Vienna Waits For You #5: Mishaps and Meetings

Having fled the bathroom of death, I went to the ring to get the tram to the cinema. I planned to rest my artistically exhausted feet while watching the Third Man, another essential Viennese experience. I had to walk north quite a way to find a Haltstelle, a tram stop, then when I finally got off the tram I checked the map, and found to my horror that I had gone the entire Opernring too far. Watching the other-direction tram departing from the other side of the street, my heart sank. There wasn’t likely to be another tram for several minutes, and sure enough, with fifteen minutes to go until showtime, the next no.2 tram was in nine. I bolted down the nearest subway steps and followed the signs. It took several minutes to reach the correct platform, and a few more to wait for the train. Of course, when I reached the MuseumsQuartier station I bolted up the escalators and in what I thought was the right direction. It wasn’t, as I realised when I found myself approaching the Secession building. I turned, finally orientated, and staggered through the correct door at 3.12, three minutes before guidebook time, to discover that the updated schedule had the show starting at 2.45, D’oh!

However, Harry Potter was on at 15.45, so I contented myself with that. After hanging around the foyer for half an hour, I reflected on how glad I was that there was at least a smoking ban inside the cinema itself. I still haven’t decided whether it’s just me, a year on from the smoking ban, being much less tolerant of smoking or less accustomed to having to put up with it, or if Vienna is an unusually smoky city, but I noticed smoking a lot more there. The theatre was perhaps the comfiest I have ever been in, but my filmic experience was somewhat marred by the group of American teenagers who turned out to be very obnoxious indeed, and talked loudly the whole way through. Grr. But I enjoyed it, even if I really need to see it again.

I found some grub and returned to the hotel, to await the Black Room, ETA 11.30 or so. The Black Room, for those who are not already aware, is my room in the Roundel with Meg, Aaron, Kelly and Justin – Justin being the only member not about to arrive in Vienna for SBL. Around 11.30 I went and sat by the reception desk (in some very uncomfortably upholstered chairs) with Mrs Dalloway and a bottle of water. I waited. And waited. The bell didn’t ring, sadly. Between 12 and 12.30 I began to fall asleep and had strange, literary-inspired dozing dreams. “Put the flowers down, Mrs Dalloway!”

Around 12.45, I noticed a man checking back and forth at reception, and eventually asked if I had seen a group come in. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t,” I replied. “I’m waiting for a group myself.” Since we’re very clever, it only took five or six minutes before the obvious became, well, obvious. We introduced ourselves. This was Michael, from Oxford, with whom I knew Meg had been corresponding but whom I hadn’t met. We discussed when we thought they should arrive – before “now”, basically – and when we should begin to panic. We set a time of 1.30 to begin panicking, though exactly how this was meant to help or where the next stage would take us we hadn’t worked out. At 1.29, just as this was about to become an issue, the buzzer buzzed. We rejoiced, and Michael bounded down the steps with me trailing sleepily behind.

The ladies had arrived, Meg, her mother and Mary from Cambridge, and they headed upstairs, leaving me down by the front door to let Kelly and Aaron who were following in a second taxi. After another five minutes they arrived, but as I tried to open the door I realised that one needed one’s key to do so, even from the inside. As they approached the door I tried to wave towards the right hand side of the door, where the intercom was, only to see them look vaguely confused and continue up the street. I waved them back, perhaps more frantically than was necessary, and beckoned them towards me. They found the intercom and were buzzed in. I grinned sheepishly. “I’m here to let you in!” Oops.

Read on: Vienna Waits For You #6: No Longer Alone