Yesterday, after writing this blog, I took a short nap. Upon waking, I realized that in the age of Trip Advisor, I needn’t be heartbroken about not finding a Real Viennese Cafe, I need just look one up and go there. I found one that sounded promising, and only twenty minutes travel, so I set out to find it. The route required I change from underground to tram at Karlsplatz/Oper. I came up to street level directly in front of the opera house in all its Italianate splendor – so why not?
Last night, an opera by Giuseppe Verdi called Simon Boccanegra. My very shallow knowledge of opera did not include this one, but before I could find where to inquire about tickets, one of the men in Mozart coats approached me. In a few masterly strokes, he convinced me to buy a ticket for a concert at the Haus der Musik. As it turned out, I could not have afforded a night at the opera, so fine. I had two hours to search out Herr Schnitzler.
First, I sought the Haus der Musik, located on a narrow side street between Karlsplatz and Stephanplatz. A side street with several cafes. None of them were old enough to have actually seen Schnitzler as a client, but one was paneled in dark wood and promised snacks. They also closed in a half hour.
– Are you still serving snacks?
– No, sorry, just pastry, drinks, and ice cream.
She took me to the pastry case where I pointed to a cake topped with walnuts.
– I’ll do it backwards tonight, first dessert, then supper. She smiled. The cake was excellent.
I wandered in search of a cafe with snacks. Opposite a construction site on another side street was an establishment that had the patina of genuine Vienna, albeit from the 1950’s, but had Arthur lived so long, I could imagine him an habitué. The two brothers who served were so kind. One delivered a menu.
– We close in a half hour, so we’re only serving coffee and cake.
What the heck, I’ll have apple strudel.
– With cream or without?
– With!
He smiled. He understood. Tourist in Vienna, indulge in cholesterol for one night. The strudel was not too sweet, a lovely layering of apples three inches high with enough whipped cream to fill a small bucket. It was accompanied by a decaf cappuccino with a glorious mound of stiffly steamed milk, cup and saucer on a small silver tray, glass of water next to it, demitasse spoon balanced across the glass. My heartache was cured.
After a post-strudel wander, it was time for the concert. Haus der Musik appears to be a well-funded museum and educational institution, though I can’t quite figure out who they teach. The concert was of a variety of works by Viennese composers, or by ones who spent significant time here, and was performed by a group called the Imperial Classic Orchestra. You had to squint your ears to imagine them an orchestra. They were a string quintet and piano playing music composed for at least forty pieces. My educational moment was understanding for the first time that chamber music is specifically structured to sound full and resonant played by few instruments. They were good, but the sound felt thin and far away. There were four singers of various abilities, and two dancers no one behind the first row could really see. The room, ultra modern and apparently designed for sound studio acoustics, was packed and stuffy, and the 120 or so of audience had to be ferried up and down four floors via a glass elevator that carried fifteen. It was not unpleasant, but neither was it a dazzling musical night in Vienna. Given the air quality, I was happiest for its relative brevity.
The night was refreshing. On the way back to Karlsplatz I noticed the Opera Cafe. There is a place where Schnitzler could have habituated. Elegant, vast, it was open until midnight. I checked the menu. The prices were the same, or less, than the places I’d been to. Alright. Maybe next time.