In case you haven't deduced this already, I'm a cafe kind of girl. So clearly, Vienna was going to be my kind of city. I love the slow pace of the caéfeé culture, the idea of settling in to savor a newspaper and a coffee. As a UNESCO report describes the experience, "Time and space are consumed, but only the coffee is found on the bill." As the day goes on there's an effortless transition from stimulant to depressant; coffee to wine. The cafes are a comfortable haunt for both solo travelers and the company of friends; they're perfectly adaptable and welcoming.
In Anglo-American cafes you can find great coffee, friendly baristas, tons of laptop-attached freelancers and students - but they don't have the same panache as the Viennese writers' haunts. I did visit one modern-style cafe in Vienna where laptop working was more acceptable, but it felt blandly western after the elegance of the traditional places. The sense of history, of an almost lost way of life, is palpable in the old cafes' architecture and attitudes. Historically, they functioned something like English old boys' clubs, filled with famous men reading the newspaper. However, cafes were always more democratic of entrance, and today anyone with the leisure time - though still an exclusive group - can sit and enjoy.
Clinking and conversation are the sounds of the cafe, punctuated by occasional crashes from the back. You sit, read, relax, write. Drink. Give yourself over to the newspapers on sticks, the formal banquettes, the German menu - or lack of one. In the world of the cafe, waiters and patrons are constantly moving, but somehow the pace remains slow; sedate. I found I could even savor the cigarette smoke on one cool outdoor evening, I was so enraptured by the world-within-worlds I had found. The best cafes have an atmosphere that lends itself to pondering, and - hopefully - to contentment.
In the cafes and the city at large, you have to accept the rhythm of the place – in one location I saw a number of visitors sit down, get up, and leave before the waiter ever came out again. You need patience, an ability to sit through the discomfort of uncertainty, and hope that someone will arrive to take your order. (They eventually will, in continental Europe. In England, just go to the bar.) That's half the fun of travel - not expecting things to work on your terms, but rather learning how other people and cultures function, and adapting to that. You learn who you are when you're not in your accustomed circumstances.
In Anglo-American cafes you can find great coffee, friendly baristas, tons of laptop-attached freelancers and students - but they don't have the same panache as the Viennese writers' haunts. I did visit one modern-style cafe in Vienna where laptop working was more acceptable, but it felt blandly western after the elegance of the traditional places. The sense of history, of an almost lost way of life, is palpable in the old cafes' architecture and attitudes. Historically, they functioned something like English old boys' clubs, filled with famous men reading the newspaper. However, cafes were always more democratic of entrance, and today anyone with the leisure time - though still an exclusive group - can sit and enjoy.
Clinking and conversation are the sounds of the cafe, punctuated by occasional crashes from the back. You sit, read, relax, write. Drink. Give yourself over to the newspapers on sticks, the formal banquettes, the German menu - or lack of one. In the world of the cafe, waiters and patrons are constantly moving, but somehow the pace remains slow; sedate. I found I could even savor the cigarette smoke on one cool outdoor evening, I was so enraptured by the world-within-worlds I had found. The best cafes have an atmosphere that lends itself to pondering, and - hopefully - to contentment.
In the cafes and the city at large, you have to accept the rhythm of the place – in one location I saw a number of visitors sit down, get up, and leave before the waiter ever came out again. You need patience, an ability to sit through the discomfort of uncertainty, and hope that someone will arrive to take your order. (They eventually will, in continental Europe. In England, just go to the bar.) That's half the fun of travel - not expecting things to work on your terms, but rather learning how other people and cultures function, and adapting to that. You learn who you are when you're not in your accustomed circumstances.
So take full advantage of the cafe experience, and of the Germanic tradition of kaffee und kuchen, coffee and cake. There's a reason a whole genre of pastries is called viennoiserie. Viennese specialties include sachertorte and apfel strudel, among many others. As it turned out I was not a big fan of sachertorte, though I ventured to try it at the source, Cafe Sacher. However I did love buchteln, which are warm, plum-jam-filled rolls particular to the Cafe Hawelka. I also appreciated Vienna's free-flowing water policies; a glass or carafe is always provided with your order, without demand. There were free water fountains set up around the city as well. (Free, clean water for all?! Paradise!)
I managed to visit a few of the most famous cafes in Vienna, some by design and some by accident. Much like the city itself, they had elegant settings but relaxed atmospheres. Cafe Hawelka was my favorite, probably because it still retained a sense of being somewhat hole-in-the-wall. I peeked into the dark, musty interior but settled in their outdoor seating, surprisingly quiet for being just off the main shopping streets. My glass of wine was impressively cheap, though the buchteln were less so. Apparently this cafe was popular with midcentury artists and writers, so it's no wonder I liked it - even if that is a bit late for my historical tastes. Cafe Central can't disappoint on that front, though - it played host to much of Vienna's early 20th century intellectual scene, including Freud, Lenin and Trotsky. It has lovely architecture and comfortable seating, but expect brisker service - there are more tourists here (at least when I visited). Cafe Sacher felt like stepping back in time, from the decor to the staff uniforms - it had a beautiful interior and quite nice, formal service. It was a neat experience, even if it felt like it had stretched a bit beyond its sell-by date. All of these places by rights should have been pretty touristy, but none of them were exactly bombarded during my visits. Cafe Hawelka even seems to hide in plain sight.
Vienna felt very 'London' in some ways, but more relaxing, easygoing, and democratic - it can be formal, but not fussed. That sense of casual elegance is probably why I loved it so much. The turn-of-the-century architecture impresses you at every turn, though the buildings occasionally blend together in their similarity. If London is a cobbled mishmash, Vienna is a stately pile, practically a filing system of wide and clear bike paths, pedestrian zones, and adorable walk signs (see right). I wouldn't mind a bit more chaos, but then it wouldn’t be Vienna: imperial and international, relaxed and proper, very much its own place and with its own pace. Vienna is a thinking city - a wonderful place to feel the confluence of history and culture, and to absorb its particular way of doing things. And nowhere more so than its cafes.
Love,
Annie
Love,
Annie