Wandering in Vienna

On Saturday morning I took the tram to Keleti Pályaudvar, the large train station in the center of Pest. I had a ticket for Vienna, but arrived an hour early to people-watch. I found a bench in the corner of the station, a few feet from a small bakery, bought a pastry from and settled in.

The building Itself was impressive, the rounded roof loomed above me, so high that it felt like being in the open air. Above the entrance was an enormous glass window that let in the early morning light. The bakery that I sat was in a corner to the left of the entrance. It was out of the direct line of traffic but the tables out front provided a clear view of the station. It also provides a lingering smell of baking bread and coffee, masking any of the usual train-station smells.

The early morning crowd flowed around me; old men with carefully pleated pants and well waxed mustachios, middle aged women in tight leggings and hair the color of fall leaves, sleepy tourist with towering backpacks and clothes rumpled from a night on the trains. Despite the towering ceiling and the hoards of people, the station was quiet. Conversations took place in on benches and in tight circles, but no shouts could be heard.

The Pest train station is an interesting place. Tourists and locals mix and mingle, young and old co-exist (although here seems to be very little inter-generational communication). Under the atrium of the giant station the world seems timeless, and Hungary a constant, unchanging place. I watched an old couple drink coffee at the bakery, the woman smiled and leaned in to talk. The man sat with back erect, his eyes straying across the platforms as he listened. They didn't have luggage or visible tickets and seemed to be in no hurry. Maybe they just liked the view of the busy station in the early morning.

Vienna is Beautiful. I don't think I can fully describe it in words. I've posted a few more pictures then I usually to to give you a taste of it. After the last picture there's note I jotted down on my first day in Vienna. 

  

Hooves clack on cobblestones like a rainmaker, showering me with sounds like smooth, round pebbles. Children run through the square, lisping german as they chased each others blond braids. The old buildings surrounding me reflect the afternoon light, like showcased wedding cakes, so that even the shadow I sit in is light. I close my eyes and go back a century. When I open them I see in front of me a man in a well-cut business suit striding past. His long strides carry him along quickly and his head, incased in a shining, white motorcycle helmet, gleams in the sunlight. There are armless guardian soldiers looking down on me. Next to them a metallic cell tower pierces the sky. Out of a century old building a steel and glass box pokes it’s head. Things change, yet they remain the same. Old workmen who drink their beer on the stoop at the base of the pillar in who’s shade I sit are following in their fathers’ footsteps.