“I never knew the old Vienna before the war with its Strauss music, its glamour and easy charm. Constantinople suited me better. I really got to know it in the classic period of the black market. We’d run anything if people wanted it enough and had the money to pay. Of course a situation like that does tempt amateurs, but, well, you know, they can’t stay the course like a professional.” ― Graham Greene, The Third Man
Vienna has loomed large in my life since I was a child. I had always known the city as a place of music and empire. My father had studied at the University of Vienna for a year and whenever he referred to it I could sense his love and admiration. Orson Welles’ The Third Man, based on the Graham Greene novel, was a favorite in my parents’ household. I became aware of the complexity of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and Yugoslav nationalism before I knew the rules of basketball.
As a young college student I had the pleasure of visiting Vienna for a few days. My father had arranged for me to board with his former landlady on the outskirts of the city. For five days I woke early, rode the train into the city center, and explored. I wandered each day with a twenty year-olds lanky body, early-2000s fashion, and rudimentary knowledge of the German language. I visited palaces and museums, listened to the music of Mozart and Strauss, and utterly failed at flirting with a few women in Vienna. In the evenings I would return to their house, share my experiences over cheese, salami, and giant bottles of beer. Each night I would retire slightly drunk and tired from a long day on my feet. A classic college-age experience.
Fast forward 18 years, Vienna has never lost its allure. The Viennese coffee houses, delicate desserts, classic architecture, and ever-present music still enchant me. All these years later I wanted my wife and son to experience Vienna. For them to be transfixed in the same way that I had. I had schemed unsuccessfully for years to get us to Vienna, but the demands of career and parenthood derailed all of them. However, this past Christmas the good fortune and opportunity finally put us on the path to Vienna.
Nothing in life is ever free, though. Traveling with a toddler is never easy. Even nights out with him require a substantial variety of distractions to last through dessert. My wife and I learned early on that the minutes between seating, service, and the arrival of food with an under-engaged child are fraught with danger. The only thing louder than a toddler-thrown fork on a restaurant floor is the follow-up butter knife clanging around the table legs. But, after four years, my wife and I are veteran parents. Unflinching soldiers as tantrums explode around us like mortar shells. Flying with a toddler involves risks, but the potential pay-off could be even greater.
For a three hour flight we packed coloring books, sticker books, and window gels that could be rearranged according to his imagination. Toy cars were tucked into multiple pockets, at the ready like first aid kits for tantrums. Our son even had his own headphones for the last resort bit of screen time. We had extra pants, extra socks, back-up boots, and two coats for him. The weather might be cold or rain . . . or cold and rainy. We wanted to be prepared for anything. With so much of our luggage space devoted to our son, my wife and I could barely fit enough clothes to rotate outfits for a week. (Thank goodness not washing jeans is considered fashionable!)
The trip could have gone three ways. A toddler can reject all entertainment offerings, preferring wiggling, loudly talking, and/or climbing (or crawling) to undesirable locations – a difficult and exhausting scenario I will dub “mutton busting” for the physical demands placed on parents. Scenario two a.k.a. “the desert,” occurs when said an energetic toddler remarkably loses all finger dexterity and all his inflight entertainment ends up on the floor covered in airport grime and airplane floor-glitter. A toddler knows what he wants, even believes it is within his grasp, but the parents are unable to let them touch these soiled items – creating a desire for the unattainable, much like a thirsty man in a desert. For a parent, it creates a situation akin to a machine gunner that has run out of ammunition – desperate for replenishment, uncertain if more will come.
The final scenario is every parent’s holy grail, a child finds an activity and loses themselves in it for hours – “the dream”. In the five hours of travel – adding up an hour in the car, two hours at the airport, a two and a half hour flight, and a 30 minutes to taxi to our rented apartment – our little guy zoned in on sticker and coloring books – giving us “the dream” start to our vacation.
Vienna was it’s charming self. Our rented apartment near the Naschmarkt allowed us to walk into the city center each day along wide avenues and elegant buildings. Within the old city’s ring road, the Graben, the glory of the long-dead Habsburg Empire still impresses. Vienna always had two identities to me. In the open was the majestic capital of an expansive Empire and beloved Kaiser, and in the corners was the city of a seedy anti-hero Harry Lime. In The Third Man, Harry Lime lives in a bomb-damaged, post-World War II Vienna. It’s a world of shadows and deceit, and Lime thrives in the black market which contorts the relationships of his friends, lovers, and enemies with deadly implications. My internal soundtrack during my visit alternated between the melodies of the chamber orchestra with the zither of Anton Karas.
The Christmas season is magical there. Gigantic decorated trees fill innumerable plazas and twinkling colored lights hang across, over, and throughout the city. Christmas markets of all sizes were never far from our path as we explored the palaces, museums, and attractions. In the cold air mulled wine & hot chocolate, bowls of goulash soup, roasted chestnuts were readily at hand. Vienna is a feast for all five senses.
The Ottoman army laid siege to Vienna in 1683. While they failed to capture the city, they did leave behind a lasting influence and Turkish coffee. The caffeinated city would develop a sophisticated cafe culture where news, politics, and ideas were discussed. It was one of our greatest pleasures to sit peacefully in a cafe, engaging in high-minded discussion, and nibbling on an inexhaustible parade of Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman-influenced pastries. Rose and I would order the classic Viennese coffee, kaffee mit schlag, at baroque-styled cafes and hotels across the city, while a 500-sticker sticker book provided a quiet activity for our son.
Fortunately, in addition to the sophisticated pleasures of Vienna we found it to be a city for all ages and there was plenty to engage a toddler. For every artifact of Franz Josef and Maria Theresa I saw my son was able to solve a puzzle or interact with an age-appropriate exhibit. In the Naschmarkt, Turkish shop clerks would hand olive and cheese samples, giving him a mosaic of tastes and smells to implant in his memory, At a touristy concert, the lead violinist sent winks and smiles at our son and the opera singer tossed his hair – keeping him engaged in the music. During the day I would concoct stories of princes and giants to accompany our walk through the sprawling gardens and numerous rooms of Schönbrunn Palace. Narrow allies and back streets became secret passages to explore. In the evenings, the view from our rented apartment allowed us to watch the city pass by, we waved at busses and counted cars. The grandeur of the city lent itself to elaborate plots in the bedtime stories I’d tell him each night.
Occasionally, I interspersed the royal Habsurg atmosphere with references to The Third Man. There is still niche tourism based around the film. Harry Lime’s apartment, the entrance to the city sewers, and the famous Riesenrad are all visitable by those who seek them. I forced Rose to watch the film before our trip. Throughout our visit I would weave Third Man movie quotes into our conversations, to a few chuckles and many eye rolls. However, our watching of The Third Man was a bell that could not be unrung, and Rose’s appreciation for the characters and storytelling of the great Orson Welles film grew as the Viennese streets, Austrian pronunciations, and long shadows merged with her memories of the film.
We left Austria with souvenirs, gifts, and plenty of great memories. After another three and half hour toddler-entertaining flight we found English rain, our car’s brakes rusted to the wheel rotors, unable to leave the parking lot. (That’s a story for another time.) However, the magic of Vienna has not dissipated. My son still asks to listen to the “Vienna music” and we still tell bedtime stories of princes and giants – inspired by this visit many months ago. And my wife still laughs at some of my Third Man jokes, even if her eyes continue to roll. I returned to Vienna and found it a welcoming and entertaining place for a family with diverse interests and varying attention spans. The magic of Vienna is still strong and I’m sure we’ll go back again to experience more.
Andrew Zapf is a co-founder of Pushing Horizons.
Disclaimer: All views expressed are that of the author. As an REI Associate, Pushing Horizons earns from qualifying purchases.
