Posted on by lgandre

Day 8 – Bratislava…or Barcelona…then Brussels

I woke up naturally. Finally. It was nice to feel like I was in something of a routine. I had time for a leisurely breakfast and tried three different kinds of jam with my bread. They were all delicious.

At the last minute, I changed from my most comfortable walking shoes, to the flip flops to match my skirt. I felt much more relaxed today.

I was still not in a rush as I headed out for my tour to Bratislava, capital of Slovakia. This time, the tour guide was not coming to the hotel, we were to meet in front of the Vienna Opera House.

But I was not concerned about getting to the right place. I had plenty of time and the green line runs from right near the hotel to right in front of the Opera House. What could go wrong?

But not only was there an easy plan for today, I also had a plan B and I had been severely torn between the two. Due to a series of events, I had a flight to Brussels both Monday (today) and Tuesday. If I made it to Brussels one day early, I would lose the opportunity to go to Slovakia, but I would gain a longer layover in Barcelona and a possible day to visit Dunkirk, France. While I have been to France and have not been to Slovakia, I was getting a little burned out on Middle Eastern towns; and the idea of visiting the famous beaches that hosted the escape of 400,000 Allied soldiers seemed like a good trade.

But after much deliberation, I had stuck with plan A because, after all, I had paid for the tour to Slovakia and the night’s hotel in Vienna and I hate to waste money.

So, by 7:45, I was sitting in a seat on the green line. I was supposed to be at the meeting place by 8:15 and the tour was to leave at 8:30. It would be about a 10 minute ride to get there; so I zoned out briefly; still chewing on Plan A and B and the pros and cons of each.

vienna 16

After a few minutes, I started paying attention to the stops; my general sense was that mine, Karlsplatz, was still a few a away.

But to my surprise, I was almost back to my starting point. What? I was so confused. But sure enough, the train was running toward my hotel stop.

I was scratching my head as I got back off the train and headed up the stairs and across the station to get back on. I felt like I was in some kind of a time warp movie. I heard them make an announcement (in German) but it meant nothing to me.

I rode the train again until everyone suddenly got off. Everyone but me. I figured it out at the last second and jumped off too. They had closed a section of the train for repairs and the train would return to start. I would have to find another route.

I looked at Siri—I was 3 miles from my destination but it would be a slow three miles walking. It was already after 8:00. There was no way I could walk it in time.

I didn’t really have time to figure anything out, everyone else was jumping on another train; in fact, it was so full, I didn’t think I could fit. But I was just able to squeeze in on and wedge myself between some other travelers.

But now I had another problem. It was so tight, I could not see the train map showing the lines, stops, and directions. I had no idea where I was or where I was going.

As the train gradually began to unpack a little at each stop, I could catch glimpses of the map whenever another traveler moved her arm.

I kept checking my watch. Did I have time? Could I make it? Should I give up and go to plan B? I didn’t have time to decide anything, I could only keep moving…generally figuring it out on the fly…jumping from the green line, to the brown, to the purple, and finally, to the orange which would take my to my original destination. I had the subconscious sense that if something went wrong, I’d retrace the maze of lines back to the hotel and switch to Plan B; but miraculously, I kept getting on the right trains going the right directions.

The clock was unforgiving though. 8:15 came and went and I began to realize I wasn’t even going to make 8:30. They would not wait for me. I knew they would not wait for me.

The final train station, Karlsplatz, was a large one, and I practically raced through the station to see if there was hope of catching the tour. It was 8:29.

The Opera house was not there.

It was a little mistake, but it had huge consequences. I had come out the wrong exit. It probably took a full ten minutes for me to fix my mistake.

By the time I got to the front of the Opera House, there was no sign of a van. I tried to reach the tour operator but there was nothing I could do but email. It was past 8:40 and I was sure they were gone.

So here was the other thing. My flight—the plan B flight that I had not planned to take—left at 10:40. And I was four trains away from my stuff back at the hotel.

Plan B it was. Back down to the train station. I studied the map just long enough to confirm that the route I came truly was the most direct. I also set a timer to see how long it would take me to get back. I would have to get to the hotel, pack, ride four trains back here, then catch the airport train…which only ran on the half hour. Then I would ride the sixteen minutes to the airport, check in, and go through security, and board all in about 1.5 hours. It wasn’t doable.

But still, as I waited for the train, I tried to write down each train line, direction, and stop I would need for the return trip for quick reference. God bless whoever it was that came up with the idea of giving each line a different color. They deserve knighthood, sainthood, and a Nobel Peace Prize.

Siri, however, was not so helpful. She stinks at German and as I typed in all the names, she kept trying to auto correct them. Finally, I gave up.

I caught the train and used the ride to keep playing the timing through in my mind. I *might* be able to make the flight if I took a taxi to the airport instead of chancing the train. I had to try.

I packed in no time at all and had the driver waiting outside. But this driver defied every reputation of cab drivers everywhere. He was in no rush. The only thing that seemed to be moving was the clock.

It was 9:59 when we pulled up at the airport for my flight which was supposed to board at 10:00. I kept checking my phone, but the flight was on time.

It was 63 Euros for the cab ride. And there was pretty much no way I was going to make it. So much for plan B. Little mistakes can sure be expensive.

Plan C would be to catch a train to Slovakia myself. I didn’t feel much like going back to the hotel to drop off my stuff and then retracing all those steps for a fifth time that morning. Maybe I would just throw my back pack in the Danube and go.

But I pursued plan B doggedly, trying to be kind to the elderly couple in security in front of my who kept pulling more and more bits and bobs out of their pockets. Then the Spanish gentlemen…acting very much like he has never been in a hurry in his life.

I made it. Not by much, but I made it.

Barcelona 2

 

My layover was in Barcelona. I took the Aerobus into the city center. Turns out, the 1992 Olympic Games were to Barcelona what the Sound of Music was to Salzburg.

Given my limited time and disinclination to repeat my Vienna experience and walk 10 miles with my backpack, I decided to splurge on one of the hop on, hop off bus tours with the audio guide.  I figured that way I would learn some of the rich history of the area.

Basically, the audio in a nutshell was: this city was reinvented for the 1992 Olympic Games.

One would have thought that the Mediterranean Sea made it’s appearance for the 1992 Olympic Games.

Since I really didn’t have time to hop on or hop off, I contented myself with the leftovers of a chocolate bar I bought in Saltzburg and taking pictures from the top deck of the bus. But if I’d had time, I would have gotten off here which apparently is where you can view ancient ruins from the Roman Age under the city. The guide didn’t tell us much about it…it must not have played a part in the 1992 Olympic Games.

Barcelona 7

I don’t know if all of the trees were planted for the 1992 Olympic Games or not, but they offered pleasant shade and the breeze off the ocean was very welcome. Between that and the overall friendliness of the Spanish people, I was starting to release some of the tension of the morning’s craziness.

I took the train back to the airport, and I was glad I did because it took us, apparently, through the part of the country that hadn’t gotten reborn for the 1992 Olympic Games. It was a very different picture that reminded me more of South America. Maybe that’s why they push tourists to take the Aerobus.

I’ll spare you the details, but it ended up being another harrowing near miss of a flight due to a 15 minute bus ride between terminals, super slow security, and a gate that kept changing. But God is good and I made it okay; just started feeling like I need to get back to work to get away from all this stress of vacation. :).  That’s what I get for wearing my flip flops and trying three different kinds of jam on my bread.

But that’s the way it is sometimes. And the good news is, I should sleep well tonight. That is, after I burn these shoes.

Posted on by lgandre

Day 5 – Keeping it Real in Vienna

vienna 11

It’s not Vienna’s fault, really. It’s just not fair to ask a city to be the next stop after a trip to the Dolomites. There was probably nothing Vienna could have done that wouldn’t seem like a little bit of a let down after breathing that mountain air.

Toni's contribution to Vienna Architechture
Toni’s contribution to Vienna architecture

Not that it was all bad. A little graffiti just sort of keeps it real.  Actually, there is a lot of graffiti.

Grafitti aside, Vienna has a much different feel from Venice. Venice, at this point, is a tourist hub where people get around by boat and walking. Vienna is a modern, working city where folks get around by car, bus, train, bike, motorcycle, scooter, e-scooter, horse drawn carriage, baby carriage, Segway, Big Bus, running, or, in my case, walking.

Vienna has a different smell than Venice too.  That’s a good thing.

When I arrived, I realized that pretty much everything I know about Austria I learned from 1. The Sound of Music; 2. Miracle of the White Stallions; or 3. Old cassette tape on one of the composers…I.e. the Life of Mozart. (I guess you could also throw in on a much lesser scale, 4. Woman in Gold.)

At any rate, as I started passing one ornate building and one impressive statue after another after another, I realized I didn’t know what or who any of them were and consequently, all I could think about was how heavy my back pack was and how much I regret my codependency on unreliable Siri.

If you haven’t seen Miracle of the White Stallions or heard of the Spanish Riding School or the famous Lipizzaner horses, I’m not really surprised. But apparently, some people have because I figured the riding hall had about 500 seats. Tickets weren’t cheap. And at 11:00 am, every seat was filled and folks were standing along the walls.

The empty riding hall...because I don't want to be the one to "irritate the horses"

It’s hard to describe the performance and they would not let us take pictures because it “irritates the horses” so I can only recommend you look them up or view the recent Netflix special on these beautiful Stallions. They have a way of almost dancing and a long tradition of performing that has not changed in forever.

I did notice, however, that neither the show nor the Netflix special in any way references the story told in “Miracle if the White Stallions” in which the US army saved the breed toward the end of WWII. I think we deserve a little credit in the form of discounted tickets or something. Just sayin’.

After the show, I decided to try to go to the hotel to try to drop off my backpack which, after carrying it around since 4:00 am, seemed to weigh far more than 1,000 lbs. I had intentionally booked a hotel near a train station (although a bit out of town for cost reasons), but I had never found out what train station. So it made for a very, very long walk. I felt like Christian in Pilgrims Progress carrying a heavy burden. It didn’t help that I had made a poor choice of shoes that day.

I neglected to mention that while I was looking for the Spanish Riding School that morning, I had been talked into buying a concert ticket for later that evening by a street salesman who gave me a special discount. 😉

By the time I made it to the hotel and shed my burden, I had learned that the hotel was right next to a palace (Schönbrunn Castle) which also was hosting a concert that night that sounded very similar. Schönbrunn was cool, quiet, inviting, and it was RIGHT THERE. But no, I had paid 30 Euros for a ticket to a concert all the way back in the heart of Vienna. That meant I was in for more trains and a lot more walking to end a day that had started at 3:00 am. Ugh.

So after a few hours of catching up on emails and work and fighting to charge my phone and computer with a temperamental outlet in my room, I headed back to the train station…thankfully, now I knew the closest one to the hotel (not the one I came on) and the closest one to the concert hall, so I figured all would go smoothly, but I left two hours early just in case.

What I didn’t know then was that the clever salesman had been peddling tickets that looked *almost* exactly like the concert going on at the Opera House that night.

I tried going to the address on the ticket, but Siri pulled one of her “you have arrived” stunts when clearly, I had not arrived.

Then I started asking locals who all directed me to the Opera House but after arriving there, I realized that although the ticket looked like the same concert going on at the Opera House, it was not.

After nearly two hours of walking, I was extremely close to giving up when I happened to light on another salesman on the street selling tickets for the same concert I’d been duped into. “It’s just beyond the Opera House” he told me, generally pointing. Then he gave me a map. Which was also no help.

But I found it. Somehow. And my some miracle, I was even on time.

And although I was in the cheap seats and couldn’t see much of anything, the musicians were good and the music was beautiful—Mozart, Grieg, Vivaldi, etc.

vienna 6

So there you have it…a nod to Miracle if the White Stallions and the Life of Mozart. Sunday, I plan to go to Salzburg and find out if the hills are still alive with the Sound of Music. Hopefully, my feet will have recovered by then. In honor of the Woman in Gold, I will not go to any Museums.

Not at all a bad way to spend the day after the Dolomites.

In fact, I’m hesitant to admit it…but even though I’d pick a day at the Dolomites over a day in the city every time (and I’m generally not one for concerts that begin at 8:30 pm), I do love the European way of walking every where.  I love to see couples dressed up and catching trains for an evening out.  I love the rows of little, privately owned shops and the simplicity of only buying what you can carry home.

Total steps today: 25,000 Cumulative steps: 97,000 (~39 miles)