Info          

Vienna Tourist Board

Web:
www.vienna.info/en

Offices:
Tourist-Info Vienna
Vienna 1, Albertinaplatz/Maysedergasse,
behind the Vienna State Opera
open daily 9am-7pm
 
Tourist-Info Vienna Airport
Arrival Hall
open 6am-11pm

Austrian Tourist Office
PO Box 1142
New York, NY 10108-1142

Web:
www.austria.info/us

Phone:
212-944-6880

Vienna, Austria—Lost in the Music                         

by Mitch Kaplan
photos by Mitch Kaplan

The first thing we did upon arriving in Vienna was get lost.

Oh, we managed to find our way from the airport to what seemed to be the correct U-bahn (subway) station, where we logically went out the first exit we came to. The sign said “Karlsplatz” didn’t it?

Above ground, we had no idea where we stood. We thought our hotel was a few blocks from Karlsplatz station. And, it was, actually—if we'd used the correct exit. Who knew that the Karlsplatz U-bahn had a dozen exits?

Getting lost quickly became the theme of this trip. And, when we weren’t lost, well, we felt lost. Indeed, sometimes we were right on track but felt lost and so made a wrong turn to correct a wrong that didn’t exist and thereby made ourselves lost. It’s a complicated city, this Vienna.

Finding Our Way                          

Vienna. The very name evokes musical images. Mozart. Strauss. Beethoven. We'd come to hear famous classical music played by famous orchestras and performers. But, first, we sought a general geographic intro to the city.

After finally making it to our hotel, we embarked for Stephanzplatz, a square at the city's geographical center. Gripping our map tightly, we walked through the Nachmarkt, where we ogled the city’s finest sauerkraut and wonderful looking fruits and vegetables.

We boarded the Number-2 tram. Its route circles the Ringstrasse, affording an excellent orientation. Trying not to act like an over-excited tourist, I gaped at the buildings. Impressive, yes?

But, wait. Nothing is original.

Emperor Franz Joseph constructed all these edifices in the late 19th century. Inspired by Napolean and Paris, he had the medieval walls torn down and grandiose structures built to evidence of Hapsburg power and eminence. As a result the architecture is all neo–neo-gothic, neo-Renaissance, neo-Classical, and all of huge magnitude.

Back on foot, we followed the pedestrian Kartnerstrasse, animate with shops, good people watching and amusing buskers and street performers. In Stephansdom Plaza, balloonists dressed like clowns and made balloon figures for kids. Here, too, was Stephansdom itself, the gothic cathedral and symbol of Vienna.

The cathedral's vaulted interior is dark but beautiful, with wonderful stone carvings. The roof is covered with almost a quarter-million glazed tiles, meticulously restored after WWII,  some of the tiles forming the Hapsburg crest.

Returning along the Kartnerstrasse, we rode the glass elevator at the Steffl department store to have coffee at the Sky Bar on the top floor. We hoped for a view. We saw only rooftops on a gray background.

Music, Music, Music                              

Properly oriented, it was concert-going time. We performed some map study and set out for Konzerthaus. Penny decided we should not follow the Ringstrasse, which appeared to be a longer route. She wanted to see some church. If we walked a few blocks east, we could pass the church. From there, we should able to walk straight to our destination.

Should.

Immediately after passing the church we were ambling aimlessly. We tried to follow logic. We tried to use that logic to interpret the map. We found three different buildings we thought must be Konzerthaus. They weren't.

Time was passing. Performance hour drew near.

I was raised by a man who considered himself to be late if he arrived less than 15 minutes early. I’ve fought a lifelong losing battle to achieve fashionable lateness. I can’t do it. Our lateness closed in as we wandered.

Finally, tossing all manly standards aside, I consented to asking directions. The third person we asked, a young woman, smiled indulgently and pointed across three intersections and two major streets. "You see that building with the dome?" she asked. "It’s right next to that, on the right, down that street."

We had no idea what she was talking about.

But, good news. She was going that way. Just follow her.

When she left us at the Konzerthaus entrance, we remained confused. Nothing marked the building. Later, we figured it out: this was the back entrance.

Inside, latecomers scrambled madly to reach their seats before performance time. We scrambled, too. But, we couldn't find our seats. An usher came to the rescue. Aha. We'd forgotten—we'd not bought two together; we’d purchased buy seats behind one another.

Our seats were front row, but they were set perpendicular to the stage. Thus, I could rest my left elbow on the stage itself. I felt like I was looking at the performers through a wide angle lens set slightly below ground. That, however, didn't stop us from enjoying a marvelous dual piano recital with many encores by Katja and Marietta LaBeque. Indeed, that unique stage view added a new dimension to the experience.

But, it was nothing compared to the dimension that would be added the following evening at the Musikverein.

Where the Hell Are We?                         

We left for the Philharmonishes Gyor concert with bold confidence. And, amazingly, map study, plus a scouting expedition after the previous evening’s concert, allowed us to reach Musikverein without mishap.

Then we entered the building.

Again arriving too late for my comfort, we entered an ornately Rococo lobby, chaotic and crowded. Uncertain about the route to our seats, we approached the main staircase and were directed to the second level.

A long hallway lay to our right. We peered around uncertainly. An usher appeared and Penny asked for directions. The answer came in German. For some unknown reason, we nodded dumbly and proceeded down the hall.

On the left, a series of doorways. There was a "6" on our ticket. There were numbers over the doorways. Perhaps we should go through Door 6? We did. Nope. It led to a box. Clearly more exclusive seating than we'd paid for. And, besides, the box was full.

Back in the hallway, we looked left and right. People streamed past. No clues.

Back to the German-speaking usher we went, this time specifically asking directions in English. "Go to the end of the hall, turn left up some stairs," she directed.

We found the staircase. Up we climbed. We arrived in a room filled with people dressed in eveningwear—tuxedos, black gowns—many of whom were holding or fiddling with musical instruments.

Holy cow! This was the orchestra! This must be the Green Room! What the hell were we doing here? This couldn’t be correct!

We turned to beat a hasty retreat, but were stopped in our tracks by another usher, who had magically appeared out of nowhere. "Go through that door," he said, pointing.

We emerged on the stage.
                                            
Our seats were stage left. They offered great views of the house, audience and the backs of the base and viola musicians. I couldn’t see the conductor, nor anyone right of center stage. But, the audience could see me. Better not pick my nose or anything, I told myself.

At intermission, the gentleman sitting in front of us turned and said, "I haven’t been in this position since I was in the school band."

"Neither have we," I replied. "I should've brought my clarinet."

Live on TV                        

Our Sunday morning itinerary called for the Vienna Boys Choir performing during Mass at the Hofkapel in the Hofburg complex. Penny had reserved seats in advance.

Now, to find them.

At the palace, we chanced upon a small exterior staircase, and deduced from the long line of people that "this is it!" We joined the line.

But, wait. Was this the line for ticket holders, or for last-minute, standing room hopefuls? Penny ventured inside to ascertain if she could pick up our reserved tickets (which would only be held until a certain hour that was rapidly approaching) whilst I held our precious place in line.

Returning with the tickets, she led me into the building. A clean-cut, well-dressed and perfectly mannered young man directed us to climb the stairs. We did that, ascending a couple of flights to find ourselves—where? We were entombed in some back vestibule where many historic portrait photos lined the walls. There was no indication of a chapel or anything else.

And, yes, we’d done it again: we were surrounded by clerics, altar boys and others who were preparing for the Mass.

Confused, as was becoming our habit, we reversed field but were intercepted by another impeccable young man. He steered us through a small door and past some heavy curtains. Here were a half dozen rows of seats set behind a pair of the church's massive stone arches. TV monitors were mounted on the walls.

We sat were in row two, far right. The Boys sang from a perch high above and behind the altar. If Penny leaned forward and to her right, she could just see them. I could see nothing but the family who occupied the seats that mirrored ours across the building.

Yes, we heard the kids sing live. And, beautifully. But, only saw them on TV.

The Last Hurrahs                       

We walked right past the Haus der Musik. But, we found it, and it proved to be an intriguing place.

The museum is set in the Palais Archduke Charles, former home of Otto Nicolai, founder of the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. On five floors, it explores a range of music history, styles and unique ways of producing sound, including

• an interactive Waltz-Dice-Game
• the Sound Gallery in which you experience different kinds sounds, including a "prenatal" experience.
• the Great Masters of Viennese Music Tradition floor in which
• the lives of renowned composers like Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven are revealed
• and, best, The Virtual Conductor, where visitors conduct a video Vienna Philharmonic and the orchestra actually follows your lead.

And, finally, we scurried to the Kursalon in the Staadtpark to attend a “Sound of Vienna” concert.  A variety show of Strauss waltzes, Mozart arias, with a little ballet music tossed in, this was tourist kitsch—albeit high-art kitsch—at its best. Besides, how can you go wrong with Strauss and Mozart melodies?

The audience was largely comprised of Japanese tourists, who exuberantly snapped flash photos throughout the performance. Indeed, their enthusiasm was fascinating and more entertaining than the performance.

But, the most amazing element of that final evening? We did not get lost.