Most musicians are aware of Mozart's relationship with his father. He embraced his son's talent with open arms. He paraded young Mozart all around Europe hawking his talent and making him known to the public. He considered his whole family fortunate to have a member (or two, as his daughter, Nanerl was also of great musical talent) in posession of a talent so lucrative.
This is why, I suppose, I was so surprised to read in our exerpts for class of Schubert's father being opposed to his devoting his life to music. I suppose it seemed odd, what with he, himself being musical, and encouraging his son to study violin and music in general, even organizing a family string quartet, that he didn't envision music as his son's ticket to a successful life.
It seems that the emergence of both Schubert and Mozart's talents were similar. Both were very young, skilled at piano and violin. Both wrote small inventions of their own, and showed early promise of talent in composition in general.
The times were not so different in between Mozart and Schubert as to make me think that Schubert's father, a humble school teacher living with his family of seven in a two room apartment, would not realize the potential of having a young son so talented. Not that he necessarily should have farmed out his child's talent in exchange for money or his own personal fame. We see the effects of this "stage-parent" syndrome all over the place today (Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Miley Cyrus- take your pick of any oversexed, underloved starlet in the tabloids today...), and it can visibly turn into a bad thing. But Mozart's story of being a tiny tot with gifted possibilites would not have been so long ago that Schubert's father would not have thought it possible for his son, of comparable talent, to also become a pint-sized rockstar.
As we know, Schubert's father obviously relented when he realized that music was what Schubert truly wanted to do. Schubert went on to have a very successful and prolific musical life. This makes me wonder: Had Mozart's father not pushed his musical talent to its utmost potential, would Mozart have been the man we remember today? What if, at seven years old, he had discovered he loved to paint, or throw pottery, or play polo, or decided to become a junior politician? The world will never know.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Contrasting Mozart's Memorials
If there's one thing there's alot of in Austria, it's Mozart memorials. Each of them are unique and humbling in their own way.
The first we visited was Mozart's grave in the Central Cemetary. Easily the darkest of the three, an angel sits atop a stack of books containing his works, weeping with a copy of his Requiem in her hands. One can't escape the feeling of great loss; that we are truly forsaken for having lost such a talent at such a young age. Surrounded by beautiful graves of other great musicians, a sense of despair lingers in the air.
The second monument is in the park at the Museums Quartier. A stark comparison to the first, a triumphant Mozart stands atop a giant marble creation, all the instruments he wrote for stacked at the base. The back is ornamented with a stylized scene from his youth; he is playing the klavier while his father and sister look on in quiet adoration. A massive treble clef, formed of planted geraniums stretches on ahead of him. It leaves us with a sense of hope, that even though he is no longer with us, his music will always live on.
The third monument, where Mozart is thought to be buried, was the most emotional. In Saint Marx cemetary, an angel stands at the base of his grave, his head in his hand, as if to ask, "How could this have happened?" He stares at Mozart's grave in a state of near disbelief. Off by himself in a small field, Mozart's grave is surrounded by lush begonias and an aura of peace.
Since visiting a Mozart grave or memorial is certainly on the bucket-list of any musician, I would've felt lucky to have been able to pay hommage at just one of those sites, but to be able to visit three Mozart monuments makes me feel truly blessed.
The first we visited was Mozart's grave in the Central Cemetary. Easily the darkest of the three, an angel sits atop a stack of books containing his works, weeping with a copy of his Requiem in her hands. One can't escape the feeling of great loss; that we are truly forsaken for having lost such a talent at such a young age. Surrounded by beautiful graves of other great musicians, a sense of despair lingers in the air.
The second monument is in the park at the Museums Quartier. A stark comparison to the first, a triumphant Mozart stands atop a giant marble creation, all the instruments he wrote for stacked at the base. The back is ornamented with a stylized scene from his youth; he is playing the klavier while his father and sister look on in quiet adoration. A massive treble clef, formed of planted geraniums stretches on ahead of him. It leaves us with a sense of hope, that even though he is no longer with us, his music will always live on.
The third monument, where Mozart is thought to be buried, was the most emotional. In Saint Marx cemetary, an angel stands at the base of his grave, his head in his hand, as if to ask, "How could this have happened?" He stares at Mozart's grave in a state of near disbelief. Off by himself in a small field, Mozart's grave is surrounded by lush begonias and an aura of peace.
Since visiting a Mozart grave or memorial is certainly on the bucket-list of any musician, I would've felt lucky to have been able to pay hommage at just one of those sites, but to be able to visit three Mozart monuments makes me feel truly blessed.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D Major at the Musik Verein
About halfway through our Viennese expreience, Matt and I realized we hadn't yet heard any Beethoven. We were pleasantly surprised to come across an opportunity to hear Rainier Kuchel at the Musik Verein performing Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D Major.
The most inexpensive tickets one can purchase in the Musik Verein Brahms Saal went for about 5 Euros and had no view of the stage. Most times this was somewhat of a challenge for me, as I typically need some sort of visual stimulus to be totally entertained. Although I couldn't see him, I sat in rapture for the entire concert.
Each new movement was better than the last. Soaring cadenzas, difficult technical passages, nothing was too great a challenge. We felt so lucky to be hearing the concertmaster of the Vienna Phil performing solo. Not only did he play completely from memory, but he played so beautifully that he recieved three encores, which was the first time I had ever seen that happen.
Like all Beethoven, this piece is dramatic, as is it's story. Beethoven had written this piece to showcase the talent of Franz Clement, a violin playing colleague who had given him input for his opera, Fidelio. Beethoven finished the piece so late before the performance that Clement was forced to sight read it on stage, which after having heard the piece, is beyond impressive.
While I'm sure Kuchel wasn't sight reading, his interpretation was nothing less than spectacular. This was easily something everyone present will remember for a lifetime.
The most inexpensive tickets one can purchase in the Musik Verein Brahms Saal went for about 5 Euros and had no view of the stage. Most times this was somewhat of a challenge for me, as I typically need some sort of visual stimulus to be totally entertained. Although I couldn't see him, I sat in rapture for the entire concert.
Each new movement was better than the last. Soaring cadenzas, difficult technical passages, nothing was too great a challenge. We felt so lucky to be hearing the concertmaster of the Vienna Phil performing solo. Not only did he play completely from memory, but he played so beautifully that he recieved three encores, which was the first time I had ever seen that happen.
Like all Beethoven, this piece is dramatic, as is it's story. Beethoven had written this piece to showcase the talent of Franz Clement, a violin playing colleague who had given him input for his opera, Fidelio. Beethoven finished the piece so late before the performance that Clement was forced to sight read it on stage, which after having heard the piece, is beyond impressive.
While I'm sure Kuchel wasn't sight reading, his interpretation was nothing less than spectacular. This was easily something everyone present will remember for a lifetime.
Hofsburg March: Schonbrunn
I came to Vienna to get my fill of classical music. I saw museums, concerts, statues, artwork, street performers, palaces and composers' houses, all ranging in price from one Euro to fifty, but I've never in my life seen anything quite like the free Vienna Phil concert at Schonbrunn.
Picture if you will eleven thousand people, all of different walks of life. Some had been camped there for a good spot all day, most were wandering in about an hour before for standing room only. As twilight fell, the Glorietta albaze with light, the first tuning pitch sounded and the crowd fell silent. John William's Star Wars theme filled the air, and everyone gasped.
I realize that there was no Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, or Brahms on the program, but it was one of the most significant concerts I saw there as a musician. It wasn't a high brow concerto, it wasn't a technically advanced aria. It was the theme from an American classic movie, and in that moment, all those thousands of people were nothing but completely united as one, just listening.
That is why we are musicians. We live for those moments. I know that if ever I'm in doubt about what I'm devoting my life to, all I have to do is think back to that moment. One of the premiere ensembles of the world was playing Darth Vader's march and nothing could've bonded us all any better. It didn't matter if you were a concert violinist or a car mechanic. The whole world stood in awe, soldered together by music. Indeed this is why we play.
Picture if you will eleven thousand people, all of different walks of life. Some had been camped there for a good spot all day, most were wandering in about an hour before for standing room only. As twilight fell, the Glorietta albaze with light, the first tuning pitch sounded and the crowd fell silent. John William's Star Wars theme filled the air, and everyone gasped.
I realize that there was no Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, or Brahms on the program, but it was one of the most significant concerts I saw there as a musician. It wasn't a high brow concerto, it wasn't a technically advanced aria. It was the theme from an American classic movie, and in that moment, all those thousands of people were nothing but completely united as one, just listening.
That is why we are musicians. We live for those moments. I know that if ever I'm in doubt about what I'm devoting my life to, all I have to do is think back to that moment. One of the premiere ensembles of the world was playing Darth Vader's march and nothing could've bonded us all any better. It didn't matter if you were a concert violinist or a car mechanic. The whole world stood in awe, soldered together by music. Indeed this is why we play.
Abduction from the Seraglio
I was incredibly excited to see the Volksoper's production of The Abduction from the Seraglio. I had been awed earlier in our trip by Puccini's Madame Butterfly, and couldn't wait to get another taste of opera in Vienna. Unfortunately, I was incredibly disappointed by what I would end up experiencing.
The basic plot is interesting enough. Konstanze and her hand-maiden are abducted and taken to the harem of the Pasha Salim. Konstanze's lover Belmont attempts to rescue her with the help of his servant Pedrillo. Everyone stands around and sings about how bad everything is, and drama ensues.
While the music is beautiful, as all music of Mozart characteristically is, the voices chosen to play the parts in this particular production were not good enough to overshadow the lack of scenery and sight-read feel of the music on the part of the orchestra. The bright spot in the production was the soprano who performed the part of the hand-maiden. She had a lovely, clear and sparkling tone. Her arias shone brighter than any other piece performed all evening.
Of course opera as an art form is mainly about the music (understandably so...), but the reason it's opera and not just a concert of collected pieces and performers is because there is scenery to be admired. The scenery of this particular opera was white. ALL white. The performers for the most part wore all white, the floor and ceiling and walls and furniture were ALL white. The only color element to be seen throughout the first three acts of the performance were four false ferns. I suppose there was some sort of artistic statement to be found there, but sadly it must have been lost on me.
I only stayed through the three of the four acts. While everything musical in Vienna is a treat sheerly because of where it is taking place, I suppose the old addage remains true that not all that glitters is gold.
The basic plot is interesting enough. Konstanze and her hand-maiden are abducted and taken to the harem of the Pasha Salim. Konstanze's lover Belmont attempts to rescue her with the help of his servant Pedrillo. Everyone stands around and sings about how bad everything is, and drama ensues.
While the music is beautiful, as all music of Mozart characteristically is, the voices chosen to play the parts in this particular production were not good enough to overshadow the lack of scenery and sight-read feel of the music on the part of the orchestra. The bright spot in the production was the soprano who performed the part of the hand-maiden. She had a lovely, clear and sparkling tone. Her arias shone brighter than any other piece performed all evening.
Of course opera as an art form is mainly about the music (understandably so...), but the reason it's opera and not just a concert of collected pieces and performers is because there is scenery to be admired. The scenery of this particular opera was white. ALL white. The performers for the most part wore all white, the floor and ceiling and walls and furniture were ALL white. The only color element to be seen throughout the first three acts of the performance were four false ferns. I suppose there was some sort of artistic statement to be found there, but sadly it must have been lost on me.
I only stayed through the three of the four acts. While everything musical in Vienna is a treat sheerly because of where it is taking place, I suppose the old addage remains true that not all that glitters is gold.
Schoenberg Center and Pierrot Lunaire
What I would give to crawl around in Arnold Schoenberg's head. A seemingly normal father and husband, I found on our trip to the Schoenberg center that old Arnold lived in essentially, my house. Like his, mine is filled with old books, strange artwork in various states of completion that I and my fiance have made, millions of notebooks full of ideas, sheet music of all kinds and ages, musical instruments and their cases, and many othe collected oddities. He favored the same color palette, a soft yellow with dark furniture in an eclectic mix of hues and time periods of origin.
While eccentric, the mock up of his house could have been any musician's home. This was somewhat surprising having attended Pierrot Lunaire a couple of weeks before. I had heard recordings of this piece, but there's nothing quite like it live. The only word for it really is haunting. The song cycle is set to German translations of Albert Giraud's cycle of French poems and is typically sung by a soprano in a speak-singing (or Sprechstimme) style. It's full of trembling violins, clarinte glissandos, and like I said, a moaning soprano. It's really just downright creepy. Pierrot Lunaire puts its listeners in a trancelike fantasy mindset. At times it can sound almost hopeful, but this is almost always doused by a haunting, verging on violent text setting. It's not in his twelve-tone, twentieth century style, but there are several themes that circulate throughout that add to the repetitive feeling of musical dread. While that sounds like a completely negative reaction, I completely enjoyed the performance. It was so entirely different from all the other Viennese music that we studied that it was a welcome foray into the altogther different world of Arnold Schoenberg.
While eccentric, the mock up of his house could have been any musician's home. This was somewhat surprising having attended Pierrot Lunaire a couple of weeks before. I had heard recordings of this piece, but there's nothing quite like it live. The only word for it really is haunting. The song cycle is set to German translations of Albert Giraud's cycle of French poems and is typically sung by a soprano in a speak-singing (or Sprechstimme) style. It's full of trembling violins, clarinte glissandos, and like I said, a moaning soprano. It's really just downright creepy. Pierrot Lunaire puts its listeners in a trancelike fantasy mindset. At times it can sound almost hopeful, but this is almost always doused by a haunting, verging on violent text setting. It's not in his twelve-tone, twentieth century style, but there are several themes that circulate throughout that add to the repetitive feeling of musical dread. While that sounds like a completely negative reaction, I completely enjoyed the performance. It was so entirely different from all the other Viennese music that we studied that it was a welcome foray into the altogther different world of Arnold Schoenberg.
FACSIMILE: Where's the real stuff Haydn?
I was expecting for us to visit many composers' houses while we were in Austria. It seemed logical; it's a tourism-based country, and no one could blame Austria for making a little cash off of their rich artistic history, right? So upon entering Haydn's small apartment in Eisenstadt, I was excited to discover what would be there. Would it be his piano? Would there be books of his manuscripts? Would they have some of his clothes or a piece of his wig? I scoured each case carefully, pouring diligently over letters he wrote, his marriage license, page after page of delicate notation, gleaming tidbit after tidbit about his life and work. What it must have been like, to be within these walls while he worked. How different it is to be a musician now working when and how you want, as opposed to being on call by a royal family whose life soundtrack you would be imposed upon to write on a whim. It was about 15 minutes into my trusting adoration that I noticed the fine print at the bottom of one of the exhibits, and came to know that word that I and my Euros would come to dread: "FACSIMILE". The word was emblazoned upon almost every surface I could see. I browsed my English pamphlet given to me at the door; this wasn't Haydn's house! It was Haydn't staircase with a replica built around it. I felt used. They had played upon my childish enthusiasm and given me photocopies with a decorative edge. I was wiser, savvier than when I entered. I was also on the prowl. I would find real composer artifacts. I had four more weeks; it could only get more real from here.
The Eroica House trip, Heilegenstadt
I could've spent years in the woods at Heiligenstadt. No one could blame Beethoven for being inspired to write so many works here. Winding paths past vineyards and fields of mustard made for easily the most refreshing and inspiring day we had in the latter half of our European adventure. Our ramble took us past Beethoven's monument, where we marveled at how differently he was portrayed from his colleague Mozart. Solid and handsome. An epic portrayal of masculinity, he was the staunch opposite to the lithe, airy, pretty boy Mozart. We ended up at the Eroica House, where Beethoven wrote his third symphony, among other works.
Setting aside the fact that yet again, no one can prove whether or not Beethoven actually set foot inside this tiny apartment, and that like most Viennese homes apparently, it had been ravaged by fire several times over the years since Beethoven had "lived" there, it housed several interesting antiques. Beethoven's key plate and doorknob were proudly on display along with a copy of his death mask (a startling opposite to the proud limestone effigy we had seen earlier in the day with it's sunken eyes and barren cheekbones). A view of his backyard from the second story, vineyards and lush woodland stretching on beyond made us realize how easily it must have been to be inspired by this green oasis.
In contrast, we learned some about the Heiligenstadt Testament, his famous unfounded "last words", written in a proposed suicide letter to his brother. Fortunately, he never acted upon this dark impulse, but the letter he intended to leave behind gives us an insight into a mind we might otherwise view as a fonte of talent and nothing else. In all actuality, Beethoven was a troubled soul, never marrying, losing his hearing at such a young age, the man we view as an almost perfect talent, at at least one point in his life, felt unworthy of existence. It's hard to imagine. And all that for the low, low price of one Euro.
Setting aside the fact that yet again, no one can prove whether or not Beethoven actually set foot inside this tiny apartment, and that like most Viennese homes apparently, it had been ravaged by fire several times over the years since Beethoven had "lived" there, it housed several interesting antiques. Beethoven's key plate and doorknob were proudly on display along with a copy of his death mask (a startling opposite to the proud limestone effigy we had seen earlier in the day with it's sunken eyes and barren cheekbones). A view of his backyard from the second story, vineyards and lush woodland stretching on beyond made us realize how easily it must have been to be inspired by this green oasis.
In contrast, we learned some about the Heiligenstadt Testament, his famous unfounded "last words", written in a proposed suicide letter to his brother. Fortunately, he never acted upon this dark impulse, but the letter he intended to leave behind gives us an insight into a mind we might otherwise view as a fonte of talent and nothing else. In all actuality, Beethoven was a troubled soul, never marrying, losing his hearing at such a young age, the man we view as an almost perfect talent, at at least one point in his life, felt unworthy of existence. It's hard to imagine. And all that for the low, low price of one Euro.
Mozart's House in Salzburg
How lucky was I to have been there? That's what have to keep asking myself over and over. To be where he was born, where he lived and began his years as the genius who will be forever revered for his talents. This was, by definition, precisely what I came to Austria to do. While it may sound somewhat morbid, I think it's safe to say that being able to see his hair, even behind a glass case, was about as close to a religious experience as it gets for a musician. I drooled over his buttons, swooned over his childhood violin, and paid hommage to his pianoforte (the only artifact I was not able to sneak an illegal picture of...). It was amazing to see where he'd been a baby, before anyone knew who or what he would become.
I played the role of the ugly American tourist, sneaking pictures of his hair and buttons not five feet from the museum security guard. I lingered too long next to the Klavier, and bought about fifty dollars worth of chintzy Mozart memorabilia to remember our musical hajj.
While we remember Mozart for his music, his abilities as a composer, and his supposedly colorful personality, it was perhaps most poignant to see how he grew up. To read about his relationship with his sister, how his mother watched quietly in the background while his father raised him to be a music machine. I was finally satisfied in my quest to touch history, having viewed one of the world's masters from such a personal angle.
I played the role of the ugly American tourist, sneaking pictures of his hair and buttons not five feet from the museum security guard. I lingered too long next to the Klavier, and bought about fifty dollars worth of chintzy Mozart memorabilia to remember our musical hajj.
While we remember Mozart for his music, his abilities as a composer, and his supposedly colorful personality, it was perhaps most poignant to see how he grew up. To read about his relationship with his sister, how his mother watched quietly in the background while his father raised him to be a music machine. I was finally satisfied in my quest to touch history, having viewed one of the world's masters from such a personal angle.
Mozart's Apartment in Wien
After Haydn's humble abode, I can't say as such that I had very high expectations for Mozart's apartment here in Vienna. I was anticipating rows of fake documents, a model of his piano, maybe a mock-up of his living room. I was somewhat pleasantly surprised.
It was enlightening to walk where Mozart had written The Magic Flute. Even more interesting to hear that the museum had, in, fact, been implemented by the Nazi party to preserve some of his history. It was also an uplifting surprise to discover that this was one of the few places we would visit that hadn't been totally destroyed during, and rebuilt after, WWII. I was taken aback to touch (which was somewhat against the rules, what with all the "DO NOT TOUCH" signs hanging around...) Mozart and Constanze's bedroom wall, and to see the faux marble finish that they had woken up to everyday for several years.
While a refreshing change from the diorama-like state of Haydn's home in Eisenstadt, I was still greeted warmly by that word I hold so incredibly dear. "FACSIMILE" donned most of the documents, and I was treated with many a mock-up of what furniture Mozart may have owned.
In this hunt for authentic composer antiquities, one must remember that knowledge may be gleamed from even the most obvious recreation. For instance, Mozart's kitchen chairs reflected his status as an upper middle class citizen. They were padded, making them more luxurious than those of a pauper, but had no arms, making them not so plush as those of a man of great economic importance. I can't say I wasn't disappointed however, to find that Mozart's kitchen had been nicely renovated into a gift shop, where you can purchase a bust of the man himself for only 14 Euros.
It was enlightening to walk where Mozart had written The Magic Flute. Even more interesting to hear that the museum had, in, fact, been implemented by the Nazi party to preserve some of his history. It was also an uplifting surprise to discover that this was one of the few places we would visit that hadn't been totally destroyed during, and rebuilt after, WWII. I was taken aback to touch (which was somewhat against the rules, what with all the "DO NOT TOUCH" signs hanging around...) Mozart and Constanze's bedroom wall, and to see the faux marble finish that they had woken up to everyday for several years.
While a refreshing change from the diorama-like state of Haydn's home in Eisenstadt, I was still greeted warmly by that word I hold so incredibly dear. "FACSIMILE" donned most of the documents, and I was treated with many a mock-up of what furniture Mozart may have owned.
In this hunt for authentic composer antiquities, one must remember that knowledge may be gleamed from even the most obvious recreation. For instance, Mozart's kitchen chairs reflected his status as an upper middle class citizen. They were padded, making them more luxurious than those of a pauper, but had no arms, making them not so plush as those of a man of great economic importance. I can't say I wasn't disappointed however, to find that Mozart's kitchen had been nicely renovated into a gift shop, where you can purchase a bust of the man himself for only 14 Euros.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Hostel-ity
Oh, the hostel... We got here and it was okay, and it's still okay, but culture shock doesn't even begin to cover it. It turns out you can, in fact, fit five girls, five full suitcases, six beds, six lockers, a shower, a sink, a toilet, and a trash can all into a phone booth. So far so good as we're all still standing almost two weeks in. Something else to note: European showers and windows operate quite differently than in the US. As it turns out, if your giant window tips in at you, you are not actually about to die, fear not. Also, make sure you keep the shower curtain IN and UNDER the 2 inch lip surrounding the drain. Failure to do this will result in flooding of room, destroyal of electronics, and sacrificing of towels. I bet you could've figured that out, but I thought I'd save you the trouble.
Also, if we were all smart, we'd charge 6 euros to do a load of laundry in our houses. We'd make a mint. That's what the hostel does and they seem to be doing pretty well. Also: get used to starch, it comes built into the detergent.
We have two really adorable, round little Austrian ladies that make the breakfast every morning. They really didn't appreciate our lack of German skills in the beginning, but now when you bring them your used coffee cup they smile really really big and say, "THANK YOU! GOOD MORNING!" Their enthusiasm is deeply appreciated.
We also have a very nice sunroom, where we all use the free wi-fi instead of paying 4 euros an hour to use the house machines. Sometimes the internet doesn't work, and it gives me nervous breakdowns, which I think is totally understandable since this is my only link to you lovely people.
I guess the best way to some all of that up is well, life is vat you make it.
Also, if we were all smart, we'd charge 6 euros to do a load of laundry in our houses. We'd make a mint. That's what the hostel does and they seem to be doing pretty well. Also: get used to starch, it comes built into the detergent.
We have two really adorable, round little Austrian ladies that make the breakfast every morning. They really didn't appreciate our lack of German skills in the beginning, but now when you bring them your used coffee cup they smile really really big and say, "THANK YOU! GOOD MORNING!" Their enthusiasm is deeply appreciated.
We also have a very nice sunroom, where we all use the free wi-fi instead of paying 4 euros an hour to use the house machines. Sometimes the internet doesn't work, and it gives me nervous breakdowns, which I think is totally understandable since this is my only link to you lovely people.
I guess the best way to some all of that up is well, life is vat you make it.
Gay Pari!
Okay, so all I had was a five hour layover in the Paris airport, but the ladies' restroom, the mini sandwich and my spaceous seat in the D concourse were all pretty Bon Jour if you ask me. What was not gay at all was the five euro bottle of water that I bought. It made my mouth taste furry. It is a known fact however, that Montanans are water snobs, and anything that wasn't just freshly dripped off of a glacier tastes like mud to us, so my opinion could be biased. The layover itself was pretty decent, until we all bought the water and instantly got crabby. Luckily I slept the entire rest of the way there, interrupted only by a lovely French stewardess, offering me yet another miniature sandwich, which apparently the French hold quite dear, as I experienced no normal sized sandwiches throughout the duration of my stay in their lovely airport.
Leavin' on a Jetplane- the most Overused Facebook Status in the History of Man Kind.
I guess technically we left on a bus-plane, but who can really keep track at 2:30 in the morning? No one, that's who. The idea was that we were supposed to all go to sleep on the bus and wake up on Vienna time, and granted, I can't speak for everyone else who can't roll up in a ball, hit their fiancee in the face repeatedly and sleep like a rock on a moving object, but for those of us who can, the bus ride was GREAT.
The plane ride was even better. I don't think any of us (being in economy seats...) were expecting a full hot meal of chicken with mashed potatoes and chives, cous cous and smoked salmon, brownies, brandy and champagne. That was most certainly a pleasant surprise. We got nicely tipsy on free booze, and then watched a whole bunch of free movies. I suffered through Shutter Island, and then forced Matt to suffer through New Moon. I then resumed my routine of fiancee hitting and rolling up in a ball and slept all the way there.
The plane ride was even better. I don't think any of us (being in economy seats...) were expecting a full hot meal of chicken with mashed potatoes and chives, cous cous and smoked salmon, brownies, brandy and champagne. That was most certainly a pleasant surprise. We got nicely tipsy on free booze, and then watched a whole bunch of free movies. I suffered through Shutter Island, and then forced Matt to suffer through New Moon. I then resumed my routine of fiancee hitting and rolling up in a ball and slept all the way there.
Catching up...
Hi there Y'all!
While I realize I'm starting this a bit late, I finally have two full hours of nothing to sit with a box of grapes in varying states of gross due to lack of cold storage, and a 2.7 Euro bottle of "Wasser mit Gas" from our vending machine to start this blog. It started out as a class requirement for two of the classes I'm taking while I'm here, but I figure it's a pretty decent way to keep up with those of you at home, and if you have to suffer through some art criticism and concert reviews while we're at it, so be it, you'll still love me anyway! I also anticipate talking alot about food, so be looking forward to that as we all know how much I like to eat (I have a really entertaining story about Matt and I and a couple of pizzas I'll share later...). You'll notice that there will be a bunch of posts happening on one specific day. It's because I'm a slacker, and I started this in a notebook first, but I promise everything you read after today will be completely, 100% firsthand! From Mozart to Bratwurst, and from Schnitzel to Strauss, prepare yourself for a Weiner of a time!
While I realize I'm starting this a bit late, I finally have two full hours of nothing to sit with a box of grapes in varying states of gross due to lack of cold storage, and a 2.7 Euro bottle of "Wasser mit Gas" from our vending machine to start this blog. It started out as a class requirement for two of the classes I'm taking while I'm here, but I figure it's a pretty decent way to keep up with those of you at home, and if you have to suffer through some art criticism and concert reviews while we're at it, so be it, you'll still love me anyway! I also anticipate talking alot about food, so be looking forward to that as we all know how much I like to eat (I have a really entertaining story about Matt and I and a couple of pizzas I'll share later...). You'll notice that there will be a bunch of posts happening on one specific day. It's because I'm a slacker, and I started this in a notebook first, but I promise everything you read after today will be completely, 100% firsthand! From Mozart to Bratwurst, and from Schnitzel to Strauss, prepare yourself for a Weiner of a time!
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