Blogging about Venice, followed by Thanksgiving weekend guests, has put me behind on other topics. I'll use this post for highlights of our local adventures since our return from Venice. Instead of the usual tortured narrative and turgid filler, I'll just offer a few prose ornaments--some prettier than others--to hang here on the blog tree.
The Christmas markets we have visited are alive with lights and glitter, the scent of hot mulled wine, and shuffling crowds bundled against the cold. Our favorite is the one at Schonbrunn Palace, on the outskirts of the city, which offers nearly all locally made crafts. The largest--and prettiest--in Vienna is the one in front of city hall, the Rathaus, and its wares range from cotton candy to fine crystal. Many of the items here are also made by Austrian craftsmen, though many more are Chinese imports. There are toys, candles, soaps, winter wear, wine, liqueurs, and local foods. Abundant stands sell hot mulled wine, served in mugs to warm the hands while the alcohol, sugar, and spices warm the interior. At night the Rathaus grounds are magic: huge balls hang in high trees, like Chinese lanterns, illuminated in reds and pinks; arches at the entrances are entwined with brightly lit stars; inside, dark green wooden booths are encircled in lights, with glass ornaments, candy, toys and other wares brightly illuminated. This all sits before the imposing, gigantic neo-Gothic structure, the Rathaus, and behind it the night sky.
Belvedere Faces. In addition to the magnificent room of Klimt paintings, the Belvedere Palace offers a rich selection of 19th and early 20th-century art, including paintings of imagined scenes from local history, such as the 1683 Turkish invasion. (The palace, in fact, was built for Prince Eugene of Savoy, who helped save the city and drive out the Turks.) Besides the Klimt room, another room we found delightful is full of sculpted faces on free-standing pedestals, each depicting a different feeling or sensation, and visitors walk among them--the room is like a little garden of stone saplings with heads atop them. Our favorite was one with a wrinkled nose, closed eyes, and a furrowed brow; it was labeled "It Stinks!" We could see from the expressions on the faces of other visitors to the gallery that they, like we, were trying to suppress an impulse to mimic each face while examining it--very like wanting to moo when going past a field of cows. The sculptures reminded me of "figures" such as Overbury's Characters, written about the same time--the 18th century--that these faces were executed. In the 18th century, the phrase "it figures" applied to a person or a situation that fit a stereotype. Overbury's characters depicted social roles; my favorite is "The Fair and Happy Milkmaid"; her only care was to die in the springtime so that she might have flowers for her winding sheet. We plan to return to see the palace grounds in the springtime, gawking as stereotypical tourists, when the fountains are flowing in the three-tiered 18th-century gardens, and the snow-covers on the statues are removed, and the flowers are in bloom...a sculpted meadow.
The Augustine Church. Recently we attended a service at the Augustinerkirche to be treated to a Mozart mass performed by a choir and orchestra; such music is available every Sunday, and we'll be back for more. We arrived for the 11 a.m. service at 10:20 and sat near the back; by 10:40 it was standing-room-only. The Augustinerkirche is a 14th-century Gothic structure with rows of very bright electrically-lit chandeliers that seem out of place in their medieval setting: vaulted, high arches; a cold, uneven floor of gray flagstone and mortar; and simple wooden pews, planks dark with age, with pinhole-size pitting and cracks, looking very much like the weathered face of the woman who sat in front of me. As in a great many churches in Europe, the Augustinerkirche is unheated, so we remained bundled up for the whole service, our feet turning to lead and ice by the end of the mass--warmed on the inside by the wine of lively bright lights and even brighter music.
In Rome, the Augustine church is resplendent with gold and marble Baroque decor, with a Cosmatesque floor of multicolored bits of marble geometrically arranged; its side chapels are decorated with graceful statues and paintings by Caravaggio and others, and two of its supporting pillars display murals by Raphael; the music was often plain chant. In Vienna, the stone and wood setting of the Augustine church is, by comparison, plain; it is the music that provides the Raphael, the Caravaggio.
The Nasch Markt, the Mozart mass of open-air food markets, centuries old, stretches for more than 2 blocks near the edge of Vienna's old city center. That it is a popular place for pickpockets only adds to the color and energy. On Saturdays a mob of shoppers meanders and shuffles between the banks and stalls, many of which are run by Turks or Slavs. Shoppers and browsers are young and old, tourists with cameras and locals with shopping bags, some in furs and some in work clothes. Signs in various Slavic languages and in German identify wares and prices. At the first stall, the first sight to greet me was an octopus in a glass case. On display were squid tentacles, swordfish steaks, prawns, monkfish filets, tiny sepia that look like baby squid, salmon steaks, and more; the butchers' counters have all cuts of lamb, pork, beef, turkey, goose, duck, and chicken; earless skinned rabbits, which we thought at first were dachshund puppies, lie ramrod straight on skewers arrayed in rows, looking like pale pink baguettes. For those in search of a sheep's head, the Nasch Markt offers a good selection. Cheese of every variety was out, some of it in huge wheels, and banks and banks of spices, whole and ground. Pumpkin seed oil, apricot oil, olive oil, oil from almonds, peanuts, pecans--some bottled, some awaiting the crush of a hand-operated steel press. Figs, dates, olives, apples, oranges, pomegranites. Candy stands with spun sugar and fine chocolate, cookies and candy-coated nuts. Multicolored aromas...fish, spices, cheeses, tobacco, coffee, chocolate, vinegar, oranges...twined themselves around us like the tentacles of a gentle octopus.
Kahlenberg--stumbling on history bits. On a gray, windy Sunday morning in early November, we took the car out for exercise and meandered up the switchbacks above Grinzing, through the Vienna Woods, until we reached Kahlenberg, a mountain top with little to it but a church, a small cafe with a fine view of the Danube Valley, and a jarringly modern, steel and glass, small private college with a hotel. We parked and strolled around, continuing the meander on foot. Just beyond those buildings--up a steep walk on a mud path covered in yellow leaves--we came upon a red brick military observation tower dedicated to Crown Princess Stephanie, wife to the faithless Crown Prince Rudolf, who committed suicide in 1889 after killing his mistress. In the lot at the foot of the trail, near the cafe, is an old rail car of the horse-drawn variety; inside it are photos of the royals visiting the mountain top at the dedication of the watch tower. Also adjacent to the lot sits the church, which was burned down during the Turkish siege of Vienna in 1683 and was rebuilt the same year, as happened with our village of Grinzing. Attached to the cafe is a small souvenir shop. We stepped in to get out of the cold wind for a moment. In the shop, three middle-aged Chinese men carefully eyed and ran their fingers through three woolen knit caps for children, bright with multicolored stripes and with ear flaps and chin ties...possibly made in China. They tried them on, too small for their heads, and then purchased them and, chin straps tightly affixed, and walked out into the November chill, their capped heads gently bouncing like ornaments on a bough in the breeze.
The Christmas markets we have visited are alive with lights and glitter, the scent of hot mulled wine, and shuffling crowds bundled against the cold. Our favorite is the one at Schonbrunn Palace, on the outskirts of the city, which offers nearly all locally made crafts. The largest--and prettiest--in Vienna is the one in front of city hall, the Rathaus, and its wares range from cotton candy to fine crystal. Many of the items here are also made by Austrian craftsmen, though many more are Chinese imports. There are toys, candles, soaps, winter wear, wine, liqueurs, and local foods. Abundant stands sell hot mulled wine, served in mugs to warm the hands while the alcohol, sugar, and spices warm the interior. At night the Rathaus grounds are magic: huge balls hang in high trees, like Chinese lanterns, illuminated in reds and pinks; arches at the entrances are entwined with brightly lit stars; inside, dark green wooden booths are encircled in lights, with glass ornaments, candy, toys and other wares brightly illuminated. This all sits before the imposing, gigantic neo-Gothic structure, the Rathaus, and behind it the night sky.
Belvedere Faces. In addition to the magnificent room of Klimt paintings, the Belvedere Palace offers a rich selection of 19th and early 20th-century art, including paintings of imagined scenes from local history, such as the 1683 Turkish invasion. (The palace, in fact, was built for Prince Eugene of Savoy, who helped save the city and drive out the Turks.) Besides the Klimt room, another room we found delightful is full of sculpted faces on free-standing pedestals, each depicting a different feeling or sensation, and visitors walk among them--the room is like a little garden of stone saplings with heads atop them. Our favorite was one with a wrinkled nose, closed eyes, and a furrowed brow; it was labeled "It Stinks!" We could see from the expressions on the faces of other visitors to the gallery that they, like we, were trying to suppress an impulse to mimic each face while examining it--very like wanting to moo when going past a field of cows. The sculptures reminded me of "figures" such as Overbury's Characters, written about the same time--the 18th century--that these faces were executed. In the 18th century, the phrase "it figures" applied to a person or a situation that fit a stereotype. Overbury's characters depicted social roles; my favorite is "The Fair and Happy Milkmaid"; her only care was to die in the springtime so that she might have flowers for her winding sheet. We plan to return to see the palace grounds in the springtime, gawking as stereotypical tourists, when the fountains are flowing in the three-tiered 18th-century gardens, and the snow-covers on the statues are removed, and the flowers are in bloom...a sculpted meadow.
The Augustine Church. Recently we attended a service at the Augustinerkirche to be treated to a Mozart mass performed by a choir and orchestra; such music is available every Sunday, and we'll be back for more. We arrived for the 11 a.m. service at 10:20 and sat near the back; by 10:40 it was standing-room-only. The Augustinerkirche is a 14th-century Gothic structure with rows of very bright electrically-lit chandeliers that seem out of place in their medieval setting: vaulted, high arches; a cold, uneven floor of gray flagstone and mortar; and simple wooden pews, planks dark with age, with pinhole-size pitting and cracks, looking very much like the weathered face of the woman who sat in front of me. As in a great many churches in Europe, the Augustinerkirche is unheated, so we remained bundled up for the whole service, our feet turning to lead and ice by the end of the mass--warmed on the inside by the wine of lively bright lights and even brighter music.
In Rome, the Augustine church is resplendent with gold and marble Baroque decor, with a Cosmatesque floor of multicolored bits of marble geometrically arranged; its side chapels are decorated with graceful statues and paintings by Caravaggio and others, and two of its supporting pillars display murals by Raphael; the music was often plain chant. In Vienna, the stone and wood setting of the Augustine church is, by comparison, plain; it is the music that provides the Raphael, the Caravaggio.
The Nasch Markt, the Mozart mass of open-air food markets, centuries old, stretches for more than 2 blocks near the edge of Vienna's old city center. That it is a popular place for pickpockets only adds to the color and energy. On Saturdays a mob of shoppers meanders and shuffles between the banks and stalls, many of which are run by Turks or Slavs. Shoppers and browsers are young and old, tourists with cameras and locals with shopping bags, some in furs and some in work clothes. Signs in various Slavic languages and in German identify wares and prices. At the first stall, the first sight to greet me was an octopus in a glass case. On display were squid tentacles, swordfish steaks, prawns, monkfish filets, tiny sepia that look like baby squid, salmon steaks, and more; the butchers' counters have all cuts of lamb, pork, beef, turkey, goose, duck, and chicken; earless skinned rabbits, which we thought at first were dachshund puppies, lie ramrod straight on skewers arrayed in rows, looking like pale pink baguettes. For those in search of a sheep's head, the Nasch Markt offers a good selection. Cheese of every variety was out, some of it in huge wheels, and banks and banks of spices, whole and ground. Pumpkin seed oil, apricot oil, olive oil, oil from almonds, peanuts, pecans--some bottled, some awaiting the crush of a hand-operated steel press. Figs, dates, olives, apples, oranges, pomegranites. Candy stands with spun sugar and fine chocolate, cookies and candy-coated nuts. Multicolored aromas...fish, spices, cheeses, tobacco, coffee, chocolate, vinegar, oranges...twined themselves around us like the tentacles of a gentle octopus.
Kahlenberg--stumbling on history bits. On a gray, windy Sunday morning in early November, we took the car out for exercise and meandered up the switchbacks above Grinzing, through the Vienna Woods, until we reached Kahlenberg, a mountain top with little to it but a church, a small cafe with a fine view of the Danube Valley, and a jarringly modern, steel and glass, small private college with a hotel. We parked and strolled around, continuing the meander on foot. Just beyond those buildings--up a steep walk on a mud path covered in yellow leaves--we came upon a red brick military observation tower dedicated to Crown Princess Stephanie, wife to the faithless Crown Prince Rudolf, who committed suicide in 1889 after killing his mistress. In the lot at the foot of the trail, near the cafe, is an old rail car of the horse-drawn variety; inside it are photos of the royals visiting the mountain top at the dedication of the watch tower. Also adjacent to the lot sits the church, which was burned down during the Turkish siege of Vienna in 1683 and was rebuilt the same year, as happened with our village of Grinzing. Attached to the cafe is a small souvenir shop. We stepped in to get out of the cold wind for a moment. In the shop, three middle-aged Chinese men carefully eyed and ran their fingers through three woolen knit caps for children, bright with multicolored stripes and with ear flaps and chin ties...possibly made in China. They tried them on, too small for their heads, and then purchased them and, chin straps tightly affixed, and walked out into the November chill, their capped heads gently bouncing like ornaments on a bough in the breeze.
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