1) Didn’t crack an eye until almost 9 AM, practically heresy. But I had not put out the light until 1 AM, which never happens.
2) Laundry had to be a priority, and I was as proud as a five-year-old to have found a laundromat all by myself (via Gyygle) just a block and a skip from my hotel, Green and Clean. I loaded up my backpack (so easy with those packing cubes I was given, which I’ve mentioned before), found a bakery café en route for coffee and pastries, and praised the laundromat management for installing machines with instructions in multiple languages.
2a) Rather than wait through an entire wash/dry cycle, I passed the time in a little neighborhood park, overgrown and a bit scruffy, but full of shade and pigeons and pairs of Viennese smokers. The latter sat on the park benches, old friends with their arms around each other, students facing each other and laughing.
2a.i) The pigeons — there were a lot of them in this flock — interested me for two reasons: in all those gray pigeons there was one white pigeon with gray tail feathers. And it was quite obvious that none of those gray pigeons gave a damn that that white pigeon was a different color. They were all going after the same crumbs. As if that weren’t enough, seeing two or three of them perch on the top of an obelisk was like watching King of the Mountain.
2b) I really had not planned the day, but when I saw that a special exhibition at the Albertina was closing the next day, I booked an afternoon ticket online right there in the park. Finalmente, action!
3) My clothes came out of that combined washer/dryer in an undoubted state of dampness, but I folded everything into my pack, spread it all out as best as possible in my room, changed clothes, and headed into town.
4) All I knew about Albertina was the Albertina Rasch Dancers, which is not relevant. It was actually named for Archduke Albert (I forget which one, they all run together) — but then shouldn’t it be Albertino? And how about shaking up an Albertini for me? Decide for yourself here.
Three works by Matthew Wong.
4a) The special exhibition about to close compared two similar painters: Vincent van Gogh and Matthew Wong, Painting as a Last Resort. They both had trouble fitting into the world as it was, used similar techniques, and each died young by his own hand. The exhibition was thoughtful, boldly colorful, and made me wish to see more of the van Gogh paintings that we don’t know about. There was one, White Cottages at Saintes-Marie-de-la-Mer, that reopened my eyes to what van Gogh could communicate.
Undoubtedly the most beautiful work of art I saw today.
4b) Then up to the permanent collection, really wonderful and sometimes startling work of the early 20th century. I look at my photos this evening, and none of them capture the vibrancy of what I saw. Lots of Fauvists, some Surrealism, lots of color. One painting that made me feel like I had never seen anything like it before was Peace, by Giacometti, four little girls seated attentively on the floor while one of them tunes what looks like a musical instrument.
Self-Portrait in the Hotel, Max Beckmann, 1932.
4c) But the work that spoke to me of its time and place and my time and place was a self-portrait by an artist I hadn’t heard of, Max Beckmann. From the placard: “In January 1933, with the **z*’s seizure of power, Beckmann left Frankfurt for good and moved to Berlin. In hat and coat, a thick scarf around his neck, his hands in the coat pockets, he stands in the backlight, ready to leave. His face lies in the shadow . . . the converging lines, and the hard, black outline mark Beckmann’s fear of an uncertain future: the world seems to be out of joint . . . more than almost any other work, [this painting] testifies to his life situation and gloomy prospects at that time.”
4d) The State Rooms at the Albertina are an enfilade of drawing rooms in all the colors of the 19th-century rainbow. The yellowest yellows, paired with the palest lilac; arsenic green, silver blue, warm crimson — these people stole my life.
5) By this time it was 3 PM and Daddy was starting to feel peckish. The Café Central had been recommended to me and was a very easy walk away on this very hot day — why, I said to myself, not?
5a) I’d been warned that it’s “often crowded but worth a look,” and I did have to wait in line for about 15 minutes or so. Like the late Durgin-Park, they’re doing it for the tourists. Unlike Durgin-Park, their quality remains smart and sharp and 100% delicious. And did I mention that they’re air-conditioned?
5b) My table turned out to be right near the entrance, and my waiter laughed in a friendly way when I absentmindedly said “Nein sprechen ze Englisch.” Oopsie, obviously not doing very well with German either! We understood each other enough for me to order a Campari soda and a sandwich, and then later a melange and a slice of their Johann Strauss torte.
5c) I alternately scrolled through the (bad) news from home and took in the scene. During the leisurely period between my last sip of coffee and the presentation of the bill, the pianist started playing “Wiener Blut” and the Radetsky March, which absolutely lent the the right tone.
Inside Saint Stephen’s Cathedral.
6) At that point, I struck out with the informal goal of a prominent old-school haberdasher, which led me down a couple very high end shopping streets. There two women in perfect 1920s period ensembles walked past me: cloche hats, light floral cotton summer frocks, Harold Lloyd eyeglasses, and bright red lipstick. Just two matrons out for a stroll, looking wonderful.
6a) I continued my promenade to find a) a baritone singing opera in the street, and b) St. Stephen’s Cathedral — both impressive.
6b) I did eventually get into the cathedral, an experience unlike the controlled chaos of Notre Dame. First, far fewer people (though it felt like a lot) and a far darker interior. More of the church’s interior was off limits to tourists, too — less space to maneuver, and I don’t blame them.
6c) I should mention, too, the line of horsedrawn carriages along one side of the cathedral (and in front of the Hofburg, too) offering rides to tourists. I feel sorry for those horses, especially on a hot day like this. Were I a Victorian, I know I’d be contributing to the horse relief fund. That said, the sight and smell of their, ahem, “horse apples” was evident for some distance.
7) Instead of retracing my steps to Karlsplatz for the subway, I went the other direction to get on the same line at a different stop. The streets were full, but it felt like they were full of tourists, not locals.
8) Back in my room with a small tomato ciabatta sandwich, I fell like the dead onto my bed into a heavy NAP — I know, at 6 PM!
9) And then, what seems to have become my nightly routine, I come to the hotel bar with my laptop for a negroni. Now I need to turn my attention to structuring my remaining time here, and laying plans for my final weeks in London.
The Albertina is truly embracing Pride, as everyone should.