＃ Vienna II

It is hard not to be touristy here, as if when one is here, one is forced to be a tourist. You go in from one museum to another, to an art gallery, and to another museum. You think you want to see the Klimt masterpieces, only to find yourself queueing up for a rare Van Gogh exhibition at the Albertina that had just been brought in. And the museums are grand masterpieces of reliefs, friezes, painting, and scupture in themselves. I am fascinated by the self-portraits of Van Gogh, they seem to so vividly embody his turbulent personality, and you think it is only a piece of canvas with a few daubs of coloured oil! Then there are the cakes, the pastries, the coffee ... the coffee and the pastries ... if they could be described as having a bouquet like wine, and layered notes like perfume, that would be what Viennese pastries and coffee are - gradual blooms of chocolate, cream, hazelnut, vanilla, and then unexpectedly, that final, subtle burst of raspberry from hidden seams. By then, that indescribable and utterly unforgettable taste would have lodged always in the vase of your palate, just like a certain crystalline voice that I love. And on my last night here, in yet another capricious moment, I cut across the sprawling gardens and bought tickets to the Viennese symphony. It was, especially being in Vienna, difficult to resist a majestic number by Schumann, and, one of my all-time favourites, the Beethoven Pastorale.