An American Christmas in Vienna

Boy, the retelling of this epic trip is getting out of hand!  And I have hardly even scratched the surface of my photos!  I’ll keep this one short and sweet with the professed goal of telling stories a little more frequently.

So, Marissa and I arrived in Vienna late on Christmas Eve and spent a few hours circling the Old Town looking for our hotel.  We finally found it and I made a mad-dash back to our car to pick it up and bring it round front for parking.

With my bladder fit to burst I struggled to wind my way through the streets of Old Vienna back to the hotel.  I had a streetmap, but what it didn’t easily indicate was which streets were One Way.  Through trial and error I discovered the path, though not before getting stuck in a vortex of one-way streets and sneaking through an alley past the Hofburg Palace.  Incidentally, I learned what “Eingang” means in German.

The next morning was Christmas!  As I mentioned, Marissa was quite the early bird while I wasn’t.  I didn’t mind on Christmas, however, as Marissa woke me around 9am with a large hazelnut latte from Starbucks and a muffin!  We exchanged presents and began the American half of our Viennese Christmas!

Our Christmas was split evenly into two parts.  The first part began with Starbucks in bed, moved on to watching American Christmas Movies (Home Alone) dubbed in German on the Austrian TV, and then continued with a bit of a stroll around Vienna.  It being Christmas, precious little was open–and nothing for lunch!  All the restaurants were either jam-packed or closed.  All except one, that is.  What could make our day more American than Starbucks and Home Alone?  Why, McDonald’s of course!

And what could make a better Christmas lunch than the one, the only, 1955 burgers!  Yes, yes, McDonald’s for Christmas?  I can feel the judgment being heaped upon us, but I don’t care.  1955 burgers are incredible and I am not ashamed!

Walking back to our hotel we were enticed by a thought.  We’re in Vienna.  What do the Viennese do?  Waltzes!  Concerts!  Ballets?  We approached the counter in the lobby and asked about all three.

Waltzes required months’ advanced registration, a coat and tails for me, and a ballgown for Marissa.  Three strikes on that one.

There was, however, a not-unreasonably priced (Raughley the optimist strikes again!) concert at the Strauss House!  We booked tickets, got dressed to the nines, as best we could, and waltzed down to the concert house, puns intended.

Though we were initially disappointed with the presentation, we soon found ourselves enjoying the music and the company of a hilarious gay couple from America seated next to us.

The concert was a Mozart/Strauss combo with a small orchestra performing the music and several solo dancers popping out to strut their stuff on certain songs.  Though we had a hard time seeing them over the heads of our fellow classy concert goers, we still managed to get a good bit of enjoyment out of it!  At the intermission, though, is where the fun really began.

There was a very curious character sitting one row in front of us.  We hadn’t noticed her before, but her behavior made her really stick out.  The reason we noticed her is because she was trying to take a self-portrait with her iPhone, but clearly she was aiming to capture the gay couple behind her in the photo.  As in, we could see her screen, and she was barely peeking up in the bottom of the photo while the two gay men were the central focus.  Not very subtle.

“Is she trying to take our photo?” one asked.  I turned to him and said, “I think that’s exactly what she’s doing!”  We began laughing and gossiping about her in return.  Turnabout is fair play, right?

Her date came back from the lobby or wherever, sparking much more gossip.  She was a heavily made-up woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, maximum.  Her date was a much older gentleman.  Like much older.  And she kept strong-arming him into photos with her.  Not just coercing him or taking photos he didn’t want, but literally grabbing him around the neck in some sort of sleeper hold and dragging him down to her bosom so he’d be in her next self portrait.  To each his own!

So, from Starbucks to Cheeseburgers to Concerts to Gossiping, I think I can say that Marissa and I spent a very varied and excellent Christmas in Vienna!

Is That a Gun in Your Pocket or Are You Happy to See Me?

Yesterday I was having a lovely afternoon just walking and chatting with my good friend Gvantsa.  We discovered some fun back streets, a destroyed church, a two-eyed cat, and even the French Embassy!  Just as we were about to hike up some mysterious and exciting-looking steps, my phone buzzed with an incoming call.

Glancing down, I saw the name “Alecko Cop” flash on my Nokia’s screen.

*COMMENCE ANECDOTES*

Alecko is our local, and I like to think “personal,” cop.  I first met him a year and a half ago after Angela and I had first moved in.  He stopped by to register us on the most suspicious and sketchy day my apartment has ever seen.  That day, after we had spent several hours desperately trying, and failing, to clean up the apparent murder-scene in our kitchen, a knock came at the door.  It was the cops.

Alecko came in and introduced himself as our friendly neighborhood policeman.  He was there to register me and Angela as residents and so he needed to get our contact info, etc.  Oddly enough, Lauren, Maki, and Kelly were visiting the apartment, causing some confusion as Alecko tried to make sense of who lived where.  Maki confused matters a bit more by grinning and announcing “Tskhra!” (Nine!) while Alecko was trying to write.

Meanwhile, I tried to keep his back turned to the kitchen where the wine stains still looked suspiciously murderous.

Fast forward to Late January/Early February this year when Alecko and his partner came by again to reregister me and Hilary.  Friendly guy, this Alecko.  He was even joking around with us and asking for English lessons.  He offered to help us out whenever we needed anything, but he demurred at Hilary’s request to shoot our psychotic neighbor.  ”If she touches you, call me.  Otherwise…”  (Yes, Angela, the psychopath is still a psychopath.)

*END ANECDOTES*

So, I picked up my phone to see what Alecko wanted.  My guess was that we had to reregister once more now that we had a better idea of how long we’d be living in our apartment.  Boy was I wrong!  And boy did my wrongness spark another adventure!

“Hi Raughley,” Alecko greeted me in Georgian.  ”What’s your roommate’s name?”

“Uh, Hilary.  Why?”

“She lost her wallet.  Where are you?  When will you be home?  Actually, can I call you in two minutes?”  A minute later he called again and I passed the phone off to Gvantsa whose Georgian is a tiny bit better than mine.

Gvantsa listened and mouthed “We should go to your house.”  We curtailed our hike and turned back, arriving home after a few minutes.  Inside, three cops sprawled across the couch and arm chairs while Hilary sat laughing in the middle of the room.

With Gvantsa acting as official interpreter (A role that made her exceedingly nervous), we were able to repeat Hilary’s tale of woe for the third time as Alecko took notes.  His lanky partner sat forward on the couch listening and watching while a third cop who I hadn’t met before reclined comfortably in my favorite arm chair.

After some time, they said, “Okay, let’s go.  We have to go to the Police Station.”

“What?” Hilary asked sternly.  ”I don’t want to, I just wanted to leave a lost-and-found note asking if anyone has found my wallet.”  At this point it was too late.  The police were insisting that we accompany them to fill out the reports.

Gvantsa turned to me, amused but a bit concerned.  ”Raughley, you have to come with us! I’m your friend and you’re Hilary’s roommate!  You’re like the connection here and we don’t want to go without you!”  So I agreed.

We left the apartment and began walking to the cops’ white, unmarked 4-door sedan.  Now, remember, there are three of us and three cops.  This was a problem.

“No problem!” chirped Alecko and the other senior cop.  ”Just four of us will squish in the back!”  By “four of us,” of course, they meant “You four.”  Gvantsa, Hilary, and I got in and crammed ourselves against one door, leaving a bit of space for lanky Vakho.

“Where am I going to go?” he asked his partners.  ”Modi aq!” I cried, patting the seat next to me (By “next to me” I basically mean “Where I was already sitting”).  Vakho climbed in and we began our trek to the Police Station.

But not before we returned to investigate the scene of the crime itself!  This most welcome detour (welcome because it meant we had an extra fifteen minutes of getting-to-know-you time in the back seat) brought us to the massage center in Vake where Hilary had realized her wallet was missing.

After noting the address, we were off to the Vake District Police Station, outside of Alecko’s jurisdiction.  With much laughter and conviviality, Vakho, Hilary, Gvantsa and I enjoyed the heck out of our roadtrip, as uncomfortable as we were.  When we arrived at the station, the doors opened and we spilled out into the parking lot.  As he got out Vakho kept his hand on his gun, making sure it didn’t get caught on anything and inadvertently reassuring me that it was indeed a Gun in his Pocket.

I said to Vakho, “I think we should all go back after this and get massages!”  He laughed and pointed to his side where my hip had been jabbing him for the past twenty minutes, “I need a massage here!”

As we walked up the steps, Alecko and the other cop instructed my new buddy, “Vakho!  Wait with the car.”  Poor guy!

We strolled into the Station and proceeded to wait around for information.  The Vake cops let our Freedom Square cops head home after promising to take care of us when we were finished.  While we waited to make another official statement Gvantsa translated the “Wanted” posters on the wall.

Georgia’s a ridiculously safe place.  I never feel threatened or uneasy about my own personal safety when I’m walking around, regardless of the location or time of day.  Perhaps this was reflected in the fact that there were only 8 Wanted posters on the wall and that 2 of them were for “Shoplifting” and “Failure to Report a Crime.”  If 1/8 of Georgia’s most wanted is for “Failure to Report a Crime,” then you know you’re pretty good.  When I asked, “What happens if a 9th person commits a crime?”  Hilary suggested, “They’ll probably just replace Mr. Failed-to-Report!”

We made our statement, with Gvantsa nervously translating and putting her signature to the document.  Hilary did likewise, with several linguistic flourishes, and we were back off into the night, riding along in the rear of another unmarked police car.

“Whose taxi is this?” the Deputy Police Chief behind the wheel asked a gaggle of taxi drivers, pointing at an idling taxi that was blocking the Station’s drive way.  A man stepped forward and our driver told him, “Well freakin’ move it!”

Home again, safe, sound, and exhausted from laughing all evening, we looked around and felt exceedingly pleased with the random adventure we’d just had.  Here’s to you, Georgian Cops!  გაუმარჯოს!