Euro18: Sunday in Vienna

I took a slower pace on Sunday and found myself watching people even more than usual.

Without being too creepy (and of course any time one writes that phrase, it’s because something creepy is taking place), here are some local color shots from Sunday–


A whole group of Japanese kids and mothers, the children all dressed this way, approached Cafe Schwarzenberg not long after I sat down for lunch. Only one small group actually sat down (the rest going across the street to McDonald’s), and that group was a mother with twin sons. The boys put me to shame, switching easily between German with the waiter, Japanese at the table, and then English after their food arrived when this kid turned to me and asked in faultless English “Would you please take our photo?”. This must be a school group from Japan? What you are not seeing clearly in the photo is the socks that match the dress shorts, and the black patent leather shoes.


I noticed a woman in traditional garb last week. On Sunday I almost missed this one cross the Ringstrasse at Schwarzenbergplatz. She had just thrown down a cigarette.


My lunch: the Steirischer Backhendelsalat is a hit with me.  Yummy yummy good.  And of course Esterhazytorte is my favorite Viennese pastry.  I love the presentation of coffee — in a little pot, with a pitcher of milk, and always a small glass of water!


On the tram to the cemetery, these two sat down in front of me. I surmised quickly that they are twins. They talked softly all the way to the same stop where I alighted, and they carried with them some greenery. The last I saw of them, they were buying flowers outside the cemetery gate. One wonders whose grave(s) they were planning to adorn. A parent? A sibling? Their former husbands?

Notice they are both in plaid, both wearing pearl earrings (although different styles), and both with the same hair rinse.


On the tram, we passed Tropico Markt, which sells”Orientalische” things like Bollywood films and cosmetics and various sauces.


Later, at gelato, this older man was by himself, enjoying his espresso and ice cream, fairly oblivious to the noise and confusion that reigns at Zanoni. At the next table, another solo man. And I was solo too. We were a trio of solo gelato for a few moments. One wonders if this Sunday excursion is a regular one for the man in the blue shirt and light grey twills?


The organ at the Jesuitenkirche, where I heard an outstanding recital of music by Jehan Alain, played by a 28-year-old organist of the church:

 


Siebensternbräu is a local institution. Alban Berg used to go there for a beer with a friend. J.P. and Sylvie and I enjoyed a beer and dinner on Sunday.

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