have a chance to recover from my journey (why does it take twice as long to get to the bloody airport here in the UK than it does to fly across Europe?) then I was up early the next morning (anything before 10am is perverse for me) and off on the Mutzenbacher tour – an interesting and rather unique walking tour of Vienna’s less than savoury past. Let me tell you, it’s a good thing I had one of those Viennese coffees to start off the morning with! Mind you, the heat of the day was proving unbearable, and as the tour reached its conclusion I was fearing I’d never manage my reading that evening at Shakespeare & Company Booksellers. I don’t “do” heat very well, and as morning turned to afternoon, it grew hotter and hotter. It might have been prophetic that one of the readings I’d planned for the evening was from my short story “Hell is Where the Heart is” (in Getting Even: Revenge Stories). Because it was definitely hotter than hell!
To keep me alive, just before the reading Sylvia took me to an ice cream parlour in The Bermuda Triangle area (no, I didn’t spot any sharks!), where I hurriedly indulged in a divine ice cream sundae topped with candied chestnuts (I say hurriedly because the heat was melting it), after which the three of us made our way to Shakespeare. Ted was keeping a low profile in his backpack. It’s a good thing too, considering we were greeted at the bottom of the road leading to the bookshop by a gentleman armed with a really butch submachine gun. As we headed up the hill, I noticed a police car blocking the top of the road. Seriously, I never expected my appearance to cause this much of a fuss. I’ve performed my work in such diverse locales as London, Los Angeles, and Wales – and there was never any necessity for armed officers and police guards. Then it dawned on me. The road housed the Stadttempel, Vienna’s main synagogue. Aside from the fact that this happened to be a Friday evening, the Stadttempel had been attacked by terrorists some years back – and clearly the authorities had no intention of allowing it to happen again. Talk about sobering. What a nasty world we live in when people can’t even go to shul without risking their lives.
At the bookshop I consumed glass after glass of mineral water, hoping I wouldn’t melt into a literary puddle before the time came for my gig to start. The owners were beginning to look at me with concern, no doubt thinking I’d keel over dead right in the middle of their shop. In an attempt to cool off, I went outside (it wasn’t much better there either), where I struck up a conversation with a very nice lad, who’d been perusing the books before he had to head off to synagogue. Okay, so maybe I was chatting him up, if you want to know the truth! (After all, doesn’t every girl’s mother tell her to find a nice Jewish boy?) He seemed genuinely interested in my reading and wanted to attend, but being a Friday evening, the rabbi called. Not one to let a good opportunity pass, I did everything I could to convince him to skip out of shul, even suggesting he recruit the rabbi and anyone else he could find and bring them on over. Alas, our relationship hadn’t yet progressed to the point where he’d choose me over the rabbi, but I remain hopeful.
Anyway, the last I heard, my Aussie Austrian hostess Sylvia was getting the wedding invitations printed. Mazel tov!
(Stay tuned for Part 2 of my Vienna blog!)
A bit of Viennese craziness:
