The Oxymorons of Vienna

Vienna is nestled inside a circular road.  On the outskirts are parks and grand edifices from the incredibly long era of the Habsburg Dynasty, which began in the late 1200s and ended after World War I.  The city is extremely bike-friendly, as there are several paths separate from the busy streets. 

Since Austria is a relatively small country nowadays and since their recent history is overshadowed by Nazi Germany’s heinous empire, it was relatively easy for me to forget that the Austro-Hungarian Empire was once quite a force to be reckoned with.  In high school, I learned that the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand by the Black Hand helped spark the First World War, but that was the only bullet point the class explored about Austria. 

Their economy was wrecked after paying reparations to the winners.  A few decades later Hitler annexed his homeland.  In 1955, Austria developed a Swiss mentality and became neutral to all warfare because they were tired of being screwed over.  Although their country is significantly smaller nowadays, their tap water is extremely clean, and recycling is a practice followed religiously.  Nearly every Austrian I met spoke both German and fluent English.  Overall, the quality of life in this country is an impressive enticement to settle here permanently.

The only downside to the Austrians is that they are sticklers for J-walking.  Even if you are waiting to cross a deserted side-street, pedestrians won’t move until they see the green man blinking on the sign that tells them it is safe to walk.  Like Pavlovian dogs, the Austrians are conditioned to obey the signs, but I can’t fault them for being trustworthy, upstanding, and orderly citizens.  I am inflicted with an American itch to hurry across the street even if it means dashing in front of a speeding vehicle. 

I followed the ring road to Rathauspark, where I bought a massive pretzel intended to serve as a snack, but the overload of fiber boosted its status to a small meal.  After I licked the salt off my fingers, I spotted a church with an advertisement on its scaffolding.  Under two wonderfully-sculpted spires, there was a giant bag of potato chips that promised:  “Big Waves, Big Taste.”
 

I would have been persuaded to purchase a bag myself if the ad promised that each bite delivers a religious experience.  Since no such promises were made, I was mildly disappointed to see that even churches are stooping to such a low level to accrue funds.  Granted, restoration work is not free, so one must make money somehow.  But it is a shame that people will not give enough of their coins willingly. 

Instead, major corporations must target our baser desires to fork over our cash so we can crunch up crisps and coat our taste buds with salty goodness.  I enjoy a bag of chips every now and then, but I am saddened that our species has reached the point where junk food companies exploit and exacerbate our vulnerabilities.  Because the masses have been conditioned to worship fried potatoes, they can worship their god in a restored sanctuary.  However, I suppose a potato chip advertisement is less sinful than selling chintzy bobble-heads of the Pope inside the church gift shop. 

After pondering the commercialization of Christianity, I succumbed to my sweet tooth and bought an Apfelstrudel, a local specialty that tastes like a mini apple pie.  I was ashamed of my poor eating habits, but at the same time I wanted to sample the treats of each country.  The nomadic lifestyle also consoled me that I would work off any excess calories. 

I munched on the pastry until I reached the Sigmund Freud Museum, which occupies his former practice where he saw his patients until he fled to London to escape the Nazis.  I walked into the foyer where I could see Freud’s jacket and walking cane hanging on hooks.  If it weren’t for the glass case, the sight of his pedestrian paraphernalia would suggest he could step out into the street at any moment.  The waiting room featured furniture of the type that would have been found in Freud’s office. 

The museum largely consisted of photographs whose numbers corresponded with explanations inside a pamphlet I carried around like a homework assignment.  The space wasn’t huge, but it was packed with pictures, personal belongings, and antiques from Freud’s collections.  In addition to smoking, Freud loved to travel because his voyages opened his mind and improved his health.  He visited Italy numerous times as well as the countries surrounding his homeland such as Germany and Hungary.  Although he considered immigrating to America, he visited only once to give lectures at a university in Massachusetts.

Freud’s other passion——smoking——enabled him to think and write clearly.  It also gave him cancerous tumors.  When he was forced to quit for his health, he found he was no longer motivated to write.  Although he was healthier without his tobacco, he wasn’t as happy as he used to be. 

During my visit, I was not concerned with further educating myself about his psychoanalytic methods; I would rather study such heavy material while sitting down.  The exhibit enumerated his findings, particularly free association and The Interpretation of Dreams, but the museum was most successful in presenting Freud as a relatable figure——as a son, a husband, a father, a friend.

Learning about Freud’s propensity toward cigars made me feel better about giving into my taste buds.  The chip advertisement juxtaposed to a church made me reconsider how I viewed pleasure.  The Church deems excessive behavior such as gluttony to be sinful.  I, too, viewed desserts as unnecessary, and so I always felt guilty for indulging.  But this holiday has taught me to celebrate pleasure while aiming for balance. 

The Apfelstrudel is countered by the walk just as a night spent in club is countered by a day at the museum.  My brain steers me toward pleasure and away from pain like Pac-Man chomping on white dots while fleeing the goblins.  We are all consumers battling with our temptations and struggling with self-regulation.  Geniuses like Freud are not immune to vices. Even the churches support indulgence while crusading against it.