Ah....It's REALLY Vienna!

You'll be pleased to hear that we're getting into the Proper Story of the trip now - no more faffing about with airports......


Here we go then:

TUESDAY 3RD OCTOBER

I wake up in a mild state of panic, realising that I’m alone in a strange country whose language I don’t understand, but I grab my twin security blankets of coffee and computer and connect effortlessly to Gusti’s wireless network...... As I check into the ENGLAND thread of GB.net, I wonder again at the ease with which I can communicate - my kit of laptop, camera and phone takes up little room on Gusti’s table, and I can illustrate my posts quickly and easily by connecting my camera to the laptop and uploading my photos almost instantly - it’s so simple!

Eventually, I realise that I haven’t come to Vienna to sit at a computer all day, and after primping myself to face the unknown, I venture out on my mission to explore strange new worlds, to boldly go where no Tart has gone before...... My communications centre strapped to my back, I decide to give the tram a miss, and after a false start, find the Underground station (NOT the station Gusti showed me last night!) and head into the city. I try to pretend I’m not a tourist, but the pretence is shattered as I catch sight of the magnificent cathedral as I exit the underground at Stephansplatz....... Gob ajar, I reach instinctively for my camera and take shot after touristy shot of the incredible architecture, then simply gawp at the awesome buildings surrounding me. My trigger finger aches with the onset of RSI, but it’s worth it - directly opposite the cathedral in all it’s Gothic-looking gargoyled splendour is the fabulous Thirties-inspired Haas Haus, a curvacious modern shopping centre in glass and steel that caused controversy when first built. I can see why, but it provides a stunning foil for the cathedral which has the last laugh, its towering edifices reflected in the sleek front of the Haas Haus.

I abandon my plan of methodically trawling the streets according to my tourist map, and resort to aimless wandering instead - something it appears I’m good at, as I wander aimlessly throughout Vienna city centre, snapping away at the beautiful architecture which is bizarrely accented by modern illuminated signs. One such sign catches my eye as hunger pangs strike, and far too cowardly to try a restaurant by myself, resort to my shame to the familiar golden arches of MacDonalds........ Managing to get what I ordered, despite my appalling mix of German and sign language, I head for a space on a bench in the square of Stephansplatz to devour my food.

I soon discover why there was a space....... My nearest neighbour turns out to be a drunken idiot who lies on the otherwise crowded benches alternately talking gibberish and spitting gobs of phlegm onto the pavement beside me. Nice. However, I soldier gamely on, as I need to eat, but have to admit defeat when the idiot takes a bottle of perfume from his bag (a ladies’ furry handbag....) and sprays it liberally over his bare legs....... I dump the rest of my food into a nearby bin and wander off to continue my bemused exploration of this wonderful city.

I turn left at the end of Graben, walking past hoardings emblazoned with “Chanel/Prada/Louis Vuitton coming soon!” and various other designer graffiti, deviating only briefly to investigate a pretty little side street which comprises exclusively antique shops, until I reach Michaelerplatz, and the Hofberg which takes away what little there is left of my breath...... The statuary is fabulous, and I risk getting run over for the best example. Happily, the Vienna traffic fails to do me in, and I wander through the archway where I discover a beautiful dome which reminds me of the Corinthian in Glasgow, and out into the Heldenplatz where the horse-drawn fiacres wait for tourists. However, by this time, I’m reeling with a combination of dehydration and cultural overload, so I decide it’s time to brave a cafe..... Everything seems chock-full of tourists and Viennese alike, and it’s only by chance that I see someone getting up from a table at a pavement cafe - I hastily pitch camp before anyone else can nab the table, and order an iced tea..... The waitress incidentally, susses that I’m English before I even open my mouth......

I take a couple of shots from my position at the table - There are some funny folk about - a Sikh gentleman walks by, hand in hand with a punk girl, and a matronly lady in tweeds whizzes silently past on a little scooter.....Everyone seems to have a mobile phone pressed to their ear, regardless of age, and dozens of men in designer sunnies talk into headsets, giving the impression that they’re not-so-secret service agents! Two elderly ladies on the next table keep up an animated conversation regularly peppered with disbelieving “Nein!?”s - obviously the gossip is spicy, but that’s all I can discern! It’s all Greek to me!

Exhausted, I head back to Gusti’s and am so tired by the time I exit the underground that I brave the tram. And so my love affair with the tram begins...They are noisy and rattly (the old ones) or smooth and whooshy (the new ones) but each has character of its own. I haven’t needed to show a ticket at all, simply jump on and off as I please! I jump off at the appropriate stop and let myself into Gusti’s apartment which already feels like home. It’s not long before Gusti herself arrives home, and we decide to get pizza delivered, as we’re both shattered. The evening finds us She-Geeks giggling hysterically online with our laptops back-to-back on the table while we drip pizza over our keyboards! It’s very odd, having an online conversation with someone sitting opposite you, and it obviously bewildered the heck out of our fellow members from Team ENGLAND!

Finally, Gusti calls it a night, leaving me to carry on posting solo from Vienna.... I drop a few pictures into the thread, showing the girls back home where I’ve been today, until I too have to admit defeat and crawl into bed..........

I fall asleep before my head even hits the pillow........

Travelling 101: Arriving........

I'm at Vienna!

Despite being told to wait until we've stopped, there is a mass unclipping of seat belts which sounds like a herd of paparazzi clicking away, and almost before the plane has come to a standstill, there are queues in the aisles as everyone is impatient to deplane. Being the sensible soul that I am, I wait patiently for the stampede to pass before lugging my heavy backpack down from the overhead locker and chasing after the throng into the terminal....... I follow the masses through more polished corridors until the crocodile of grumpy travellers suddenly disperses into a vast hall filled with baggage carousels, and I deduce brightly that I AM in the right place after all, as Slutty comes bounding out to meet me. No doubt the baggage handlers have been taking the mickey out of my suitcase-for-a-slapper, but I’m pleased to see that Slutty hasn’t bust a gut, and his bondage restraints weren’t needed after all! I’m inordinately relieved to see my case again - mainly because my essential medication is contained within, but also because Mini-Marek hasn’t gone AWOL...... Slutty and I trundle through to the exit where I spot Gusti lying in wait with her camera, and I grin cheesily, but wearily before being enfolded in a hug! I cling on in gratitude that there is SOMEONE here that I know.....

Gusti insists on a taxi back to her apartment, and I sink gratefully into the back seat while Slutty is stowed with reverence in the boot. We chatter non-stop all the way back, interspersed with Gusti rattling on to the driver in German - which seems very odd, as I think of her as English! One of the sights en route is an oil refinery, and it turns out that THIS unlikely industrial conglomeration was the “Swarovski” effect I saw from the air! It doesn’t smell quite so lovely though........

I do a double-take as we drive down one street - there are Ladies of the Night plying their trade by the roadside! Very glamorous leggy girls, wearing skimpy clothing - one is presenting a somewhat cheeky appearance as she struts her stuff wearing just a jacket and a thong......... Once again, my jaw hangs open in amazement. By the time we reach Gusti’s building, I’m exhausted and barely notice my surroundings as we squish into a cubicle that purports to be a lift, too tired even for my customary claustrophobia! She warns me her apartment is small, and she wasn’t joking! but I envy her the compactness of her living arrangements compared to my sprawling pile...... I’m so glad to have actually arrived in Vienna that I throw my arms around Gusti and laugh hysterically!

After depositing my gear, we’re off out again as Gusti wants to show me where I’ll need to catch the trams/buses/trains....... My aching feet protest at being squashed into high-heeled boots, which I’d worn simply because my best jeans are too long without heels. The leopard print top was a joke, so I’d co-ordinate with my case, but it turns out I’m the height of fashion, as animal prints are de rigeur right now.... The first time in my life I’ve been fashionable, and it was unintentional!

We reach the station seemingly in no time at all as we’ve been gossiping all the way, and Gusti teases a ticket out of the vending machine; this will allow me to use any public transport ad infinitum for the duration of my stay. To my relief, we head back to the apartment where Gusti then imparts the most crucial piece of information of the entire trip....

The password to her W-LAN network, so I can connect to the internet via my laptop.....

It’s far too late to test it out now, as it’s already WAY past Gusti’s bedtime and she has to work in the morning. I send her off to bed with assurances that I’ll be fine and will probably sleep through her departure tomorrow, although I know I’ll probably wake up at the slightest noise......


I never hear her leave next morning..........

Travelling 101: Find ANOTHER airport.....

AMSTERDAM: Schiphol Airport......

The KLM Cityhopper spews its relieved cargo out into a wet and grey urban starkness. To put it politely, it’s persistently raining.......... My fellow hoppers and I board a bus which shows every sign of driving the rest of the way to Vienna, but which in reality, takes a circuitous tour of the airport buildings (I’m sure we go round twice!) before spitting us out into the sprawling metropolis that is Schiphol. Inside, my tiny mind is blown to smithereens as I stand alone in the midst of this chic, glossy concourse like Tom Hanks’ character in “The Terminal”. Soft muzak plays to calm the irksome traveller, and it’s amazingly clean and sparkly. The marble floors are so highly polished I’m certain that if I were wearing a skirt, my knickers would be reflected in the mirror-like surface! I imagine a camera-shot panning round me and up to the lofty ceiling to give an idea of the vastness of the hall in which I stand. All of a sudden, the solitude of my situation hits me, and I feel truly alone in a crowd....... However, I know exactly what to do, and it’s not long before I find the KPN Communication Centre,
and after a brief detour to make the acquaintance of a fascinating self-flushing toilet, I confess to the guy at the desk that I am a “WiFi virgin” and have no idea how to access the airport’s connection..... He helps me through the stunningly simple set-up process, and I tootle off gleefully to park myself at a WiFi table and impersonate a Sophisticated International Traveller. Within minutes, I’m online and chatting with my mates at GB.Net - I am flabberghasted at how easy it is!

However, in my eagerness to get online, I foolishly forget to buy a coffee BEFORE I set up all my gear, and after triumphantly proving what a techno-geek I am, I give in to the need for stimulants, pack up all my kit and caboodle and go to relieve the cafe of a large Cappuchino and a sizeable chocolate muffin. I retreat back to WiFi heaven with my goodies both technical and digestible and am shortly back with my online buddies, sending them a photo of my hard-won snack!
My friends keep me company and help while away the hours until it’s time for me to go in search of my departure gate, when I pack away my gear and trek off.......

This airport astounds me. En route to my gate, I look like a goldfish as I gawp open-mouthed at the glamour of the place........ I’m not what you’d call an Airport Afficionado, but this one is the bee’s knees of Terminals - the veritable dog’s bananas! However, my ineptitude with my trusty little Nikon frustrates me as I attempt to capture the rich colours of a stunning display of bottles in a champagne bar, and the glitz in the window of a diamond shop....... (I really MUST study the manual.) I try to soak up the atmosphere, afraid that I’ll forget it all knowing my sieve-like mind, but there is too much to take in - I’m on sensory overload. By the time I get to my next point of no return, I’m dazed and bedazzled by the whole experience, not to mention feeling a tad icky - which I blame on the chocolate muffin.

I still have time before my flight boards, so after an abortive attempt at reconnecting to the net, I indulge in a little talent-spotting. There are SO many good-looking men here! I’m like a spectator at Wimbledon watching hunks pass back and forth, and one Super-Studly specimen in particular catches my eye as I join the queue to board the plane. I have to make a concerted effort to shut my mouth and stop dribbling........ This time, there’s a covered walkway to the plane, and I find myself pausing at the gaps, simply to get a breath of air. Once again heavily tainted with the acrid smell of aircraft fuel, it’s not fresh, but at least it’s cool and I long to be able to stick my flushed face outside. It gets even worse aboard the aircraft - it’s stuffy and hot, and I feel the beginnings of hysteria as the plane fills up and I am trapped in my window seat - once again on the wing.... What IS it with me and wings?? I hate sitting there, as I have visions of the scene from the “Twilight Zone” where the guy keeps seeing some weird creature outside...... I scribble wildly to distract myself from the rising panic, and fleetingly wonder what I’m doing, jetting halfway across Europe by myself. Then I remember. It’s called Independence.......

As we are once more thrust skywards with a great screaming of engines - and much silent screaming from me - I cease my manic scribbling, forced back in my seat by the G-force and close my eyes to hope fervently that we stay airborne as long as we need to. (I’m not afraid of flying - it’s the crashing that scares the Bejaysus out of me.) As we level out, I venture another look outside - the lights of nighttime Amsterdam twinkle far below like a scattering of jewels on black velvet - quite simply breathtaking. Content that we might possibly stay aloft for the duration, I resume scratching away in my Moleskine, only to find the bladdy plane juddering again as we encounter yet more turbulence. Whoopi-doo.

The trolley-dollies this time are very ably assisted by a hunkalicious Purser who hauls the weighty trolley uphill, then they take the brakes off the thing and whizz back down the aisle flinging their wares at the startled passengers like newspaper delivery boys..... I decline the offer, as I don’t see any reason to give my churning tum more ammo for any potential projectile vomiting that may occur...... I check out the distribution of puke packs, and am relieved to see I have double quota again. Methinks they knew I was coming..... I wish I could just open a window to cool my badly-timed hot flush, but content myself with fiddling with the woefully inadequate air vent instead. Note to self: Bring ice pack and fan next time.....

The moon casts a glow over the wing of the aircraft, reassuring me that it’s still there at least, and I listen to the laid-back tones of the Captain as he casually informs us that we are flying via Leipzeig and Dresden. What he DOESN’T say is that we’re going to be flying through yet more bloody turbulence, just as I begin to scribble again, and my pen makes an untidy streak across the page of my notebook. However, we have “a gift from nature” (his words, not mine!) in the form of a favourable tail wind, which means that we will arrive in Vienna ahead of schedule. Gusti - get your skates on!......... We’re still bouncing around, and the water I have left in my cup threatens to deposit itself into my lap. I daren’t chug it back, as the little I HAVE imbibed is sloshing around uncomfortably in my tum. I try sipping it, but end up wearing it and abandon the attempt. At 9.35, we begin a swift descent into Vienna’s airport, strange flashes of light showing beneath the wings as we punch our way through low cloud. The lights of Vienna appear suddenly as the cloud breaks, and I’m taken aback by the sprawl of the city - somehow, I imagined it would be smaller! I’m enthralled by the lights, and drink them in, trying to hold the sight in my memory - one particular area is brighter than the rest, and sparkles like a Swarovski ornament - it’s truly beautiful. Then the harsh, ugly lights of the airport hove into view and we bang down hard on the runway in a heavy landing.

I’m here.

Travelling 101: Find the Airport....

After the slowest drive in history, (why has everyone decided to go caravanning TODAY??) I reach Bristol Airport and head away from the comfortable familiarity of my usual car park, (constant jet-setter that I am) in search of the Silver Zone car park, which is located just south of the Back of Beyond. And left a bit.

My car poses for its photo to be taken before the barrier decides it likes the look of us and lets us in. I’m supposed to park in a numbered bay, but as the number is somewhat illegible, I have to figure it out by process of elimination after studying the similarly unreadable ones nearby. Keys thrown at the lady in reception, I entrust my little VW to their mercies and board the courtesy bus which promises to deliver us to the Terminal in five minutes. Five minutes stretch to ten, as more people decide to clamber aboard, and I watch the chap in front of me doing a bizarre form of origami which he then applies to his suitcase. It promptly falls off, and I choke back a snigger in case it triggers my aching bladder........ My brazen baggage is stowed carefully in the luggage rack, but can’t restrain a little leap as the bus finally clanks into gear and we’re off.

The KLM desk is right in front of the revolving doors, but before I can check Slutty in, I am obliged to buy him a belt to prevent his innards (my not-so-smalls) being spread across Europe....... I am informed that I won’t see Slutty again until Vienna, as my bag will be transferred through Amsterdam for me. I hope. As I wave it bye-bye, my heart sinks as I remember that Mini-Marek lies within, and guilt overwhelms me. What if he goes astray in Amsterdam? Legs it to Lucerne? Buggers off to Barcelona? Will I get postcards from MM from far-flung destinations?

I journey through the airport en route to Departures, setting off the Archway of Ping big time.... A nice young lady sets about patting me down (there’s a lot of me to cover....) but fails to offer support as I teeter first on one foot, then the other while she inspects my high-heeled boots. I make a wild grab to steady myself, but manage to stay upright, apologetically disentangling my fingers from her hair before reclaiming my precious laptop and heading for my second bus ride of the day. This one is much like the first but with the addition of Eau d’Aircraft Fuel and less luggage, and halts beside the KLM Cityhopper which is unsurprisingly going to hop cities. And countries. When the doors of the bus open, the tightly packed passengers spill out onto the tarmac and swarm up the steps like rats leaving a sinking ship, but once we are all seated, I discover to my glee that I am alone in a row of five seats, and can scribble in my Moleskine without anyone peering over my shoulder.... Not that I’m paranoid or anything....

The KLM flight crew have a jolly jape, and play Cabin Crew Skittles as we taxi along the runway for takeoff. While the girls are performing their safety routine, the pilot brakes sharply, sending the trolley-dollies staggering, lifejackets akimbo and plastic smiles stretched taut, but the show must go on. And on, and on - in German and Dutch, as well as English until we run out of languages and runway, and the pilot sends us hurtling skywards while my stomach follows somewhat later.......

It catches up with the rest of me in time for the freebies handed out by the fortunately now sure-footed cabin crew - dry pastrami roll with a cup of barely drinkable coffee. Not exactly haute-cuisine, but hell - it’s free, unlike SleazyJet and BuggerAllWays who could take a leaf out of KLM’s book instead of fleecing their passengers for foul food and dire drinks..... However, just as I am getting used to this airborne extravaganza, the cabin crew race through the plane doing a high-speed garbage collection, and I rescue my half-drunk coffee in the nick of time, but regret it a moment later when the reason for their haste becomes obvious - the pilot cheerily informs us that things are about to get a little bumpy. Oh deep joy.

I feel my stomach start to rebel as we bounce through the sky, but count my blessings that I have no neighbour to witness my possible ejection of the KLM freebies. I am also pleased that I have not one, but TWO sick bags handy..... The pilot decides to put the plane into a shallow dive to fly below the bumps, but this in itself is a tad unnerving when I see the sea rushing up to meet us. I wonder in alarm if the captain is perhaps slumped unconscious over the controls, or is going to pull up just short of splashdown, just for a laugh, but no - it’s all part of the master plan, and he announces nonchalently that we will shortly be landing in Amsterdam. Those who have flown with me know that I am not a happy traveller, but I brave a peek out of the window - and immediately wish I hadn’t! I can almost feel the spray from the sea as we skim over the waves, and I swear a wingtip almost dips into the water as he banks sharply. All of a sudden, a forest of wind turbines sprout up out of the sea, and I toy with the idea of waving to the sailors aboard three vast tankers navigating around them....

Suddenly, we’re over land again - a flat landscape bisected by dykes and canals in long straight lines. I search for a ‘proper’ windmill, but they seem to have all been sent offshore. We fly in low over canals occupied by long barges and skim over a vast industrial area....... The landing comes suddenly, after an extremely wobbly approach and there is a nervous ripple of applause as we touch down! I for one can’t wait to set foot on terra firma once more....

To wear, or not to wear........

They say that half the fun of a trip is the planning.

Methinks the ratio is out........ My planning has been minimal, ergo I have had fun-sized Fun. Thanks to my gracious hostess Gusti, I haven't had the side-splitting joy of booking an hotel, and as I plan to travel light, my chortle quotient is sized according to my very small but nevertheless Slutty suitcase......

Now, as I contemplate the vast selection of garments that must somehow be squeezed into my bag, I suffer twinges of regret that my valise is not more voluminous. My tarty travelling bag is not only small, but dare I say it - imperfectly formed, with an inconvenient lump down the centre.... A veritable Quasimodo of Cases. However, loyalty prevents me from taking any other luggage, as Slutty is renowned in his own right, and hasn't been for a trundle since Glasgow, so deserves the trip.

As I mix and match the clothes to find the combination of the least garments possible for the most wearings, I realise that my entire wardrobe needs a good clearout..... Nothing matches or even co-ordinates, without the purchase of another vital accessory to link outfits in some sort of fashionable sense. Trinny and Susannah would have a field day........

Exasperated, I pick the outfits I THINK will do, then following the Law of Only-Wearing-Half-Of-What-You-Take, remove half of them. Let's just hope I took out the right half..........