Austria for Beginners
FORTY EIGHT YEARS in Austria today, September 7, and my first impressions of Vienna include the chilly weather when I stepped out of that airline called Egypt Air, which I found uncomfortable; how small the airport was and the absence of the big crowd you see at Manila International Airport now called NIA — welcoming and seeing off travelers; awed by the never ending blocks of edifices that were almost identical I thought they were universities but in fact were apartment buildings; made the sign of the cross crossing past Rathaus (City Hall) thinking it was a cathedral; made a face after having my first taste of sparkling mineral water; not being able to finish my Semelbrot (Austrian roll) because it was hard I could hardly chew it although it was freshly baked — thanks to the soft breads we get back home called pandesal and bread loaves we call Tasty, a misnomer of a name I say now, but would have them any time before; sleeping with a growling stomach my first night because I didn’t eat much of the cold cuts served by my Austrian family host who lives in Upper Austria. I was looking forward to dinner, expecting a typical Austrian meal. Still, the host family left the table and watched the 7:30 evening news on TV after having a cup of coffee and a glass of wine, which I politely declined because it tasted like vinegar to me — ditto for my first mineral water, which almost made me puke with the taste of carbonic acid, which I find repulsive, swearing I’d never have it again ever. The host family watched some more TV and then finally stood up and said goodnight to me. They were going to bed without dinner, seriously? It never occurred to me that the dinner I was waiting for was indeed the plate of cold cuts — salamis, liver spread, cheese, olives, bread, and butter. Didn’t we call them merienda (snacks) back home? Famished, I finished two hard Semmeln at breakfast! Despite the initial unfamiliarity, I felt warmth and kindness from my Austrian family, which made me feel more connected in those unfamiliar moments. To truly understand Austria’s culture, it helps to explore daily routines, social customs, and the significance of shared meals, which are central to community life.
I woke up the next day expecting to see this part of Austria vibrating with life. It was a Sunday, and Sundays back home meant family gatherings, big crowds, and even loud music. I looked out the window to find an empty street. Not a soul, void of anything that reminded me of “my favorite things” Julie Andrews sang about in the iconic movie The Sound of Music, the film that would put Austria on the world map. Austria, not Australia. No kangaroos in Austria. “Yes, Sound of Music. Oh, that! Beautiful country.” Suddenly, “The Hills Are Alive…” This quiet morning made me feel a sense of peaceful anticipation, sparking a longing to experience Austria’s lively spirit, which I would later discover is quite different from this tranquil scene. Reflecting on these differences helps me appreciate how cultural expectations shape our perceptions and how embracing these contrasts enriches travel experiences.
The hills were not alive that Sunday morning. No children in identical costumes, hanging upside down in a tree, singing Doremi. And high on a hill was no lonely goatherd yodeling. No prince on a bridge, no men in the midst of a table, and no men drinking beer with a foam afloat, no little girl in a pale pink coat singing layee odl, layee ee oo. Forty-seven years in Austria, and I have yet to see an Edelweiss that greets me every morning, looking happy to see me. Instead, the quiet streets and empty hills painted a different picture from the lively scenes I had imagined from the film, reminding me of the gap between cinematic fantasy and real life, and how Austria’s reality often defies expectations. Understanding the cultural impact of ‘The Sound of Music’ helps me see how media shapes perceptions of Austria and highlights the importance of experiencing the country firsthand to grasp its true essence.
My first snow in Austria came when my host took me to the Dachstein Mountains — impressive! Later, I traveled to Salzburg, where I visited the filming locations of The Sound of Music, a dream of mine. I was disappointed to find these sites spread across different villages, requiring multiple trips. My sister, visiting then, dreamed of singing ‘I am Sixteen Going on Seventeen’ inside the glass gazebo at Schloss Leopoldskron, now moved to Schloss Hellbrunn’s gardens for tourists. Seeing these sites made Austria’s magic feel even more real, despite the travel involved. The journey between villages was long, but each stop deepened my appreciation for Austria’s scenic beauty and cultural richness. It was only after I met my Austrian friend Walter that I learned the film never made it to the Austrian cinemas, the locals “finding it historically inaccurate, overly sentimental, and a trivialization of their difficult Nazi past…” Walter saw the film for the first time in his 30s, when he got hold of a videotape.
It was at a Vienna Heurigen —wine taverns— where I had my first bite of Krenn— horseradish. I misconstrued it for shredded cheese. I put a generous spread on a piece of bread and ate. I was stunned and still for a second! It was so strong, my mouth burned. Someone at the table noticed what I had just done and thought I might be a brave Japanese person used to eating wasabi. It was embarrassing to spit it out, so I managed a smile and kept chewing, pretending I liked it, my face red, my nose running, tears down my cheeks — from a Krenn overdose.
Imagine my reaction to my first bite of avocado-shrimp cocktail served as a starter at the home of the Austrian boyfriend of a Filipina nurse I met in my first week in Vienna. She said it was an opportunity for me to practice the German I learned at the Goethe-Institut in Manila, so I went. I don’t remember now whether I actually swallowed them, but if I did, I may have excused myself to the bathroom. Thought it was a strange food fusion I had never had in my life. These people had no idea how to eat an avocado, I said to myself. I have known avocado since childhood. They grow abundantly in our backyard, and when ripe, we eat them mashed with ice, evaporated milk, and sugar— a summer refresher. And shrimp you cook and eat with rice, never with avocado. Again, different strokes for different folks. Over the years, I’ve learned to like it. In the long run, your taste buds get used to strange cuisines. Culture shock
Talk of culture shocks. I was on a streetcar when a young couple in their teens, sitting opposite me, started kissing torridly and passionately. I was embarrassed as this was new to me. I had never seen this happen on public transport in my country, so I didn’t know where to focus my attention—out the window or find another seat where there was no adult entertainment. I think I stayed put and decided not to be bothered, but what a challenge it had been. It didn’t take me a long time to get used to culture shocks, like the time a friend and I went to a nudist camp where we were the only ones in a swimsuit. Our religion forbids us from going naked in public was our justification when asked by one in full monty. “Right,” he said, “but your religion does not forbid you from looking.”
It was also on a streetcar where I stood up to offer my seat to a young woman who had just gotten on and found no available seats. She looked at me, blushed, smiled, and declined. Where I come from, offering your seat to a woman or an older adult was a sign of gallantry and respect, at least until I moved to Austria, where seat priorities go to older seniors, women with a child, or those who are disabled.
My host thought I needed a haircut, so he took me to his town’s barber. The barber, who spoke to me in English, was obviously gay; I could tell and smell it, but still hiding in the closet. A day after he did my hair, I dropped by his shop to hang out, like most of us would back home, where beauty parlors and barber shops are favorite hangouts. The barber was attending to a client but paused to ask me if there was anything he could do for me. He was polite, yet indifferent. I expected a warm welcome, like “come on, Ate, give me a hug!” There was none, and it didn’t take me long to realize I was intruding and had no business dropping by expecting a warm reception and a candid conversation. Very much the opposite of what we do back home when in a beauty parlor, where you exchange banter, eat fishballs, and share the latest on Sharon Cuneta and Gabby Concepcion. I said I was passing by and thought I should say hello. He thanked me and went on sprucing up his customer. I said goodbye, feeling so embarrassed and ashamed of myself. I never set foot in that barber shop ever again.
I met a Filipina nurse in Vienna who took me to the Vienna Rathaus (City Hall) on October 26, Austria’s National Day. Buses took passengers for free to specific tourist destinations, such as Schloss Schönbrunn and the Belvedere. Almost all buses were at capacity, so my companion decided to hop on a bus with few passengers, not caring where it would take us. We ended up touring a newly built garbage incinerator.
I also had my first ride on a Pater Noster lift at City Hall. It is a doorless, continuously moving elevator where passengers step on and off while it moves. The experience scared the living daylights out of me, so I would wake up in the middle of the night, dreaming I was in it, on a never-ending ride. I would wake up sweating profusely. Forty-seven years later, it still recurs in my dreams. If they still exist, I might gather enough courage to revisit Pater Noster and take another ride, hoping that doing so will eventually put an end to my nightmares. I have yet to do it. I wonder how Sigmund Freud would analyze my dream.