Vienna 1998
The tunnels got shorter and less frequent and the gorges soon became shallow enough to discourage even the most reckless base jumper. The track followed the path of a long valley and with a curt passport check we were in Austria. We passed through Innsbruck site of recent winter Olympics. With the snow gone the ski runs stood out like scars on the mountain and the avalanche barriers, big retaining walls at mid points down the slope, looked like rows of steps for giants belying their important role protecting the town below from snow slides in the winter. All the buildings had steep sloping red roofs and the farm houses were dwarfed by large barns for the stock. Here even the cows were urbanised.
Past Salzburg the train line emerged from the mountains into a flat plain that extended all the way to Vienna. Looking back the blue peaks of the Austrian Alps gradually faded from view and a little over three hours later the train pulled into the platform of Westbahnhof. We were in Vienna.
I had managed to pry the guidebook away from L for an hour on the train so I could get my head around the layout of the Austrian capital. Or as Arnie might put it, “Work out our sit-oo-ay-shun”. Basically from a tourist perspective everything is categorised according to whether it is inside or outside “The Ring” a four kilometre circular boulevard that roughly approximates where the old city walls once stood. Most of the good stuff to do and look at tends to be inside The Ring and it also seems to act as a pricing demarcation point. Everything was more expensive inside the old city precinct and so we decided to base ourselves just outside. Now we just had to agree on where.
 One of the few things that had worked well thus far, all things considered, was our demarcation of responsibilities. Arranging the mechanics of getting around the continent and broad itinerary was my job but deciding where we lay our heads each night was to be solely L’s domain. She had point blank refused to even entertain the idea of staying in backpackers accommodation or other potentially cash saving alternatives. Apparently the thought of a hotel bed without a mint on the pillow caused her apoplexy. We were also following some advice from a friend who said that we would be able to get better prices on the ground in Europe rather than booking and paying through an agent before we left Oz. This proved correct and also meant that if we did not like a place we could simply check out and go somewhere else. The problem was that arriving in a strange city without a confirmed place to stay often meant humping our bags all over town. Now we stood in front of an ancient looking apartment block trying to find a door bell.
What followed was one of the most amazing customer service experiences of my life. The small sign hanging from the archway into a small courtyard indicated that this was in fact the hotel, or “Pension”, mentioned in the guidebook. The book had raved about the place and L had circled it in red pen and put a couple of asterisks next to it to highlight. The woman that answered the bell was late thirties but looked like she would still turn heads walking down the street. Her name was Tina and when she heard our accents she asked where we were from. When we said Melbourne she commented.
“Lygon Street. Good restaurants. I was there last year.”
The ice queen that I had been travelling with for the past few days suddenly vanished to be replaced by a charming personality that I barely recognised. Tina and her hit it off like old buddies and I was soon left to mind the bags whilst they went inside to check the register. Unfortunately the hotel was booked out for the next couple of days but Tina had a friend who ran another hotel a bit closer to The Ring who should be able to help out. Not only did she ring the hotel she haggled over the phone to ensure that we got the same price as we would have paid for a room with her. She then turned to L and asked.
“Where are you and your husband off to next?”
Wry smiles all round at her presumption. Prague L answered. Our new friend then picked up the phone and started talking in German once again clearly negotiating a price. She then turned with a smile.
“How would you like to stay in an apartment in Prague for $42 US per night?”
Given that we had paid $118US per night in Zurich for a hotel room without a bathroom we readily agreed. She then loaded us up with maps and suggestions regarding restaurants and night life and sent us on our way. Tina had solved a weeks worth of accommodation problems for us in fifteen minutes and we had not paid her a cent. A couple of days later as we left L dropped off some flowers and a nice bottle of wine to say thanks.
 At the Hotel-Pension Corvinus fat people obviously took the stairs. The elevator is tiny. Even without luggage there is barely enough room inside for two to stand comfortably, let alone a couple repelling each other like flipped magnets. Our room overlooked a small square next to a church where traders were in the process of packing up their wares and folding away trestle tables. L and I decided to get pissed as this seemed the easiest way we could enjoy each others company. It was a Jekyll and Hyde transformation, then we would sober up and old resentments would return.
Europeans had a much more relaxed attitude to selling booze than Oz. Full strength wine and beer was on the milk bar shelves. The trouble was all the shops around our hotel seemed to shut at 7pm and as it was nine the options were slim. There was however a Subway sandwich shop across the road and when I walked in the door I saw cans of Heineken loose in the fridge. Apparently buying half a dozen tinnies was not common at this franchise as they had no bags big enough to carry them. So with two foot-long subs and six cans in my arms and pockets I dodged the taxi drivers and Vespa riders back to the Pension.
Beer and sub sandwiches - Soccer and Conan O’Brien on the cable tellie - Buddies for a while till the morning when we would put on our bitch faces once more.
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