articles > travel
June 2008
There is an aura of calm in Vienna that belies the metropolis of 1.6 million people. At a sidewalk café, my friends and I sit outside as cars roll up to the curved T-junction. But there is hardly a sound. It is like this all over the city: quiet. There is an unreal harmony between those at rest and those on the move, those off the street and those on. The cars, just inches away from us, are unobtrusive. The sounds are gentle, the movements slow and cautious. We relax, sip our espressos and remark at the thoughtfulness of the proprietor who keeps cream-coloured blankets on our chairs just in case the fresh air outside turns too cold.
All around the city, sellers are sympathetic, even the ones around St. Stephen’s Cathedral dressed in their long-tailed, big-cuffed, heavily buttoned jackets – like Mozart.
“Grüss got. Hello,” says a Mozart with a binder and a small smile. “German? English?” We answer, he continues. “Are you interested in seeing a concert tonight?” The Mozart opens up his binder to show flyers and pictures promoting orchestras performing Mozart and Strauss classics.
“We have plans.”
“I see,” says the Mozart, still pleasant. “How long are you in town for?”
“Actually, only a couple of days,” I say, looking for confirmation from my friend. “Yes, two, maybe three,” she says. “It will be difficult,” I finish.
The Mozart’s eyes dart back and forth between us. He’s sussing us out. How true or false our answers are doesn’t matter to him. He knows we’re cold to his offers. He smiles again, says, “Good day,” and steps back. He doesn’t harass. None of them do. Four days of passing through this tout-filled square and only one Mozart approaches us. These are definitely not the touts of the subcontinent.
Civility lives underground too. In Vienna, there are no ticket sellers for the subway, no barriers or any multi-armed turnstiles. Riders buy tickets from automated machines and descend to the platforms unchecked. I took the subway seven times. Not once did someone check my ticket. The subway effectively runs on an honour system. Forget Karachi, try imagining this system in London, New York or even Toronto.
Unwritten rules are no less valued. At the Vienna State Opera, my friends and I opt for the bargain tickets: standing room only. Reserving a spot works like this. Show up an hour before the show and buy a ticket. Go to your section. Find a vacant spot along one of the handrails that curve along each terraced row and tie a ribbon, scarf or even a length of the paper programme to mark your place. Go explore the 140-year-old opera house. Come back 15 minutes before the start of the performance and your place will be saved – saved by a ribbon and the etiquette of this Utopian society.
Despite all this public civility, Pakistanis won’t feel totally lost in Vienna. Every bar, restaurant and café – unlike those in many other Western cities – still makes room for the smoker.
from:
The Most Civil Place on Earth
