The first time I went abroad, my answer to "Why did you decide to come to Austria?" was simple. It was the result of a set of coincidences: I took German because I didn't like the Spanish teacher (and then fell in love with the language) and went to Austria because the German academic calendar didn't mesh with Harvard's (and then fell in love with the country.) But I could have gone anywhere this summer, and I chose to come back. And that requires explanation. I was actually asked three times this week why I love Austria so much, and I think I mumbled something about Dirndls and Dialekt. But here's the real answer, my ode to Österreich in five movements. (I tried to select things that everyone can appreciate about Austria. There are of course other, smaller things that I have fallen in love with but that I realize are very subjective. For a list of those, see this post -- written in January but not published until now!)
1. Food quality
Even with the Biogurken scare, Austrian food laws mean that things here are fresher and less industrialized (genetically modified, pumped with hormones, etc). It's in Austria that I have developed a taste for tomatoes and strawberries (that don't look like mutants!) and lost my appetite for white American eggs. I was even brave enough on this trip to buy (gasp) Würstl at the grocery store, which was a big step, because I only started cooking meat like a month ago and processed meat normally makes me gag. But the national food of Austria actually isn't that bad, or that scary, to cook yourself.
Knowing that your food is not made from heavily processed meat paste is something that Austrians both take for granted and can't live without. (McDonald's picture menus show cut-aways of the chicken dishes, and guess what? They don't use fake chicken like they do in America!) And that's worth making a trip to Billa every three to four days because, without preservatives, your fruits and vegetables go bad quickly.
2. Public transportation
I'm not one of those Americans who would piss, cry, and fear for her life if she ever had to step foot on a bus. I love public transit, and sometimes, when my homework becomes too overwhelming, I get an irrestistable urge to jump on one of the buses waiting outside Harvard Square and explore some new part of town. But I'm clearly in the minority (and not in a good way). And with a ridership limited to young and/or poor people, public transportation funding isn't a high budget priority in Boston and Cambridge. Wien, on the other hand, is the perfect example of a virtuous cycle: People ride the Öffis because they're convenient and excellently networked (taking two Straßenbahnen to work actually takes less time than walking the approximately twelve blocks would), and that makes public transportation a priority. Lines don't get shut down every time there's a budget crises, and investments in new trains and buses allow the main bus and U-Bahn lines to run every 3-6 minutes during peak hours. EVERY THREE MINUTES. Enough said.
Having grown up contemplating the depressive majesty of rusted steel and abandoned factories, my definition of “beautiful architecture” is more expansive than most people’s. But there’s still something to be said for living in a city in which you are daily confronted with relics of an imperial past.
4. Not talking to people unless you want to
I hate excusing myself if I brush past someone and nick the corner of their clothes. I hate making small talk with strangers while waiting in line. I hate smiling at everyone with whom I have even the slightest business transaction (I hated it even more when I was the one performing the service.) In Austria, none of that's necessary. It's liberating to be able to be alone with your thoughts, to put on a blank / stone face and move through the world.
5. A Slower Pace of Life
But you're only cold to people you don't know. When you know someone, you take the time to enjoy their company. Rather than rushing from one activity to the next in search of fulfillment or distraction or a way to “kill that day,” you take the time to actually experience what you’re doing, whether it be hanging out with an old friend or eating a meal. You tack window days onto holidays and you close businesses on them, so that holidays are a time of relaxation, not a day to check a bunch of chores off of your to-do list. And rather than taking this as another source of frustration and stress, I’ve learned to accept it as a subtle reminder to live as the Austrians do.
Which is why I’m spending my Pentecost Monday sitting on some Surrealist's idea of a chair in the Museumsquartier, eating a pistachio ice cream, drinking a prickelndes Vöslauer, contemplating the nineteenth-century grandeur of the Kunsthistorisches Museum, and writing this ode to a country that is feeling more and more like home.
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