I miss driving in Los Angeles for the sheer purpose of speed. I like to drive fast. I like to whip my car around corners. I like to stomp on the gas and feel me head snap back just a bit. I like to get in the car just to drive. There are some really great roads where I grew up. Some really curvy roads. Some really dangerous roads where I could float my car around a blind corner and feel the adrenaline rush through my veins as I thought, “Oh, I really hope no one comes around this corner right about now.” I’ve even gotten into a bit of street racing with another car as the driver realized that I was driving for the sheer pleasure of speed. He got in on the game and we raced for some minutes. It was fun!

Here in Vienna you just can’t do that. First off, the streets are tiny! Going 35 mph (50kph) feels like you are going fast because everything is so tight.

That and there is just too much going on out on the streets. Pedestrians, streetcars, bicycles, buses and other cars. You’d kill someone!

I had one last bit of hope when I finally got ready to drive on the freeways around Vienna. I thought surely I can go my usual freeway speed of 80mph (120kph).

A few weekends ago I decided to take the car to my hair salon rather than take the Ubahn like I always do. Just to enjoy the car and driving. I brought my GPS (navi) with me, plugged in the address, and jumped on the freeway. I stomped down on the gas like I usually do and was thrilled to see the needle of the speedometer race upward when I heard a loud “Brrrriinnnggooo!!!” I thought, “What in the world?” I’m driving and don’t want to get distracted so I ignored the noise. Then it happened again “Brrrriinnnggooo!!!”

It was early on a Saturday so I risked a quick look at my GPS (navi) to see that on its screen it had a big red circle with the number 80 on it. I thought, “Hmm… what can that mean? Why is it telling me 80?” I thought about it for a second as I allowed my eyes to wander over to the speedometer and to see that it was as 80mph (120kph) and I thought, “You have to be kidding me.” I let my foot off of the gas pedal and let the car ease down to 45mph (80kph). My GPS was quiet.

For the entire 30 minute drive, my itch to drive fast was at constant war with my GPS. Every time my foot got a little bit heavy, the GPS let out a load “Brrrriinnnggooo!!!” I sighed, eased off the pedal, behaved for a few minutes until I heard again, “Brrrriinnnggooo!!!” That was my entire drive to the hair salon.

It ain’t easy being an expat.

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The first time I was standing in the train on my way home from work. I had my nose buried in a book and noticed that something brushed against me bum. Using public transportation desensitizes you from being jostled and moved as people flow in and out of the train. I ignored the feeling.

Then it happened again, and for a few moments longer than before. Wait a minute, that didn’t feel like a bag brushing against me as someone was going by. I looked up from my reading material and noticed a well dressed older man in his forties standing next to me. He had been brushing the back of his knuckles up against me bum! I gave him a dirty look and quickly scurried over to the other end of the train. Dirty old man!

For my male readers, please don’t do this. You never get away with it. We women are a clever lot and figure out mishandling rather quickly. Remember the rule you learning in kindergarten. Keep your hands to yourself!

The second time I was groped was at the airport. I was flying to attend a friend‘s wedding. I went through the security thinga-ma-jigger and it beeped. I was waved over by a very enthusiastic older security woman to get wanded. Fine, whatever.

The security woman not only waved the wand over me with one hand, she used the other hand to touch me all over the place. Over my breasts, under my breasts, in my pants waistband, down my legs, up my legs, and up my legs, and up my legs to whoa!! What a minute! Lady, I assure you, nothing is hiding there! That was full violation. I grabbed my bags and high-tailed it out of there.

It’s tough being a woman.

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He asked me what station I was getting off at. As all ladies know for safety reasons, this is not a question to answer. I gave the cool reply of a bit further. He paused a moment to mull this over, then asked if I wanted to get off at the next station with him to have a cup of coffee.

Now excuse me for being a snob, but this guy had no chance with me. To give you an idea of the situation, it would be like me walking up to Brad Pitt and saying “Hey baby, Angie isn’t that beautiful. Come home with me.” There are unspoken rules to the pick-up game. The first being, don’t reach so far above and beyond that you make yourself look foolish. Me trying to convince Brad to leave Angie would be that kind of foolish.

I smiled and said no thanks. He then pulled out a business card and tried to push it on me stating that I should give him a call. I glanced briefly at it and saw that it was a UPC business card (a cable/TV provider in Austria) with the name crossed out and the phone number crossed out. He had clearly picked the card up somewhere and crossed everything out and wrote his information in there! This guy had no game!

I didn’t take the card and gently shook my wedding clad ring finger at him stating that I was married. He shrugged and jumped off at the next step.

austrian-nerd

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In August Paul and I went to visit his cousin in Carinthia, one of the nine states in Austria. It’s south and close to Italy. For entertainment while we were there, Paul’s cousin drove us over the boarder to Italy. It took only twenty minutes to get there.

(Map of the nine states of Austria. The tiny red circle indicates where in Austria we were).

For our afternoon in Italy we went to a leather market to peruse the goods. While we were there I needed a bathroom break. Now I’ve traveled around a bit and I’ve seen lots of different situations, but this took me aback. When I saw what I saw, I thought, Now how am I going to handle this? Well, when in Rome right?

(Need I say more about this restroom?)

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It was frighteningly easy to get a driver’s license. I went to the DMV over here, showed them my American driver’s license, and I was granted an Austrian driver’s license. No schooling, nothing.

My husband Paul and I decided it was a good idea to drive together for my first few rounds. I needed to get comfortable. I would drive and point to different street signs and ask, “What does that one mean again?” In typical husband style, Paul would mutter, “Oh Jesus,” and bury his face in his hands. In defense I would call out, “Hey, I haven’t killed anyone yet, so cut that out!”

When Paul didn’t have his face buried in his hands he would periodically ask me if I knew how fast I was driving. I would sigh. “Paul, there is way too much craziness on the street for me to take my eyes off the road long enough to see how fast I am going. I am keeping up with traffic, obviously it’s fine.” I would pause then ask, “What’s the speed limit in a residential zone again?”

Personally, I think it would be good if the Austrian government would insist that people at least take a course on what all the street signs mean and what the speed limits are. Then again, since I have been driving awhile, I can see why they don’t. The Viennese shamelessly ignore all the rules any way. You have to, otherwise you wouldn’t survive against the pedestrians, the bikes, the buses, the streetcars and the other cars. It’s like go-cart racing; you don’t know what’s going to get thrown your way!

The Viennese zip here and spin there. U-turns at any point in the street, sharp last-minute-turns with no blinkers, tailgaiting, double parking on the street, you name it, it’s unofficially allowed. To be honest, it makes the whole experience fun. I feel like I’m getting away with something every time I drive around here. I’m right there with the Viennese doing things I’m not supposed to. It’s gleeful madness! The best thing is, whenever you pull one of these stunts, no one honks at you with outrage. It’s the norm. They’re just happy you go out of their way!

So far I haven’t gotten a single ticket. We’ll see how long that lasts!

(Above image is of traffic in the inner city. Only taxis and the truly insane dare to drive in the inner city.)

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Walking in Vienna is a wonderful experience. So much beauty to take in. But traffic acts as a Darwinistic tool to weed out the foolish and incompetent. Crossing a street is no simple matter. If you are lucky to have one of the rare, and well distanced crosswalks, you can be confident in your ability to get to the other side in one piece. The Austrian driver respects the crosswalk. If you need to walk completely out of your way to utilize this instrument of safety, you are tempted to cross the street without any aid. To do this safely there is a ritual that you must participate in that is like watching tennis. Look back and forth for any cars. If it is clear, continue to swing your head for a possible streetcar coming. Still clear? Watch for those buses. Still clear you lucky dog? Beware the homicidal bicyclist. All clear? Look at the ground to make sure the street is not made of treacherous, ankle-twisting cobblestone for us fashionistas who cannot leave home without high heels! Once the way seems clear, tentatively step off the sidewalk. Proceed with caution as a crazy driver might come out of nowhere, and make a mad dash to the other side of the street. Thank your lucky stars that you arrived safely.

Once your feet have got you to where you are going, you use public transportation, which is great in Vienna. Of course it does have its down sides. The most fun is when you are two minutes late to your bus/streetcar stop and you see your bus/streetcar driving past you and coming to your stop. You are foolishly convinced that you can run your heart out and still make it, just to see it pull away a mere 100 yards from where you stand. The bus/streetcar driver has a schedule damn it, and if you can’t respect that, then tough. You then have to wait 15 minutes for the next bus/streetcar.

(Above photo is a streetcar in Vienna.)

Once you have managed to get your butt on a bus/streetcar, it drops you at the underground, called the U-Bahn. There is no better way to travel, and it is your reward for not getting hit by a car and making your bus/streetcar. Of course, your fellow U-Bahn passengers can be interesting. I’ve broken them into four distinct categories.

First, the matrons. These old Fraus know the system better than anyone. They will push you out of the way either with their shoulders, or just the threat of their canes, to get the best seat. They then grin with satisfaction as you stand. Once the station to get out comes up, they elbow their way to the door and are the first ones out. Make sure to steer clear! What about the old gentlemen you might ask? They clearly have been beaten down by their wives of 40 some years and are a peaceful lot.

The second group is my favorite. The angst ridden teens. I love these guys. They look terrible with their piercings all over their face. The hair is dyed neon pink or green. Their clothes are too tight and they have black eyeliner on so thick their eyes look like holes in their faces. They slouch their way through the underground in angst and glower at anyone who dares to stare.

The third group is the saddest of them all. These are the homeless and clearly unbalanced. My heart goes out to them, but if I may be brutally honest, only if I am standing downwind of them.

The fourth group is the normal people who just need to get to where they are going in one piece. As they ride the system or walk, their faces are completely expressionless. They’re not happy, they’re not sad. They’re just in their own world. That’s kind of funny in its own way.

(Above photo is the U-Bahn train in Vienna. Reminds me of a Star Wars spacecraft.)

Of course there is the private transportation which I mean a car. I have not yet had the misfortune of driving in Vienna, but I have been a passenger numerous times. These people are mental! It’s like go-cart racing, only real! Zipping here, tailgating there, muttering angrily when they cut someone off and that person dares to honk. Yelling when they almost hit some idiot, because clearly it’s the other driver’s fault!

Once I tumble out of a car, I thank my lucky stars that I a) made it there alive b) have public transportation!

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