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In Tempting Vienna, You'll Wish You Were as Rich as its Desserts Budget Travel in the Imperial City Excerpts from a travel feature by Jackie Craven |
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"One hundred fifty schillings!" The cry echoed through the Michaelertor arcade to the Imperial Palace. In guarded rooms inside the palace complex, angels flew across trompe l'oeil frescoes, jeweled crowns perched on red velvet pedestals, and glass boxes held diamond-studded swords and an emerald the size of my fist. Outside, an artist was trying to sell her sketches.
The artist smiled hopefully. "For you, one hundred thirty." Our guide, an Austrian, eyed the drawings suspiciously. "I think they're photocopies." No matter. Here, in exquisite detail, was the Vienna of our dreams -- a Cinderella city of silken white Lipizza stallions trotting to Mozart tunes, women in satin swirling around grand marble ballrooms, and horse-drawn carriages clip-clopping past gothic towers lit up like golden filigree. "Eighty euros," said the artist. "Half price!" Purple, pink, and yellow bills fanned out in our hands like playing cards -- our euros seemed frivolous and easy to surrender. The artist rolled our fantasies into tight little tubes. Purchases tucked under our arms, we made a pact: No more indulgences. We had a budget, and we were determined to make our way across the Imperial City without emptying our pockets. But when we passed through the high, domed arch of the Michaelertor arcade, we discovered ourselves in a noisy plaza crowded with temptations. A saxophonist played a seductive rendition of "Windmills of Your Mind" beneath the windows of Haydn's garret apartment. Along the bustling Kohlmarkt street, windows beckoned with petit point brooches, Augarten porcelain, and poppy seed cakes. On rooftops, pillars, and pediments, stone faces peered down as if to say: "Ausgeben! Ausgeben!" ("Spend! Spend!") Our self-control was remarkable. Even on our first day, we bypassed waiting taxis for an airport bus. ("Six dollars!" grumbled an impatient passenger. "And we haven't gone anywhere yet!") In the City, we rode sleek, quiet subways that coursed like quicksilver beneath the wide tree-lined Ringstrasse. We jostled aboard red and white trolley cars that unfurled across Vienna like an Austrian flag. And, most of all, we walked-usually in collision course with bicycles that whizzed by in a blur of spokes. We made the usual tourist blunders. You know.
This type of thing never seemed to happen to the Viennese. They glided about the city with the unrumpled dignity of remembered glory. They carried flowers to the tomb of Empress Maria Theresa, dead for two hundred years. They lingered at sidewalk cafes, sipping coffee sweetened with chocolate squares and chatting about Habsburg heroes in starched white uniforms... Related Feature: Life's a Ball in Vienna, Birthplace of the Waltz To order features, Send your request. |
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Copyright © Jackie Craven. All rights reserved. |
The
five of us -- all Americans -- formed a huddle. Did anyone in all of
Austria use schillings any more? How much was 150 schillings worth in
euro banknotes? There was a formula: Divide by thirteen, subtract a
few. Or was it multiply by a few, and add thirteen? In the excitement
of the moment, we couldn't remember...
