Vienna, Austria and the Summer of 1984

Vienna, Austria

December 6, 2015

Latitude 48º 13' N

I was 35 in the summer of 1984 and my traveling shoes had been active for more than ten years. When others just stayed him for the summer holidays, I'd be off someplace different. Some summers it would be the United States, but usually it was Europe or the Middle East.

The 1983-1984 school had been the worst year I'd taught since I'd begun teaching. I'd also just completed a Master's degree and the combination of the two had put me on an anti-depressant for six months. I needed a break and Vienna was going to be the place.

In the early winter of 1984 I'd read a small advertisement in the New York Times Education section. “Study German at the University of Vienna. Summer programs for Foreigners. For a free brochure...”

It was January, the time of year when I'd begin planning my summer-get away. I sent off a letter and month or so later the University of Vienna sent me a snazzy, and very tempting, brochure. Four weeks studying German, combined with living in a private room in one of the University's dorms would cost less that $400.00 US. $338.34 to be exact. That was less than one graduate course I'd been paying for for several years. I really had no interest learning German, but the what an opportunity: a chance to live in Vienna for a month!

So I grabbed the opportunity, and because my travels were never done in a straight line, I booked a flight to Rome, spent two week in Italy, and only moved on to Vienna a day before classes would be begin.

I knew pitifully little German. I'd had a tutor once a week since late winter and could count to a hundred, conjugate a regular verb in the present tense and could identify a few pronouns. That was it. I was pitifully unprepared for life on the street. On my first day, a Sunday, when the city had retreated into itself, I walked the main shopping street, Kärtner Strasse. I'd not eaten much because anything on a menu made about as much sense as this: *&^%$# #@%)_ )*&$##. I was delighted to see Burger King. Ahh...something familiar! I walked in and nothing looked familiar. Anything anyone said to this confused foreigner made no sense. I walked out and noticed, on close attention, that I walked into Burg Kino. A movie theater! I still laugh at that.

Once classes started, there was a pattern to my days. I'd rise just in time to shower, grab a Diet Coke and sweet bread at the nearby Ankor bakery, and get to class before 9:00 am. Three hours later I'd have lunch with some of the other students at the school cafeteria near our classroom. Afternoons I spend sitting in Rathaus Park reviewing the day's lesson, reading a novel and then moving on to do something “touristy.”

Other dorm and classmates became my “friends.” Classmates included an equal mix of refugees who'd been put in the class my the Austrian government and the rest of us—students from the USA, Australia, others parts of Europe. There was a mother-daughter from Melbourne; Nino, a fun young man from Italy, a group of zany college students from the UK. The other group included folks who'd come from the Philippines and a large group of people from Communist countries who'd been granted asylum. One young woman, Jewish, had just left Iran and was on her way to California to live with her grandparents. It was the first time in my life I'd known a refugee.

One of the students was a woman, a bit young than I, from Romania. Ruxandra was highly educated, spoke English, French, Italian and was not diving into German. She'd left Bucharest two months earlier because the nature of her job was going to require her to join the party. She was a well-trained engineer but had left all her documents behind. She also left behind her mother and her grandfather. “I'll make beds in a hotel room if I have to,” she told me. She just wanted out. I greatly admired her courage.

We became fast friends, and even though we were 180 degrees apart politically, we enjoyed each other's company. Almost every day we'd do something together, but it was usually at dinner that we'd meet.

After class and after lunch, I'd head first to Rathaus Park where I'd review the day's lesson, transfer vocabulary to a note book, smoke one cigarette after another, read and people watch. Part of that “sit” time included indulging in an ice cream cone. Austrian ice cream, eis, is still some of the best ice creams I've had in the world. I got to know the woman behind the counter and learned all the names of every flavor. I let her knew I was studying German and she became the first person I “spoke” to.

As part of tuition to the University, students were give a free pass to the Kunsthistorisches Museum. Every day, and I mean every day, I'd walk to the museum and explore one room. One room only. I have never been able to sustain hours in a museum, so this was perfect. It was the most pleasant museum experience I've ever had. From there I'd explore some site within the Ring.

I also took Viennese Waltz lessons, but could only dance to the right—the only time I've ever shifted in that direction.

I loved living in a dorm again. I had my own quiet room, maid service once a week, and the pleasant camaraderie of other students. One of the guys I got to know there was another American, XXXX, a year or two younger than I. We go out periodically to bars and come home late and drunk. It was like I was back in college again.

Once a week I'd walk down to and slip into the American Express office. I'd cash a few travelers' checks and get my mail. In those pre-Internet days this was one of the few ways to have an address in another country. What a sweet surprise to get a letter from home. I still have them, tucked away in the back of the journal I wrote that summer.

Each night either Ruxandra would meet me for dinner or I'd eat at a local schnitzel house. The exchange rate against the Austrian shilling allowed me to eat every meal in a restaurant, something I rarely do today when I travel.

Twice a group of us took off for the weekend. First to Salzburg and Munich and the following weekend to Budapest, a trip I still hold dear to my heart.

Early in the program I realized I didn't care a rat's ass about German. What I did like was going to school, interacting with the students, staying in a dorm and having the privilege of living right of the
“Ring.” I'd go to class, do my homework, study, put the German to work on the streets, but I refused to take tests. I'd just finished that Master's degree and was plum-tired of real academic work. I did not endear myself with Hannelore, our tireless, and very good, teacher.

Every Tuesday I'd attend a free all-Strauss concert in the garden in front of the Rathaus, a ten minute walk from where I lived. It was mostly a local crowd, but I'd see the occasional tourist every now and then. In 1984 Vienna was far off the European tourist circuit and far enough east that it didn't get heaps of tourists, and only a few of them would be at this concert. The same people seemed to be there each week—old ladies, mostly, who'd tap their feet to the upbeat waltzes this father and son team composed a hundred years earlier. It was one of the highlights of my week.

By summer's end I could navigate a small neighborhood of German. I got the hang of putting the second verb at the end of the sentence. I could have very minimal conversations with people. I could identify every type of ice cream in the Eis Salons.

And sometime that summer I'd jettisoned the anti-depressant I'd been on since winter. That horrible school year and the mad-dash completion of the Master's degree was fully behind me.

On the last night I was in Vienna before returning to Rome, a local friend asked me what I wanted to do. “Eis,” I told him. “I want one more amazing Austrian ice cream.”

His name was Wilhelm Böhm and he told me he'd take me to Vienna's most popular place for ice cream. How could this not be great!

The line was long and when I chose my flavors—quite adeptly in German—imagine my surprise when I bit into American ice cream. Well, I was disappointed. Who wouldn't' be.

Later that night I boarded an overnight train to Rome and few days later touched down in New York city where Steve was waiting for me. For a few weeks I'd say entschuldigung when I bumped into someone, but that didn't last long. I found a tutor to continue my studies, but that lasted for about a month. Where was a going to use German? Pretty soon any German I did learn was soon forgotten.

But not Vienna nor the summer I spent there. It became a benchmark for other summers, one to be compared to, one I'd hope would happen again. Other summers were equally great; others not so. In my travel nostalgia I'd often daydream of Vienna, sit in one its lovely parks, eat eis, listen to Strauss waltzes in Rathaus Park.

A summer later would be a stay-in-the-USA summer, and I made arrangements to meet one of the American classmates in San Francisco, his home town. The visit was stiff and uncomfortable. Whatever friendship we'd had was one of those temporary on-the-road things the young forge amongst themselves. We never saw each other again.

Over the years I would return to Vienna several times. More than anything, I wanted to share this beloved city with Steve, and I did—two years later. Each time I'd reconnect with Ruxandra. In 1998 her mother had retired and was living with her in an apartment in the city where I was invited to stay. It would take 17 more years before I saw Ruxandra again—this time in Spitz in the home she shared with her new husband of five months.

I loved being able to say “I lived in Vienna” and when asked what I thought was the most beautiful city in the world I'd always give credit to this spectacular, elegant, imperial city.

I miss those glory days, though, when Vienna was far east of the European circuit, before the days when cheap air travel ferried people back forth within Europe for mere dollars.

And I miss ice cream. It just doesn't seem to be as prevalent today as it was then.

I have never lost my affection for this city and probably never will.