I'm sharing my travel experiences, candid opinions and what's on my mind. If you think it's inappropriate for a travel writer to stir up discussion on his blog with political observations and insights gained from traveling abroad, you may not want to read any further. — Rick
Working with my film crew here in Vienna, I’m trying to get the straight story on so much history. I keep remembering Napoleon’s quote: “What is history but a legend agreed upon.”
This afternoon, I dropped into a famous cafe with my cameraman. My hope: to find its rare surviving example of the Vienna coffee menu with a dozen or so shades of brown for customers to order exactly the milkiness of the coffee they desired. The waiter laughed in a snide way, saying some stupid travel writer cooked up that legend decades ago and journalists like you keep coming here looking for a color-coded menu that never existed.
To make my point, I too often accept false history and flat out wrong “factoids.” And, my worst fear is adding to the mess.
For centuries, French was Europe’s common language. I just assumed the term for common language, linguafranca, was literally “French Language.” For a decade that’s what I’ve been “teaching,” and suddenly someone emails me the truth: ‘franca’ is Latin for free or common. The French were named for a gang of barbarians who called themselves “free people” or Franks.
For twenty years I called Paolo, the big never-smiling grumpy man who ran my favorite guest house in the Cinque Terra, Sr. Sorriso. His place was, after all, “Pension Sorriso.” I must have introduced a hundred tour groups to Paolo Sorriso at check-in time. Then Paolo died, and I read his death notice: Paolo Favetta. I ask his brother, “what’s the deal? Favetta? You never told me. All these years I called your brother Sr. Sorriso. He never corrected me!” What’s with Sorriso? His brother, just as grim as Paolo, explained Sorriso means smile. All that time I was sleeping at Pension Smile.
I’m beginning a fifty day research trip to bolster my teaching. I love to teach. The only jobs I’ve ever had are teaching what I love: music (piano teacher) and travel (tour guide/writer). Crossing a border they ask me my profession. I say teacher. But much as I try, I teach falsehoods. I try to be unbaised…but, like any teacher or journalist, my reporting is seen through my lens and is therefore distorted. With more readers, I get more friendly scrutiny.
In keeping with the global perspective I like to nurture, I want to think God and Allah are the same creator–but today I’m reminded firmly via email that the Christian God is “triune” (three-in-one–father, son and holy spirit) and Allah is just one.
When my boy Andy was just 3 or 4 I taught him to finish table prayers by putting his hands straight out, bobbing them up an down and saying “Allah, Allah, Allah”…just to freak out his ethno-centric grandpa. Now I realize I may have been mixing up my Gods. Oops.
Tonight I’m happy to include something extremely European in the Vienna TV show we’re shooting. At twilight, the park in front of the city hall here is filled with thousands of people enjoying a food circus of 24 simple stalls. There’s not a paper plate of plastic cup anywhere–just real plates and glasses, as Vienna wants the quality of eating to be as high as the music that’s about to begin. A kid on a tiny green truck toddles by, reminding me this is a multi-generational scene.
A sixty foot wide TV screen up against the neo-Gothic facade of the city hall is blank, but already people are settling into the 3,000 folding chairs. Then, darkness falls, the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra strikes up, and a performance of the Vienna State Opera begins (Donizetti’s Love Potion). Since 1991, the city has paid for this event for sixty summer nights each year (offering sixty different performances). Why? To promote culture. A year ago the original live performance of tonight’s film was sold out…much of the audience is people who couldn’t get tickets. Officials know the City Hall Music Festival is mostly a “meat market” where young people come to hook up. But they believe that many of these people will develop a little appreciation of classical music and high culture on the side. It’s the end of my third day in Europe. Tomorrow morning at 8:00 we’re all alone with Rubens, Durer, Raphael, and the best of the Hapsburg art collection.
Slipping off my shoes and unpacking my lap top, I make my way through thousands standing around (TSA). While there’s nothing in my soles, the small Swiss army knife and little box cutter (which I’ve tucked away on each flight since 9/11) seems to concern no one. On the TV at my departure gate, our president reminds me via Larry King how terrorism has changed everything. Larry and Laura both nod.
In 12 hours I’ll be in Vienna. It was a super-power itself once–until a terrorist (from a Muslim land, living under a Christian emperor) killed its prince, leading to a war that ended Austria’s dominance. Today in Vienna the pressure’s off. The world spins without Hapsburg guidance, and the once powerful people of Austria savor their impotence…enjoying among the shortest work weeks and longest lifespans in the world…not to mention the most glorious church services and the best chocolate cake anywhere.
Somewhere in there is the key to why Vienna charms me so. Traveling–especially traveling alone–causes you to have strange thoughts and…sometimes…do strange things.
I’m in Vienna kicking off part two of my 2006 travels. This time I’m trying something new–I’m taking along whoever wants to join me via a blog. My son blogged his trip last year (and is in the midst of another blog venture this year) and I guess I just want to follow in his footsteps. I’ll be stopping by for a casual chat almost daily between now and late August as I produce TV shows in Austria, update guidebooks in Spain, Scandinavia and Estonia, and holiday with my family in Ireland.