Transitions
March 26, 2014
Prague to Vienna
The last morning in Prague passes quickly, aided by late, bleary eyed rising and a quest to make a gift purchase. I return to shop to buy a marionette horse, but discover its menacing face was not so evident from the shop window. Not the perfect gift, after all. However, right next door does contain the perfect item, a bowl decorated in stars, cut from heavy Czech crystal. Aided by an ever helpful threesome of young ladies, I am not only delighted in the glass but can have it shipped home as well.
I retrace my path from yesterday, but beat my pace by 10-15 minutes in a direct route. My train leaves in an hour and I am notorious for screwing up train transfers (ask me about Paris Gare Nord, Venice, Kiel, Hanover...you get the idea). I take one last taxi without my favorite driver, Michal, arriving in plenty of time at Praha hlavní nádraží (main station). Now I just need food for the ride. Please God, save me.
It’s becoming evident to me that I am that awful character in When Harry met Sally. I like my food just so. Probably because I am allergic or sensitive or ethically opposed to most food. Mostly, I like salads, raw fruit and cold mayonnaise. PIzza is good. Coffee, yogurt. These I can do. However, I always like to order weird items in foreign countries. It’s really weird. I have had pigeon, haggis, veal, eel, all manner of weird homebrew, and last night I ate a slab of what I think was a nice local butter, thinking it my cheese course.
My options in the train station are limited. Burger King or French baguette. The line is really long at Burger King, and it looks sketchy, even for train station fast food. I choose the sandwich shop. I point and nod, hoping I get something nice like ham or turkey. It’s called the American. I am certain it will have tomatoes, at least. As I consume it waiting on the platform form my train, I am at least half way through when I realize the strange taste is hardboiled egg (something I forget about later when I shove the second half in my carry on during boarding). At least Cokemakes everything taste like childhood (I never drink soda, but here it makes up for a lot of things).
The train ride is five hours and passes as train rides generally do, slowly and without much effort. I doze, listening to the endless chatter of the people sitting next to me in German. I understand nothing, but we smile and nod when we need to move around or pass trash to the bin.
The green fields of Czech Republic give way to tall firs that look for all their worth like the ladies of seventeenth century court dress, their boughs hanging a beautiful dark green bell. I imagine them cousins with my Seattle firs once when waking from a nap, only to drift off again soon.
I totally blow it leaving the train station, Wien Meidling, which uses arrows to direct travelers. There’s not even a language, except TAXI in big yellow letters. I enjoy two escalator trips up and down, two elevator trips up and down before I find the exit. I am still reeling from the realization that I was sitting in seat 44 instead of 46 the entire train ride, something I figure out an hour before we arrive (I should have looked more closely at the picture next to the number). Even worse, the younger gentleman had tried to tell me so. I had shook my head and shrugged and he took the coveted window seat with a table.
Alas, I do have awesome luck with hotels. I always get the upgrade. Tonight in Vienna is no different and after I let the taxi driver charge me a flat fee instead of run a meter, I arrive at Levante Parliament.
It’s a treasure in the central district with modern design, glass, marble and steel filling the small spaces. My room, ahem, junior suite, y’all, is cozy but way more room that I need. I have a desk, a couch and some art glass that looks Chihuly-esque. I sigh with relief when I test it to make sure it is securely fastened to the desk lest I send it flying somehow. Orange accents everything. The floor is heated in the bathroom and there’s a fridge full of beer.
I think I am going to like Austria.
Love, D
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