Nur Du Allein

I realize that many of my blog posts lately have been quite snarky. Because I'm so familiar with Wien now, I don't feel the need to gush over it the way I once did. I prefer to write about the things I find amusing, the things that strike me as odd as I go about the city interacting with its people.

Sometimes, though, even this hardened Wienerin is struck by how lucky I am to live in such a magical city. Like this weekend, when the first Christkindlmärkte opened.


My high school friend Leah was visiting Wien for the weekend, coming off of a study abroad semester in Croatia, and I offered to meet her and her friends for dinner at Unibräu in the Altes AKH. They had gotten lost and were running late, so I took the time to wander around the market. Darkness had fallen, and there was a crispness to the air -- enough that you knew it was winter, not so much that you felt the need to seek shelter or risk losing some toes.

The stalls were glowing softly in the night. A small brass band sitting atop one of the larger Punschstandl was playing Christmas songs -- the deep, warm notes of a tuba; the more piercing sound of a trumpet.

I sipped my first Glühwein of the season, and even stole the cup. (I needed a new Häferl, and 2 Euros seemed like a good price to pay for a mug with basically every famous site in Vienna on it, plus the lingering scent of Glühwein).

Don't look now -- If you're an American friend of mine, you're probably gonna be getting one of these for Christmas. 

This is my favorite time of year. I've always been a Christmas person, looking forward to trimming the tree with my family the weekend after Thanksgiving and to watching Christmas movies throughout December. But Christmas in Wien is another thing entirely. As I walked around the Christmas market on Saturday, I was struck by how lucky I am to live in such a stunning city.

Five years ago, Leah and I both came to Vienna (ok, Niederösterreich*) for the first time, and both fell in love with the city. But I remained true to her -- coming back year after year, drawn to the wide stretches of green along the Donauinsel, the Sonntagsruhe, to the way the lights of the old rot-weiß-rot Straßenbahn cars penetrate the narrow streets of Josefstadt at dusk, to Würstlstandl on every corner, to words like "leiwand" and "Moahlzeit."

Me, Leah, and Lisa (another high school friend) eating our Pausenbrot in 2008. Some things never change: I will never really understand Aufstrich. But other things do: When I hear "Grüß Gott," I no longer respond with "Frühstück."

And now I get to stay here until July. July -- every time I say it, I feel a smile forming on my lips. So. Much. Time. My Aufenthalt is only a little more than a third over. The last time I was here for the Christmas season, in 2010, I marked each passing day with increasing dread -- another day in this magical place gone, over, vorbei, when I had so few remaining.

Now, though, I can enjoy Weihnachten without this feeling of panic. I'm even excited about getting to see my family again in a little less than a month. Why? Because I can go back. I can go home, and come back, and Wien will still be there. Six months in this wonderful country will still be waiting for me, with everything they have in store. (Grillsaison, anyone?)



* Das war quasi meine Maturareise -- nach Gänserndorf, Niederösterreich. Lustig, oder?