The Honeymoon Ended in Vienna

Klaus Zynski Invades Europe, Part 7

I’m seated at a corner cafe in a decidedly non-photogenic part of Vienna, nursing a large, beautiful beer and a bad mood. I am breaking sequence to document this feeling live and will be resuming normal service hereafter. I have the future editions of this travelog stored away in a sequential list, this has become more involved than I’d assumed it would be.

Every vacation inevitably reaches that point where you think for the first time; “I think I’d like to be home now.”

Okay! Two(?) days later and the mood has changed. I’m looking over these words I wrote while an Indian guy was cooking me a wienerschnitzel and I’m like “who is this whiny dick?” I’m on vacation. I feel good. God is real and he loves me. He loves you, too! I feel an obligation to finish the narrative here because I buttered you up for it but honestly it was no big deal. My blood sugar was low and I was a widdle grumpy baby. It happens. I’m gonna use this entry as a kind of halfway point to make changes because otherwise we’re not finishing shit.

So we get off the train from Budapest to Vienna and immediately I’m liking the Austrian energy. German has a more immediate logic to my English speaking ears than Hungarian (for those unaware, the English language is the product of a Freak Off situation in linguistic parentage terms). I can “read” some stuff and draw inferences to feel my way around. Better yet, the signage in Viennese train stations is superb. We find our metro route with zero drama. Trouble starts at the ticket machine, which for some reason does not like our credit cards. I step in an feed it my last 40 Euro in cash in a supreme act of masculine hubris (my second of the day, I tipped too generously for breakfast in Budapest and now we’re stuck with a bunch of useless Hungarian change). Whatever. Passes are validated and we hop the train. I’m starting to feel sore that I’ve paid for “too much” stuff over the past few days even though no one asked me to do this. We split everything evenly in the aggregate. Dummy.

First big blunder comes on the train. Somehow we fail to recognize that we’re right next to the Airbnb and hop back on the train. This puts us approximately three metro stops further from our lodgings than we had to be. We walk the distance like the dipshit tourists we are. We almost wander into a cemetery and get shooed off. I’m annoyed now. Why did we book a place so far from the metro? Turns out it’s actually extremely close to the metro and we were too stupid and tired to realize it. Oh well. More walking. We’re passing far-right propaganda posters (complete with Aryan farmhands, real OG stuff). My mood is in freefall. We reach the Airbnb and realize our error. We strip. I collapse on an IKEA couch. The whole unit is wall to wall IKEA furniture. Liz goes to see about the laundry situation in our building. That’s the main thing. We are in desperate need of clean clothes.

Oops, laundry is only for permanent residents. Austrian Airbnb lied. Oh actually it turns out that they run an offsite “guest laundry service” that seems like a great way to get your clothes stolen. No, thanks.

I nearly stagger out the door with our laundry slung over my shoulder like some depressing Santa Claus in search of a laundromat when Liz, angel, offers to handle it. Go find a beer and a meal, she says. I oblige. She’s too good to me. First bar doesn’t take card and smells like cigs. The regulars look at me like I’m dirt. Did they hang those Aryan Farmhand posters? I look kinda like the dude in them but maybe being American gives you the Jewish taint by default. They have weed vending machines in this town. Where the hell am I?

I find the corner cafe with the friendly Indian waiter. I get the beer and the wienerschnitzel. Things are looking up. Liz texts me that laundry is running and she needs dinner too. I suggest a burger bar around the corner. We have a winner. I pay the check and walk off to meet her. She’s already seated by the door. I order another big beautiful beer. I’m bouncing back and offer to check on the laundry. Quick walk around the corner, Austrian Domino’s, look at that! Another weed vending machine, they’re not fucking with it in the Kindness Report Discord. I don’t think I fuck with it either. Buy weed from human beings!

Clothes are good. Almost dry. Liz has ordered the largest burger I have ever seen with a fucked up flatbread bun. Why does Europe struggle with burger buns so much? You guys are awesome at bread!

We have an invigorating dinner conversation concerning the music playing in the burger bar. Lots of mid-2010s Girl Power pop. Some P!NK, some Jessie J (whatever happened to her?) a bit of Janis Joplin to break things up. Sia wrote a lot of fucking songs for other people, did you know that? Pop is always more interesting when you’re in high school. Kieron Gillen taught me that pop is for you, whoever you happen to be. It gets harder to believe that as you approach thirty years of age.

This isn’t the fascist propaganda I was referring to, I just found it truly baffling.

I drink several strong dark beers and we walk to get the laundry. Some Viennese youths, one in a designer tracksuit, walk behind us. I look to my right and a door opens to reveal a woman in a bikini. I think some prostitution is occuring. The tracksuit is laughing. I want my laundry. I unsuccessfully attempt to buy beer on our way back to the Airbnb.

I think I gotta make these shorter or else I’ll be working on them for the rest of the year.