Monday, 16 March 2009
One Night In Vienna (Vienna Postcard 3)
Akahiko claims that it is easy Japanese dining. I look in the window. As I walk away, unconvinced, a voice calls “excuse me!” I turn around, a man, glasses, unshaven, darker than me. “I have vouchers“, he flashes them at me, 2 x €10 for Akahiko. “You give me €15 and I give you these €20!” I shake my head, no. Maybe it’s a legitimate off, but I had already been walking away. Maybe it is legit, but I won’t spend €20 here. And maybe it’s a con? How would I know? What does the small print say, what is the validity of the vouchers, I expect all that to be in German I can’t read. No thanks.
Instead I end up in Go Wok. Go Wok, Go Tasty, Go Healthy, the sign says. A bowl of sweet and sour soup. A plate of red Thai curry. A glass of Pepsi. A little Chinese woman comes round the tables, a fist full of discs in plastic white sleeves. Bootleg DVDs it seems. The couple at the next table are happy to buy a couple. Him serious, older than her, somewhere in his 30s easy. She is younger, I would guess mid 20s.
The way the doors work becomes a joke. People outside look at the doors funny and they slide open. People inside move and the doors opens. Stand inside to leave, and they don’t acknowledge your existence at all. Every 10 minutes it happens to a new victim, who stands their too long looking confused and lost.
I drink gemmaicha, couple at next table drink jasmine. She goes to the ladies, on the way back she climbs into his lap and they kiss, before retiring to her own seat and adding sugar to her tea. It becomes a competition between them, to see who can sugar it the most. What the fuck is wrong with these people? Why order jasmine tea if you are going to add that much sugar? Might as well order dish water, they wouldn’t notice with that much sugar.
American girl in Starbucks. Dark hair, lovely smile. Earl grey, 2 bags. Take one back to the hotel, don’t need both. 9.30 time to close, we three last to leave. The couple go right, I go left. It takes me passed the window, their table. And I turn, after then, excuse me, clumsily asking if they speak English? You left your gloves on the table, back in the Starbucks! They thank me, and he goes back in. As I draw passed the window again he reaches the table, and I see the phone that was hidden beneath the gloves.
Behind Stefanplatz, listen to the sounds of tiny birds, chattering now the day is done all else is quiet. In a row there, glass cases, quaint little adverts, Gibsonian in some way. On the platform behind the station, a small boy kneels, as if in prayer. A roll wrapped in paper clutched between clasped hands, which he nibbles, tiny fractions at a time. While his parents consult a map of Vienna.
Instead I end up in Go Wok. Go Wok, Go Tasty, Go Healthy, the sign says. A bowl of sweet and sour soup. A plate of red Thai curry. A glass of Pepsi. A little Chinese woman comes round the tables, a fist full of discs in plastic white sleeves. Bootleg DVDs it seems. The couple at the next table are happy to buy a couple. Him serious, older than her, somewhere in his 30s easy. She is younger, I would guess mid 20s.
The way the doors work becomes a joke. People outside look at the doors funny and they slide open. People inside move and the doors opens. Stand inside to leave, and they don’t acknowledge your existence at all. Every 10 minutes it happens to a new victim, who stands their too long looking confused and lost.
I drink gemmaicha, couple at next table drink jasmine. She goes to the ladies, on the way back she climbs into his lap and they kiss, before retiring to her own seat and adding sugar to her tea. It becomes a competition between them, to see who can sugar it the most. What the fuck is wrong with these people? Why order jasmine tea if you are going to add that much sugar? Might as well order dish water, they wouldn’t notice with that much sugar.
American girl in Starbucks. Dark hair, lovely smile. Earl grey, 2 bags. Take one back to the hotel, don’t need both. 9.30 time to close, we three last to leave. The couple go right, I go left. It takes me passed the window, their table. And I turn, after then, excuse me, clumsily asking if they speak English? You left your gloves on the table, back in the Starbucks! They thank me, and he goes back in. As I draw passed the window again he reaches the table, and I see the phone that was hidden beneath the gloves.
Behind Stefanplatz, listen to the sounds of tiny birds, chattering now the day is done all else is quiet. In a row there, glass cases, quaint little adverts, Gibsonian in some way. On the platform behind the station, a small boy kneels, as if in prayer. A roll wrapped in paper clutched between clasped hands, which he nibbles, tiny fractions at a time. While his parents consult a map of Vienna.
# posted by remotepush @ 15:24 
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