Europe 2008

Trip Photos:
- Part 1
- Part 2

In late September and early October, Jeff and I spent three weeks in Zurich, Budapest, Prague and parts of Austria. Instead of writing a tedious log detailing in chronological order all the things we did, I'll just jot down some notes and impressions.

The Flights

I don't have a fear of flying, but it seems that as I get older, I dread more and more the cramped space on a plane. As a result, we've been taking business class for long-haul flights the last few years. It's still miserable to be stuck in a seat for hours, but what can you do.

This year, our transatlantic flight took the route of Toronto-Newark-Zurich-Vienna, with a one-day layover in Zurich both on the way there and back. The Newark landscape and airport were both unattractive, but I wasn't surprised---it is New Jersey, after all. One small thing left an impression on me. At the Newark airport checkpoints, there were more than a dozen security members standing around two open lines. Four or five of them were actually doing some work---how diligently I didn't know, while the rest talked loudly with each other, telling jokes, horsing around---in other words, being completely unprofessional. I understand it's not the most stimulating job in the world, that men of quality are not drawn to such positions. However, you would think they'd at least put up the appearance of taking what they do seriously.

On the way back, when I again saw these jokers play-acting as security personnel at the Newark airport, I compared them to the serious and professional guards and customs officers in Switzerland and Austria. The contrast was stark to say the least.

The flight from Newark to Zurich was an interesting one. It was listed under Swiss International Air, but was in fact operated by Private Air, and the entire plane had only business class seats, about sixty altogether. With so few passengers, boarding took very little time. The polite and efficient attendants buzzed around in constant motion, and in less than ten minutes, the plane was moving out of the gate. The whole flight was impressively run. The return trip was the same story. Swiss efficiency on full display, I suppose.

Zurich

The main reason for our detour to Zurich---we could have flown directly to Vienna---was to see Stefan and his wife Claudia. Stefan and I became friends in our undergraduate days. Since then, we've both moved around, so it's not easy to meet up. In Zurich, Stefan and Claudia took Jeff and me to dinner on top of Uetliberg. The restaurant offered a splendid view of the city, especially after dark. Three weeks later, on our way back to Toronto, we saw them again and had dinner at their flat. Claudia was expecting twins very soon, and we celebrated by drinking an old bottle of wine Jeff selected from his wine cellar. (The babies were born shortly afterwards, two adorable little girls.) It was wonderful to see old friends and discuss everything under the sun.

Zurich the city is beautiful and clean. We stayed in a hotel in Hirschenplatz in Altstadt, on the west bank of the Limmat River. Boutique shops and small restaurants lined the cobbled narrow streets. People were nicely dressed in conservative styles. Expensive cars zoomed around. Everything was orderly. Everyone was polite. Prices were double those at home. But that's Switzerland.

Bratislava

We had a little more than half a day in Bratislava. My friend Peter and his wife Klaudia are from there, and Peter had warned me that Bratislava is small compared to Vienna and Prague. It was most certainly the case, but the old part of the city was delightful. We strolled around, taking in pretty old buildings and churches. It had been drizzling all morning, and when it suddenly started to rain heavily, we rushed into the first nice-looking restaurant we saw, Caffe Ristorante KOGO on Hviezdoslavovo nam. It turned out to be a pricey place that catered mainly to people working in the foreign embassies nearby. After sitting down, I noticed we were surrounded by men and women in expensive suits wining and dining on other people's money. Our tourist garb definitely didn't fit. Jeff was particularly envious of the four gentlemen next to us who had a "very good bottle" (Jeff's words) of red wine brought to their table in a decanter. Lunch turned out to be a lot fancier than planned, but we did avoid the rain.

Budapest

My friend Isabel had told me that she liked Budapest more than Prague, and I must say, it is a beautiful city. The Pest side, where we stayed, was more built-up and more commercial. It was delightful walking on Andrassy utca, a tree-lined boulevard guarded by grandiose buildings. On the Buda side is the imposing castle area. In this corner of Europe, every city had a castle because the people were constantly warring on each other. Sadly for Hungary (and the Czech Republic), which has not been on too many winning sides in recent history, its castles have been stripped bare, and lesser paintings hung on the walls of the galleries. When the harsh wind blew, I shivered at the thought of how much blood must have been shed on these lands, how cruelty used to rule almost every part of the world.

The Hungarians are a proud people. Considering how many world-class mathematicians, musicians, artists, etc. have emerged out of this relatively small population, they have a reason to be. The citizens of Budapest appeared polite and fashionable. Their language though, is downright impossible. I dared not pronounce the words because they never sound the way they look. Fortunately, most people, especially the young ones, spoke English rather well.

Prague

Prague is a city on a different scale. It was absolutely gorgeous, of course. Strangely, it was filled with regular people as well as suspicious-looking riffraff. Jeff says Prague is popular with backpackers. Maybe too popular. The city was also brimming with tourists: Asians who travelled in packs, Europeans in shabby clothes, the whole world has come to Prague. Consequently, prices were much higher than elsewhere, and every touristy place---churches, synagogues, castles---cost a considerable amount, with additional charges for a photo permit, the washroom, etc. Even the washroom at McDonald's cost money, albeit a trivial amount. People spoke English very well---another sign of their having had to deal with too many visitors. One notable thing was the phenomenon of old grannies in museums. In every room of every museum, grumpy old women stood on guard, eyes throwing daggers at visitors who dared to trespass onto their territory. I suppose they were there to make sure nobody put his paws on the precious exhibits, but they certainly made my time in the museums very uncomfortable.

The city tells too many sad stories, from Jan Hus who was burnt at the stake, to the Jews who were mistreated throughout the years, to King Wenceslas who was murdered by his brother---the list goes on, not to mention all the local saints who met their end in gruesome ways. Alfons Mucha, whose lovely murals adorned the walls and ceilings of the Mayor's Hall in the Municipal House, died shortly after being interrogated by the Gestapo. He was only a painter, for crying out loud! But that's the way history goes in Europe. And in all other parts of the world, really.

Driving in Austria

When possible, Jeff and I prefer the freedom of driving our own car. In crowded big cities, there is no point; a car is more a pain than a convenience. Outside the cities, driving is much more fun. In Austria, it was a no-brainer: we must rent a car to fully enjoy the country.

We had booked a modest little Opel, but the Avis people surprised us by giving us a Mercedes B150. (A few years back in England, we'd booked a Mercedes but ended up with a Saab. Maybe if we asked for a Fiat next time, we'd get a Maserati---or vice versa.) However, this being a European Mercedes, the car had no luxury features, nor any acceleration. I kept wanting to rub at the Mercedes logo, wondering if it would come off and reveal a Ford logo underneath. The car did have a big trunk for our suitcases, and on the autobahn, once it reached 130km or 140, it didn't struggle much. (And everybody else was doing at least 150, which drove Jeff crazy since he's usually the one leaving other cars behind.)

I had brought with me digital European maps for my Garmin GPS device. It worked out amazingly well. How did we manage in the dark ages before all these digital toys?

The Austrian roads are clearly signed and in excellent condition. My limited German came in handy a few times, but any English speaker can get by without any problem. The drivers are competent and law-abiding. Sure, they speed, but no one sits in the left lane unless he is passing. All in all, driving in Austria was a sheer joy.

Salzburg

Jeff had been to Salzburg once before when he was still an undergrad. He has vague recollections of going to a concert in a church but nothing else. I was in Salzburg in the summer of 1991. That was the bicentennial death anniversary year for Mozart. There were open-air concerts in every city square. My mum and I had driven in from Vienna for a day trip, and found so much to do in the city that we wanted to stay for another day. However, not a single room was available at the height of the tourist season in a special year. Having stopped at every inn and hotel without success, we gave up after reaching Linz. This time, I decided to do it right by staying for three days.

People say in Austria, time stands still. It is true. Salzburg looked exactly the same as I remembered it. Oh sure, a few small things have changed here and there. One sees a few more immigrant faces among the lily-white populace. Tourist sights offer audio guides, a gadget they didn't have seventeen years ago. People yap on cellphones. Many of the independent local shops on Getreidegasse have been replaced by boring international chains such as Zara. But the essence of the city hasn't changed a bit. As we sat at a café table outside Mozart's birthplace, surrounded by mountains, the Salzach River, and the ancient fortress atop the hill, I was glad to find the city as lovely as ever.

The Austrian Alps

From Salzburg, we took one day to drive to the Alpine ski towns of Bad Gastein and Bad Hofgastein. The scenery was breathtaking. Majestic mountains covered in snow, pretty chalets with neatly arranged flowers at every window, narrow streets lined with boutique shops, folks in capes and Alpine hats zipping by on bicycles; it was straight out of a postcard. We walked around town, and also took a few hikes along rivers and waterfalls. There were hikers everywhere, serious ones with hiking sticks and boots. They all looked like they'd live to a hundred.

At lunch time, we found a small restaurant attached to a hotel in Bad Hofgastein. A funny thing happened: for the first time on the trip, we ran into someone in the hospitality industry who could not speak any English---the waitress, a friendly lady in her fifties. After much guessing, I managed to order the food. It was amusing, and actually added to the charm of the place. I thought I would have no difficulty spending a month in this area, hiking, biking and playing tennis. And wouldn't it be nice to come here to ski! I had picked up a ski trail map from the tourism office. Jeff didn't want me to see the map for fear that I'd feel bad about not being able to ski here. I didn't listen to him. Now, in the brilliant Alpine sunshine, I spread the map out in front of me, and started to visualize myself shredding the slopes...

From Salzburg to Vienna

We took a leisurely drive back to Vienna. Along the way, we made stops at several towns: Hallstatt (a quaint village set in the mountains on Hallstätter See), Steyr (where we managed to get a parking ticket that cost us 25 euro---very stupid), Krems, etc. As much as possible, we drove on the more scenic north bank of the Danube. Pretty towns and villages flashed by. Every few minutes, a glorious castle or palace or church high in the hills would emerge into view. Austria obviously has too many of them. Maybe they could share a few with us poor folks in North America...

In Bad Ischl, we had lunch at Café Zaunder, a pastry shop made famous by the Emperor Franz Josef's daily visit when he summered in Ischl every year. Here we encountered more waitresses who didn't speak English. Luckily, finger-pointing is a universal language.

Sankt Florian and Melk became a bit mixed up in my mind. Both have an astonishingly lavish palace referred to as an "abbey" (yeah, right). Both "abbeys" have gruesome stories associated with their patron saints. Both abbeys have precious paintings by famous artists who were skilled in depicting blood and gore. Not for the first time, I found myself speechless at the opulence.

The two hours at Mauthausen Concentration Camp was depressing to say the least. At the time of the trip, I was reading Ian McEwan's novel Black Dogs, in which he discussed the topic of visiting a concentration camp. It is one of those things that one must do once, but many of us don't have the heart to face too many reminders of such human depravity.

Dürnstein was my favourite stop along the way. We arrived in the early evening. I happened to be the one at the wheel, and let's just say that driving in streets barely wider than the width of our car with legions of tourists looking on was no cakewalk. We didn't have a choice though as our inn was smack in the middle of the town. After putting down our suitcases, we went out for a walk along the Danube, through the vines laden with grapes, and in the old streets. By that time, all the tourists had left for the day. The entire town became suddenly quiet and peaceful. At the top of the hill loomed the ruins of the castle where Richard the Lionheart was imprisoned in the 12th Century. Dürnstein has its majestic abbey too. Had we not seen Melk and St Florian earlier, we would have found it extremely impressive. Instead, we yawned and said, Oh well, just another extravagant old church.

The next morning, we got up early to climb to the castle ruins. It was a steep and arduous walk, but we were rewarded with a fine view from the top, and no one else in sight. Down below, a river cruise was gliding on the Danube. One shudders at the thought of all the history that has taken place here. Our moment of peace and quiet didn't last. By the time we came down, the town was once again thumping with groups of tourists being herded around by their guides.

Vienna

There is no need for me to describe how glorious Vienna is. It is simply impossible for anyone not to love the city. Like the rest of Austria, Vienna lives in the past. To my eyes, nothing seemed to have changed in seventeen years, and I would have been disappointed if anything did. We had chosen a hotel in the centre of the city near Schwedenplatz, within walking distance to Stephansdom. For the next few days, we had a fabulous time ambling around this old European jewel. The museums were first-rate. The food was marvellous. It was too bad that we had to leave.

Concerts

Because our trip included several major music capitals in Europe, we had the opportunity to attend a few concerts.

In Budapest, we were lured into buying tickets to the Danube Concert from a young lady---a music student from further east, perhaps? I believe Jeff felt sorry for her and couldn't bring himself to say "no." The concert was held in a small theatre decorated with ornate statues and wall paintings. The program was exclusively designed for tourists; it was a best-of list of popular pieces by famous composers. The familiar upbeat tunes were infectious. The problem was, as soon as I got into a piece, the orchestra hopped onto something else, which left me quite unsatisfied.

In Prague we went to two entirely different kinds of concerts. The first was a chamber ensemble in an old 12th century church, called the Church of St Martin in the Wall (kostel sv. Martina ve zdi). The inside of the church was bare and grim; simple folding chairs were placed in rows in front of a stage; the whole atmosphere was casual and intimate, and the music, warm and enchanting. It was a string quartet: two violins, a viola and a cello. The program included beloved pieces by Bach, Pachelbel, Vivaldi, Schuber, et al---who wouldn't enjoy that? It was a rare occasion for me to sit only a few feet away from the musicians. Their concentration and nimble fingers were mesmerizing.

Our other concert in Prague was at the stately Dvorak Hall inside the glittering Rudolfinum. The Czech Philharmonic Orchestra performed Rachmaninov's Concerto No. 3 for piano and orchestra, with Alexander Toradze at the piano. He was a heavyset man who would breathe audibly when he really got into the music. It was a strangely moving sight. In the second half, the orchestra performed Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 3. It is not a favourite of mine, but nothing by Tchaikovsky is unbearable. Both the concerto and the symphony have a deeply sorrowful feel to them, a very Eastern, melancholy sound, accentuated by the fact that both were written in D minor. Being dumb tourists, we managed to throw on something other than jeans, but around us, many people showed up in tuxedos and formal dresses. There were no empty seats in sight.

When I was in Vienna in 1991, the famous opera house was closed due to renovation. This time, I made sure of things by getting tickets to the Staatsoper in advance on the Internet. I would have preferred to see an opera, but didn't find the opera on offer enticing. As a result, we went there for the ballet Onegin. I must confess I'm not a ballet fan as I find dancing repetitive and therefore boring. However, if the music is good, I'm willing to put up with the frivolity of moving legs and spinning bodies. The music for Onegin was arranged from various pieces by Tchaikovsky. One can't go wrong with good ol' Peter Ilyich.

The façade of the Opera House is as grand as any fine European theatre house. The inside, described as "simple" by the guide books because of the bombings during the war and the hasty repairs afterwards when Austria was short on funds, would not be called simple in North America. In fact, we should be so lucky to have such a "simple" opera house.

There were five levels of private boxes surrounding the floor seats. Our tickets placed us in one of those boxes that they call "loges" above the ground level to the left of the stage. Eight red satin chairs stood in our loge, with the front four occupied by respectable-looking ladies, and Jeff and me, two impostors who must have appeared to have stumbled upon the place by a huge mistake, sitting behind. During the intermissions, I noticed many people in tuxedos, even tails, and floor-length gowns. The Viennese take a trip to the Oper seriously.

Our tickets were actually ridiculously cheap because the seats were "partially obstructed." That was an understatement; I'd say our view was mostly obstructed. I stretched my neck as far out as I could without infringing upon the elderly lady in front of me, but half the time I couldn't see the dancers. The upside was that we were sitting directly above the orchestra. I would rather watch them anyway. It was very entertaining observing the conductor's every move. At the climatic moment of the story, his face was full of emotions as he waved his baton dreamily, urging on his musicians. I became rather touched myself because of him, not because of the dance. It was the most memorable night of our trip.

Churches and Museums

Going to Europe means an endless parade of old churches and museums. Especially in predominantly Catholic cities, church spires crowd the city skylines. I often wonder about the relative cost of constructing such incredibly extravagant structures at a time when most common folks were poor beyond belief. When a whole family of eight or ten starved and lived in a one-room hovel with straws covering the mud floor, gold-gilded statues and brilliant stained-glass windows adorned the walls of cathedrals whose soaring ceilings reached for the heavens. On the one hand, it was a grotesquely twisted sense of priorities. On the other, such religious devotion left us with some of the finest examples of human ingenuity in the form of architecture, art and music.

Budapest and Prague also have quite a few synagogues remaining. While they don't compare in scale to the churches and cathedrals, they draw tourist hordes nowadays like nothing else, even though the insides are usually plain, and most have been turned into museums.

I like museums of all sorts. In Zurich, we went to the Landesmuseum which gave the history of the city and of Switzerland; and the Kunsthaus Zurich, a small but rich museum of fine arts. In Budapest, we visited the House of Terror which was where the Nazis and the communist secret police set up their headquarters. The castle area housed several museums, one of them the Budapest History Museum, which we walked through. In Prague, we went to the slightly tacky but informative Museum of Communism. Several galleries are located in the Castle District. However, this is not the part of world where one finds too many master pieces.

In Salzburg, we toured the Baroque Museum and the Salzburg Museum, but Vienna is where the finest museums and art galleries are. Belvedere Palace focuses mainly on Austrian paintings. At the time of our visit, a special Gustav Klimt exhibit was on at Lower Belvedere. My mum is a Klimt fan. I personally find his style unique but unattractive. Nevertheless, it was interesting to see so many of his works in one exhibit. The Albertina houses many Impressionist paintings. There, we saw the special Van Gogh exhibit which was terribly crowded. The main gallery is titled "Monet to Picasso." Anyone can see the beauty in a Monet painting. But Picasso? I must profess a total lack of joy or understanding upon seeing most of his paintings.

The highlight in Vienna was the Kunsthistorischmuseum. Besides the fantastic collection, the museum itself is a marvel. It was an absolute pleasure to stroll through the exhibit halls. Even the café must be one of the most resplendent in a museum anywhere in the world. When I got tired, I took a seat in one of the antique chairs. There were no grim old grannies here to bother me. The only annoyance was the occasional noisy tour group which congregated in front of the more famous paintings, thus blocking them from the rest of us. I personally prefer the more secular pieces as I find too many of the religious ones, with their penchant for violence, disturbing. The pictures from the Flemish school are my favourite. To me, their subject matter and their more sophisticated use of light and colour, make the pictures far more attractive.

Hotels and Inns

We stayed at different types of hotels on the trip. Aside from the fact that almost all of them were a tad too enthusiastic at turning up the heaters, which, combined with the heavy comforters that the Europeans use, made the rooms too hot at night, there was nothing to complain about. In Switzerland, we got Swiss cleanness and efficiency. In Budapest, we got a suite big enough to hold a party for twenty but provided little shelf space for our things. The hotel in Prague was decorated like a palace, and offered embarrassingly attentive service. More of the same was in Vienna.

However, two places stood out. First was the Bloberger Hof in Salzburg. It was a little inn run by Frau Inge and her daughter Silvia, who were polite, pleasant, efficient and professional in the most perfect way. The breakfast was incredible, and we had dinner at the inn twice in three nights because the food was so good. From the bedroom window, I could see snow-capped mountains and dairy cows grazing in the green fields. Normally not the sociable type, I nevertheless found myself having light conversations with the other guests at the inn. There was an American family of three generations; the grandparents from Oregon were visiting the son and his family in Stuttgart. We also chatted with an English couple who were working in Germany, but had lived outside of Toronto for years, and wanted very much to return to Canada with their two little kids. The inn exuded a relaxing and neighbourly atmosphere that made everyone mellow.

The second memorable place, the Gasthof Sänger Blondel in Dürnstein, was in fact very similar to the Bloberger Hof. This time, a couple and their grown son were behind the smooth-running machine. The inn was right next to the abbey, in the centre of the town. It was named after Richard the Lionheart's faithful minstrel Blondel, who, legend has it, searched around Europe singing a love song that he and his lord composed together (huh?), eventually finding the foolish king at Dürnstein castle. (Sänger is "singer" in German. Blondel was the troubadour's name which apparently came from his long blond hair. Gentlemen prefer blonds, indeed.)

Later, when we got back to Zurich, Stefan and Claudia told me that the inns in Austria are considered to be of such high quality that even the Swiss go there for the incomparable service. This is a compliment indeed.

Food

One thing we don't need to worry about food-wise in continental Europe is the breakfast. I remember vividly the ones we had ten years ago in Rome, Florence, Sitges, ... The same goes for this part of Europe. Cold meats, cheeses, smoked salmon, homemade yogurt, a variety of fruits and juices, bread and rolls fresh out of the oven, local jams, eggs in different styles, honey, cereal, nuts, ... and at some places, crepes and omelets of your design. (On our return trip when we had to spend a night in Newark, the lousy breakfast the next morning, and the lousier service that went with it, made it clear that I was not in Europe anymore.)

Hungarian food is hearty and uncomplicated: goulash, potatoes, more goulash and more potatoes. Since I'm a simple Chinese peasant, I can eat that stuff everyday. But Jeff, a foodie, got bored quickly, and longed for something other than overcooked meat. In Prague, we saw pizzerias in every street, offering simple Italian fare. There were also many fancy places. Our most memorable dinner in Prague was in a restaurant at the top of Petřín Hill. As well as fine food, it offered a magnificent night view of Prague Castle bathing in a flood of light.

In Austria, outside of Vienna, we stayed with local fare---in other words, schnitzel, schnitzel and schnitzel. There was the Wiener variety, the Salzburger variety, and everything in between. I enjoyed them all. The sound of the chef beating the meat in the kitchen provided such an old comfort.

Vienna is the most sophisticated culinary city on the trip. Everything we had there was excellent. They also love their pastries here. I have no idea how the Viennese stay so thin when they consume desserts so decadent. We paid our respects at Demel, the city's famous pastry shop. If I lived in Vienna, I'd balloon to 300 pounds in no time.

I also tried to have bratwurst as much as I could. I know it's silly, but I love bratwurst!

Many times, we found ourselves walking under old chestnut trees, stepping over nuts fallen to the ground. Every once a while, a vendor roasted chestnuts on the street, attracting small children and me. They call them "maroni" in Austria. I gobbled down mine in no time. Delicious!

According to our in-house wine connoisseur Jeff, the red wines in the whole area, including those from the established Wachau wine region in Austria, are not too exciting. After trying reds once or twice in each city, he usually stuck to whites which are much more pleasant in his opinion. In Hungary, we looked inside a wine store, and saw some expensive Tokaji bottles. Not being a fan of dessert wines, Jeff didn't go out of his way to try a Tokaji. He did once make the mistake of trying a "hot wine" in Prague, and hated it so much that he didn't finish it. I think he was betraying his wine-snob nature. I've had hot wine before; it's not Chateau Haut-Brion, but nor is it as awful as Jeff made it sound.

There is one cute food story to tell. On our way from Salzburg to Vienna, we arrived in town late one evening, and ended up driving blindly in a suburb of Linz searching for a place to eat. When we saw a pub, we went in. The front section of the place was packed with customers, while the large back section was empty but for a table of four young men and a second table of nine middle-aged fellows. After we sat down, the waiter came to warn us in German that the back section was for non-smokers only. It took me a few seconds to understand what he said, at which point I assured him that we didn't smoke.

Trying to decipher the German menu and place the order required some effort, but we managed. Judging from the surprised looks we drew, the place was not used to having outsiders. As we ate our meal, the middle-aged guys left at the end of their happy drinking session, and the four young men also left at some point to move to the front section so they could smoke. It was amusing. Over the years, Europe has adopted tougher anti-smoking laws, but it appeared that they still had a lot more smokers that we do in Canada.

At the end of our dinner, the friendly waiter came with the bill. Jeff gave him some money, gesturing for him to keep the change as a tip. The chap shook his head vigorously, and insisted on giving Jeff back two euro---he thought the tip was too much!

To Summarize... We had a wonderful three weeks. I wish we had time for Poland, Croatia, southern Austria, Slovenia, ... but the world is too big. Maybe on another trip.