Sherry L Huckabee: Unbelievable Luck!

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

So there I was headed to Vienna to volunteer for the Couchsurfing Collective. The Collective was actually being held in Eisenstadt, an hour away, but then would move to Vienna on Friday for a weekend party. When I decided to extend Switzerland and do Austria on the back-end of my volunteer time, I didn’t stop to think that would mean I would be searching for a couch in Vienna at the time eighty other couchsurfers had already planned to be there. I had sent out dozens of requests to no avail – everyone was full with two or three or more couchsurfers. No way I could afford a hotel but I was determined to see this city I thought of as at the edge of the “west” (it is actually two hours further East than Prague and west of Lecce, Italy) even if it meant sleeping in the park. But then I am a firm believer that this is a supportive Universe we live in. I find that generally when you jump into the unknown with the faith it will be okay, nine times out of ten it is. And this was one of the nine.

I picked up my first night train in Bregenz for the ten hour ride to Vienna. My rail pass is first class (only because you can’t buy rail passes from the US in second class), but all the first class single sleeper compartments were sold out. I was stuck in a second class SIX bunk sleeper car. Every only-child-don’t-wanna-share-American-want-my-space cell in my body was wailing when I saw the 6X6X6 room that was supposed to sleep six with bunks stacked three on each side only two feet apart. There was an undisciplined four year old running up and down the hall banging on doors and screaming while his mother sat on her bunk in the next room and talked with a friend. Claustrophobia was setting in just thinking of sleeping in that teeny space, so I went outside to smoke a cigarette and hopefully, miraculously, find an English speaking rep who I could bribe for a solo sleeper. No luck. I was miserable with anticipation of the night ahead.

Believing the train was non-stop from Bregenz, I thought I had lucked out when the train pulled out of the station and my bunkmates were just me, myself, and I. I popped a Tylenol pm and crawled into my sleep sack. There was no sleeping with Damien’s spawn running up and down the halls so I donned headphones and disappeared into ambient twilight sounds. Ten minutes later the train pulled into another station. The door opened and two women came in together. Damn. They both spoke English and apologized for disturbing me then quietly put their bags away, changed into pjs there in the room, slipped into their bunks, and went off to neverland. I was not far behind.

I wouldn’t say it was a good’s night sleep, but I did sleep. I heard the door open up at 6:30 am and saw the porter standing there with two bagels and a cup of REAL coffee (as in American style) – and they say there’s no such thing as love at first sight! I quietly nibbled my bagel and jam (jam is much better and more varied in Europe), drank my coffee, and wondered how the girl in the next bunk could sleep so soundly. She didn’t even stir for another half an hour. I don’t know what made me start the conversation as she started putting her bags together – maybe it was just the intimacy of having slept two feet away from each other, maybe it was “fate”. For whatever reason we began to chat.

It turned out the two girls weren’t traveling together as I had thought. Eva, the girl in the bunk next to me, was returning home to Vienna after a vacation with family in Bregenz. We chatted easily as the train pulled into the station. Normally I would wish her well on the platform, maybe give her a card and tell her to check out the site, and be on my way. Instead I asked if she would like to get a cup of coffee. She patiently trudged with me to find the police station to ask for a stamp for my passport. This whole open borders thing is just fascinating to me. I couldn’t get a stamp for Austria, not even from the police. In Italy no one is checking but when I flew in from Spain, I found the police at the airport and they were at least able to stamp me. Going into Switzerland I had to plead with the border control officer on the train. His partner was laughing at me and nudged him to go ahead and stamp me. He declared, “We can’t do this for everyone you know!” How far the world has come from a time when a city’s most important resource was its walls and ingress and egress was tightly controlled, to a time when it is too inconvenient to put a little ink on some paper to say you have permission to be there. I don’t know how they enforce any temporary visas when they refuse to even mark your entrance.

Eva was as patient as, excuse the metaphor, Eve (well she was the mother of all children, she must have been patient!) for the half hour it took to firmly confirm (hey, I never noticed the etymology of that word – “with firm”) that it was absolutely not possible to stamp my passport in Vienna. They were supposed to check it at the border and if they didn’t, oh well was the position of the police. I was down to one space in my old passport and paid stupid money for a new one with room for stamps and no one will stamp the damn thing. One more reason to travel to Asia! After our wild goose chase, she carrying the equivalent of ten geese in a bag with no wheels, Eva suggested we take the tube and head to the Museums Quartier for breakfast. She gave me the scoop on the functioning of the Vienna metro system on the way.

Trams fun every five minutes on a pretty well-designed system. There are more one stop changes necessary to get around than in some other cities but the stations are well designed and easily navigated on metro changes. Interestingly, the metro system is not monitored in Vienna. Anyone can walk on and off – no turnstiles, no guards. There are machines to time stamp your ticket. If you are traveling without a valid time stamped ticket, the fine is 60 Euro – though I never saw a single guard checking tickets. These systems amaze me – Americans would never run the risk of letting so much money walk on and off. They would spend a million dollars setting up control systems to keep $500,000 worth of free–riders from getting away with not paying!

I love ferreting out the sly schemes to take advantage of the tourists across Europe. If you go to the tourist information center and pick up a brochure on the metro system it is bright and colorful, written in several languages, and proudly displays the “Vienna Card” your ‘ticket to Vienna’ which gets you 72 hours on the Metro AND the buses, along with some entrance discounts. All for a mere 16.90. Of course you could buy the boring one line 72 hour card for just the metro – or so it appears because it doesn’t say buses. If you have a local standing next to you then you know all tram cards are good for buses as well so the Vienna card is 5 euro for nothing extra except the discounts and I use my student ID for those. The brochure also describes the single ride tickets for 1.50 and the eight non-consecutive day card for 24 – a bargain if you are splitting your time. So I arrive Tuesday but will only be taking the metro twice then returning Friday for a three day weekend – clearly my best option is two single tickets and the 12 euro 72 hour pass, right? So Eva and I thought. I bought my two single tickets and my 12 euro 72 hour pass and she bought her week pass – the non-advertised week pass, the one that gives you a whole week, 148 hours for how much? 12.50. Eva felt so badly she didn’t realize the week pass cost the same as the 3 day weekend.. I assured her they do this everywhere.

We arrived so early at the Museums Quartier, the cafes weren’t even open. The city of Vienna did a marvelous job designing this little haven. Surrounded by the Kunsthalle Wien, the Leopold Museum, and MUMOK, they created a piazza of sorts with cafes and bars filling the outer edges and large modern sitting circles scattered randomly throughout the square. The sitting circles were block constructions. Imagine life sized red Lego-like blocks shaped like a boat - \__/ - and placed end to end. Rings of big red lounging blocks, for lack of a better word. The sides of the ‘v’ are just the right incline to lean back against comfortably while reading a book and wide enough for two or three people to sit facing each other cross wise. The square is filled all day - in the morning, with students busily completing unfinished homework before class, studying, or tapping on their computers. Friends meet at the little cafes for lunch. Lovers snuggle in the large red arms as the sun sets beyond the architecturally magnificent museum buildings. Music plays from some of the stands and young people drink and smoke and laugh, enjoying each others company until the wee hours of the dawn. It is like a mammoth sized outdoor Starbucks.

I was struck the first time I entered the MQ by how abruptly the hustle and bustle of the cars on the nearby ring road disappeared, almost as if by magic. Every time I returned again, I was struck by the quiet tone of the place. No matter how many people filled the square, there was always this soft soothing hum of humanity, never abrasive, never a raised voice, just the gentle purr of people enjoying company and solitude.

Eva called her sister and her friend, Michi, and told them we were having breakfast at the MQ. Within an hour I was surrounded by a delightful, intelligent, lively group of women and an adorable little four month old baby. Michi, it turned out, was a couchsurfer. Having surfed in Hawaii and a couple other places, she had just hosted a family from Japan a few days before. She is a strong person, largely built, with wild hair. Everything about her is solid - solid on the ground and in herself; the kind of friend you go to for advice who will listen and then kindly, but firmly, give you her opinion. Brigetta, Eva’s sister, had the same calming nature but she was lean and languid, like the cool water of a lazy stream. She was home for an extended vacation from Albany, New York where she and her husband have lived for two years. Amon, her baby boy, was long and lean like his mother – four months old and not an ounce of baby fat but full of smiles. Though Eva is quite opposite me physically, lean like her sister with dark hair and an attractive defined face, internally we are quite similar. As the weekend unfolded, we found more and more commonalities in how we think and see and react in the world. It is fascinating to me that two people so alike can be “randomly” in the same sleeper car together. . The sun rose on the square as we five sat at little wood tables beneath green umbrellas drinking cappuccinos with the ease of long time girlfriends. It is amazing how quickly an easy conversation with friendly people can give you a sense of belonging to a place.

We cooed like love sick teenagers over Amon, as women do over little babies. Holding him in my arms the years flashed through my mind – how is it possible my little baby, just yesterday a little muppet on my shoulder, can be starting college? It still boggles my mind. I would do it all over again, the diapers, the tears, the sleepless nights, the troublesome teenage years. Every second of suffering, struggling, sacrificing was more than worth the moments tickling, snuggling, laughing, talking, wave walking and just being in the presence of a love so precious and the beauty of a baby growing into a man. I still hold some hope that there is a man who can love and accept me as I love and accept him and that I could be blessed with the joy of motherhood again; but the days pass faster and faster and soon that hope will be an impossibility. One of the things only time will tell.

I loved the simple grace with which Brigetta breast fed her son at the table - without the shy apologetic embarrassed stumblings of American women who in their political correctness shield the sensitivities of others and create something unnatural out of something so beautifully natural. We talked over our finished breakfast plates while Amon had his breakfast until I realized the morning would soon wear into afternoon and I was already two days late for the collective. Michi was going to Venice with her mom for the weekend and offered the keys to her apartment to me there on the spot - until she realized she didn’t have the spare set in her bag. She told me she would send an email with directions to her place and how to get the keys. I never cease to be amazed by such displays of trust and hospitality. “Here are my keys, have a nice time.” If couchsurfing can’t make people believe in the goodness of mankind, nothing can. I got off the train with no plan, no place to sleep come the weekend, and two hours later had not only a place to stay but friends to share this city with. I gave hugs around the table with promises to see everyone soon and made my way to Eisenstadt.

Comments

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Hi Sherry!

I was one of those not being able to host you during the CS collective in Vienna...and I still regret it. Looking forward to your book!

A very nice and warm posting about your arrival in Vienna...I had to chuckle several times when you compared US attitude with the one here...I am happy you enjoyed it here! Good luck to you and take care,

-Roman

Posted by: Roman | December 12, 2006 at 11:11 AM