I have a friend. Her name is Iseult. It has been just over a year knowing her, and she has made me see Vienna with new eyes. Mind you, she came to the city a little after I did. So I could claim to have a headstart on her about all things Vienna. But her eye to derive joy and meaning from city spaces remains streets ahead of mine. She senses opportunities where others, like me, would not. We have shared new adventures together using a formula that has worked wonderfully for us. She chooses the activity, I have the rather easy task of figuring out its details. We do typical things. We have schnitzels at travel guide-recommended outlets. We are calm. We play chess in parks and cafes. We are also devotees of ‘warum nicht’ living. We drink at rundown, smoky bars.

This is about one of these opportunities. The shutdown has meant that there are no tourists on the streets of Vienna anymore in May. Not too many are expected this summer. This is a golden opportunity to experience the city from a tourist’s eyes. We choose a traditional Viennese coffeehouse on one of those frequented city trails, Cafe Havelka. Multiple travel guides would tell you it is one of the most famous coffeehouses in the city, for its illustrious history of being frequented by the great artists and writers of yesteryear. 

We click our formula into action. She floats the idea on the Wednesday while we are having beers in a park, we find ourselves there on a moody Sunday afternoon. I meet her outside in the sun while walking around airily across one of Vienna’s main squares, Stephansplatz. Because my eyes are fixated rather nowhere, I am startled by her sudden appearance. We are soon joined by her friend, Sarah. Together, we approach Havelka.

Stereotypical Viennese grumpiness welcomes us. We hear a faint comment directed towards us by one of its patrons as we open its big sliding doors to enter. That Viennese dialect passes me by. But since it is accompanied by a stare, I figure it is because of something we have not done. Oh, we are not wearing masks. 

The cafe’s interiors are striking. It is much darker inside than out. There are booths next to the window, currently occupied by people leisurely reading newspapers on one of those funny wooden newspaper-holders which allow barely a crease on the paper. Small espresso cups and half-eaten cakes lie before them on the table. In the middle, there are small circular tables, where even a couple of cups and plates would have to fight for their own space. At the far end, there is a bar and a couple more secluded booths. On the right, there is a bust of Leopold Havelka, who owes the cafe its name, looking back at us. Right now, the room is thinly-populated, just as much as we had probably imagined. 

The server, mandated to wear a mask at all times, asks us about our seating preference. Outside we say, as the sun is still bright. We ask for a menu, he says none such thing exists. Tourists! You can’t see the smirk through the mask. I play safe, and ask for a melange. Iseult, an espresso and Sarah, a strudel. It’s soon here. The strudel looks delightful, vegetables neatly packed in a thin patty, accompanied by a yoghurt-based dip. The coffee, on the other hand, is unremarkable. It is served, as it usually is, with a small glass of water on the side with two sugar cubes neatly placed on a steel tray. This arrangement is another one of those peculiarities I have experienced in this side of the world.

Soon we are made to shift inside because it starts pouring. We get one of those window booths and order another round. Iseult and Sarah get a slice each of a Sachertorte and I get a beer because, well, afternoon drinking. Loud and cheery, we come across as patrons that Havelka’s walls must surely be missing. Drawing on this success, we make plans for another exploration of the city.

I started a summer programme at the International Institute of Applied Systems Analysis (IIASA) this week, rather aptly titled Young Scientists Summer Programme (YSSP). IIASA is based in the outskirts of Vienna, in the picturesque countryside town of Laxenburg, apparently a popular tourist attraction in the summer months for its palaces and its large, expansive grounds. The Institute itself has a rather interesting history, set up as it was at the heights of the Cold War in the 1970s, as a symbol of a successful co-existence between the 2 major powers and an experiment in ‘science diplomacy’ (have there been any other such science-diplomatic experiments? I can not recall). Vienna being strategically located at the confluence of the ‘east’ and the ‘west’, became its logical centre. The Institute’s name remains sufficiently broad to encompass research in a wide variety of fields, from demography to evolution, from air quality to land use models, all coming under the name of ‘applied systems analysis’. What is systems analysis, one might ask. Different people would give you different answers to that one, to be honest.

The setting of the Institute is curious and beautiful – its spread out over the town. Most of the Institute is housed within the confines of a really stunning palace, with offshoot buildings housing some other researchers, the administration, a gym and an in-house restaurant, among others. At the back of the palace is a park-grassland-forest mosaic, an ideal space for a post-lunch walk to ward off the afternoon napping potential.

Back to the programme – the YSSP remains the flagship science engagement programme of the Institute, where they invite a handful of young PhD researchers from across the world to work with IIASA researchers. They seem to take this initiative rather seriously, evidenced by the fact that this past week has been filled with orientations and introductions of various kinds. While the start of the week was filled with information about the programme, IT services, libraries etc., Friday was filled with each one of us presenting on our proposed research over the summer – that’s 50 4-minute presentations spread over the entire day! Quite a hectic start to the programme, is it a sign of things to come over the next 12 weeks?

In one of our midweek jourfixes, conversation flows over wine and whiskey in a smokey room in one of the many bars in the 9^th district of Vienna. The bar is packed, but we use our ‘situational awareness’ (there is a Viennese word for it, which I can not recall) to get a small table at the far end – we spot some people exiting from afar, and swiftly navigate towards them and the table. As soon as their jackets leave the chair, ours calmly take their place. Job well done.

We suspect that the adjoining table is witnessing a first date (Tinder maybe?). Both our protagonists seem shifty and unsure, their gaze frequently turning to us and the old posters on the wall. We try to overhear their conversation in the middle of our own. ‘What’s your favourite TV show?’, the guy asks the girl, while the girl rolls her 3^rd cigarette. Soon an old man joins their table for the lack of space and takes up the mantle of being the glue of the conversation.

On to our 2^nd drink, and the hunger starts to bite. We decide to find a würstelstand, and swiftly work towards that goal. We collect our jackets (for it’s a cold night in May. May!) and pay at the bar. In Vienna, while the supermarkets may close (relatively) early, the würstelstands stay open till the wee hours – people like us are their target market. We step outside and start walking in a randomly-chosen direction.

Apparently, there are some streets in Vienna which ‘look’ like they might have a würstelstand. A bit over 300m down the street we choose, we realize this is not one of them. Do we admit defeat? Natürlich nicht!

The trams and the buses are still running. We soon find ourselves at a tram stop, waiting for the next tram to Universität, where the main buildings of the University of Vienna are situated. Our working hypothesis is that there must be a würstelstand there. The tram arrives, and 4 stations later, our hypothesis is proven correct.

Now, I have heard a lot about a käsekrainer, but in my time here, have never had one. Tonight is that night. One can have a käsekrainer in one of two ways – with bread in a hot dog or separately with sauce. We choose the former way, for my friend says that is how it should be done. What do I know?

Two käsekrainer hot dogs are asked for, soon after my commitment to not eat meat takes the backseat for a night. They are unlike what I had imagined them to be – I imagined cheese dripping out of the sausage, but this is probably better, it is mixed in with the meat. With a view of the Votivkirche, we eat in silence under the roof of the würstelstand. Somewhere in the distance, the clock strikes for midnight.

It is Easter weekend, and I am sitting in one of the outdoor seating areas of one of my favourite coffeehouses in the city, Café Jelinek, with a melange and a sachertorte. There is not a cloud in the sky – maybe spring has finally arrived in the city.

When I had first landed in Vienna in October, the summer was in one of its final phases for the year. Tables set outside on sidewalks and pavements were being wrapped up and put back inside for the winter. Pop-up bars and cafes which would usually flood the banks of the Danube were wrapping up business for the season. Only a handful were still open, probably still trying to attract one final batch of patrons to the joys of a radler in the sun. One could see even then that it was increasingly becoming too cold for the experience to be truly joyful. Basically, I missed the Viennese summer by not much.

Action had shifted inside – coffeehouses were now full of people who would come in with fat jackets, would slowly peel off their layers and make themselves comfortable in air-conditioned warmth of these establishments. That lasted a while! Nearly 6 months later, the cycle repeats itself – the sun and the warmth are back and a whole new side of Vienna is in view.

European summers really are a whole different creature with a whole new vibe. Vienna being one of the cities frequented by tourists, safe cycling takes on a whole new meaning. Taking my bike through the centre (fortunately or unfortunately my usual route to work) requires increased patience and focus so as to not bump into selfie-taking tourists and horse carriages (yes, horse carriages), the works.

The pop-up bars are back again, the people are outside in numbers again. And repeat.

Englisch, bitte?

It is not difficult to live in Vienna without having much command of the German language. Vienna is, or has become, an extremely cosmopolitan city. While German dominates in the street, one is significantly likely to also hear any of Arabic, Turkish or any other Eastern language on Viennese streets. People I know are also extremely courteous and instantly switch to English when I am around, none like the stereotypically grumpy Viennese that guide books and internet pages describe.

Nevertheless, one does miss out. Language is a powerful descriptor of the city and its residents. Language describes its moods, its rhythms and its beats, which foreign languages can not. Can English accurately describe who I am and what I feel back home in Delhi? Probably not.

And so, I have signed up for German classes. In my language group, I am joined by 3 women. All 3 of them are super new to Vienna and eager to make the language work for them. We start by going back to the alphabet. How would you spell your name to someone who asks? Starting with the very basics is an experiment in how a language is learnt, picked up and applied outside. We move on to with practical things – how to fill a form where the categories are presented in German, how to ask people about the day, how to introduce yourself. It must be thoroughly engaging for a casual observer to see us struggling with basic words and sentences, making words sound absolutely different, not getting the spellings right. We persevere.

Our teacher (or Lehrerin) is incredibly patient, and motivates us even when we stammer and stutter and make a mess of the conjugations. Having taught introductory German for more than 5 years, she’s seen it all before. We are rewarded for a correctly spoken full sentence or applying the right article to a word with a ‘Super!’ or ‘Sehr gut!’ Sometimes she’s generous, and we also get a chocolate. Practicalities dominate. We learn numbers and test it with speaking our telephone numbers and addresses out loud. We want to be able to order in a restaurant successfully, and we learn the words and the grammar for that. You want the bill? Zahlung, bitte!

The language seems to have a smooth and gradual learning curve. Rules dominate, and exceptions are few. I also find the language quite musical, and it’s not harsh on the ear.

She has also taken upon herself to immerse us into Austrian customs, rules and milestones.

When were women allowed to vote in Austria?

What is the legal age for driving? Drinking? Marriage?

When did Austria join the EU?

She knows the answers, since she has asked the same questions before. She asks us the same questions for our respective countries. There is collective disbelief when I tell them the legal drinking age in Delhi – 25 years. On this note of unexpected culture shocks, we end another evening of German A1.1.

The culture of tipping is probably as old as the culture of going out itself. In some cultures, tipping is mandatory, or disguised as ‘not being optional’. In others, tipping may be representative of the quality of the service received – for the care and for the attention to detail. Although it be a global activity, it is remarkably diverse in its nature. Information on local tipping culture is prominent in numerous travel guides, and for good reason. It is something that can instantly endear you to locals, or mark you out as a grumpy, ungrateful foreigner. The countries I have visited/lived in seem to have a distinct culture of tipping, and how exactly to do it.

Vienna has a typical style too, parts of which are very curious for an observer. Once done with the meal, the bill arrives without any sort of a jacket/cover (as one would find in some other countries, like India). One is supposed to look at the bill and do some mental mathematics as to the appropriate amount of tip and then tell that to the server while handing him/her some cash or your card. Depending on the amount you quote, you receive from the service a smile or a smirk. All fairly straightforward till now. Here is where its gets really quirky.

Every server seems to have the same leather wallet – it is ubiquitous in Vienna. It is hard to understand why. The wallet is usually worn down, a reflection of the hours put in, and found usually nestled in the waist belt of the waiters and waitresses that run Vienna’s countless bars and restaurants. Why does everyone have the same wallet to carry around? Is there a manual which prescribes it? There’s a fair logic behind it (but also maybe not) – 4 pockets for each of the denominations of notes, but only one for all the denominations of coins. Maybe the coins should revolt against this injustice. One can hear the rumble of discontent from that solitary pocket even when sitting far away in a bar.

Meanwhile, here comes my own bill for the beer I had. The black wallet would not be far behind.

Thursday evening, and the metro is unusually crowded, even though we are in the middle of the office rush hour. Men and women with painted faces, pointed hats, blue and yellow football jerseys and flags. Boisterous and happy, they seem to be here for a reason – the Austrians are playing Bosnia and Herzegovina tonight.

I have no plans for the evening, so instead of going home, I follow the crowd to the stadium. Inching closer to the stadium, the flags and the jerseys increase exponentially. I am sceptical about finding a ticket at the counter a mere hour and a half before the game, but it turns out to be surprisingly easy. There is no queue in front of the counter, so I take the liberty of casually asking for and choosing preferred areas of seating in the stadium. In hindsight, I am lucky the person behind the counter does not lose his patience.

Outside the stadium, the Bosnian fans are having a good time. Selfies and group photos in jerseys and face paints, the works. Wurstelstands have sprung up and are doing brisk business. The sizzle of fried sausages has filled the air. The Bosnian contingent keeps on multiplying – a sizeable proportion of Bosnians in Vienna seem to have turned up for the game. A chilly November evening, yet the cold cans of beer keep flowing. I see the odd bottle of Jägermeister as well, which I later realize, perhaps helps to serve a critical purpose.

My seat in the stadium is the 2nd tier. Nonetheless, it is an excellent view, directly behind the area where the players come out from. I am in the ‘neutral’ fans zone, which very quickly starts getting filled up with predominantly Bosnian support. On my right, a big group of Bosnian fans, the BH Fanaticos, enter the stadium together take their places directly behind one of the goals. They remain true to their name. For the whole 90 minutes, they sing and dance, forcing the steel chairs and concrete steps to rock with them. They also seem distinctly unaffected by the chilly winds blowing through the stadium, since some of them take off their shirts and sing at the top of their lungs, waving their shirts and jackets to generate an electric atmosphere. Maybe the Jägermeister came in handy precisely for this? They also manage to pull off quite a fireworks show with their flares, the smoke from which causes the match to temporarily disappear from my view.

The match itself is forgettable, but the Bosnian fans know how to make the best of a distinctly average game. They fret, they squeal, they shout, they berate, they make the game come alive for even an average spectator. Meanwhile, I remain conflicted about my own allegiance. I want to remain dispassionate and neutral, but who can resist succumbing to the infectious intensity of these fans?