And Then Cried Max: Let the Wild Rumpus Begin!

Friday morning was hectic.  I haven't seen hectic in a long time.  But it was there because a) I thought it'd be nice to actually shower, b) Emily was arriving at the train station in the early morning and c) Audrey almost cried the night before when I even suggested that she wait at the apartment for us to bring Emma back and this meant that d) Bailey had to come too.

It was not pretty.  But we made it...with wet hair and bellies full of cheerios and pastry instead of our normal healthy breakfast fare.  We even had enough time to spare that Bailey got to watch several other trains arrive and depart, worrying with each departure that Emma might have forgotten to get off the train.  So, we were all the more excited when she was really there, running to us on the train platform getting hugs and smooches and being tackled by Bailey.

When we got back to the apartment we found out Joe had ventured to our neighborhood bakery on his own and had ended up with a box of five pastries when he thought he had only indicated one.  Apparently Joe's grunts sound quite akin to the German word: Funf...the number five. There was also some confusion when he tried to get a coffee to-go and he was instead offered a bag of roasted whole beans.  Ah, Vienna. 

My ducklings on the way to the Market

After much debate and much coffee and strudel (thanks, Joe!) had been eaten, we decided to walk the few blocks to the Naschmarkt.  I wanted the Fam to get a real feel for exactly how big it is, so I took a different route than normal to the very end of the market where we happened upon an odd little booth sporting some absolutely gorgeous produce.  There were people milling about shoving veggies from each box into their shopping bags and while I found this odd, Emily and I discovered we could not live without some of their gorgeous multi-colored carrots. I promptly pulled out one of my own produce bags and when I had my fill asked the man how much I owed him.  He explained that they weren't for sale; that these people were members of a CSA and this was the pick-up point...but please accept the carrots as a gift.  A GIFT!  You could have knocked me over with a feather.  A "geschenk" is not what sellers typically refer to free goods as.  They use the term "gratis" or free.  I was floored.  This is the nicest thing anyone from Vienna has ever done for me.  I may also be one of the only people in Vienna who would be absolutely humbled by the gift of heirloom carrots.

Nasching at the Naschmarkt

From there we wound our way around to the real Naschmarkt where my family got to finally experience the overwhelming abundance of, well, everything. We all purchased a variety of yummies to form into a fantastic feast for the evening and eventually found a park where the girls could do some swinging.  This is their big thing right now—both of them—this swinging for hours.  They love it.  I don’t think they feel complete when a day passes without the opportunity to swing to their hearts’ content. So, Grandma G. was diligently pushing Bailey at the park and in true Bailey fashion, the Bear kept turning around to yell at her to be careful.  “Be careful, Gramma! Be careful!!”  and on the 87^th ‘be careful’ Bailey let go of both chains and took flight, completing a 180 turn midair and landing on her hands and knees.  I think Grandma’s heart nearly stopped while I had to keep myself from applauding.  As far as disastrous stunts go, it was fantastically performed.  Also, needless to say, Bailey has been restricted since this incident to the baby swings.  The rest of our afternoon was beautifully lazy; we played in the sand, laid in the grass and even swang some more. 

Our Naschmarkt feast that night was fantastic; a mix of sausage and sauerkraut (straight from the barrel), pita, hummus and tzatziki, fresh figs, and olives out the wazoo not to mention my beautiful red and yellow carrots—they tasted the best because they were gifted with love. 

After dinner John and I had a hot date; we had tickets to see Romeo and Juliet, the ballet, at the Staatsoper.  It was kind of odd taking the time to apply makeup and do something other than to just let my crazy hair have it’s way. I put on my swanky dress and my high-as-they’re-gonna-get heels (that means maybe 1 inch in the amazon woman world) we kissed our girlies goodbye, totally confident in the combined ability of Auntie Em and Grandma G to handle anything the girls could throw at them and walked arm in arm down to the opera house.  It doesn’t feel weird any more to leave the house without the girls.  If anything we kind of wish they were a little older so they could be included.  We like ‘em a lot.  But it’s nice to force my husband to do unmanly things sometimes too.  Like going to the ballet. 

We’ve been past and around the Staatsoper so many times, I couldn’t even begin to count.  It’s part of our extended ‘neighborhood’.  But neither of us has ever been inside.  We took our time looking around and taking in the atmosphere before we found our seats.  The building is one of those I’d classify as renovated at the wrong time.  It was modernized and refurbished when things were a little bit dull and decidedly not what one would term ‘timeless’.  I can imagine the place would’ve been gorgeous in it’s heyday, but now it seems a little plastered over—a shadow of what it likely originally was.  Also, we could’ve done a better job picking seats .  This was a cultural difference that totally sideswiped me; in the states, most venues are obviously significantly newer than the Staatsoper.  They were also likely designed, taking into account how many bodies could fit while still offering premium views. The theater in the Staatsoper, on the other hand, is an oval with the narrowest point containing a stage.  This means that the narrowest segment of seats has a full view of the performance.  The rest are partially obstructed at best.  I’m going to go ahead and say our view was near 50 percent…and I wondered why the tickets were so inexpensive.  Lesson learned. 

It was still a fantastic performance that was obviously choreographed to accommodate the design of the theater.  It was unusual to feel the need to lean forward while watching something at the theatre, but we didn’t necessarily miss out on much.   From our seats in the balcony, we also had a great view of the orchestra and I have to admit that a good portion of the time, my eyes strayed to the musicians.  I love watching talented people play; the different way each body sways while they’re in the music—how simple acts like emptying spit valves and tweaking reeds can become a subconscious part of a musician at rest.  There was a particular quartet of guitarists who kept my attention; they were there for the entire performance….to play one song; Morning Serenade, which is coincidentally one of my inexplicable all-time favorites.  I took such pleasure in watching their faces—seeing ranges of emotion from boredom to resignation.  I could sense that these four did not feel their presence was really worth the effort of sitting through a ballet that was being performed too far behind them to turn an eye and watch.  They had no idea I was the one they were there for.  And countless other me’s in the audience.  To hear Prokofiev's Morning Serenade echoing from the orchestra pit of the Vienna Staatsoper might have been one of the greatest highlights of our time here yet. 

And the ballet wasn’t half bad either.  Spoiler alert:  They both die. 

Still being the fuddy duddies that we are, John and I avoided the rush and booked it out of the opera house before the rest of the crowds followed suit.  It was a little odd to be walking the streets of Vienna at 10:30, but John and I strode around, arm in arm, determined to make the most of it.  We came to the conclusion that we are not classy people. We might have been dressed to the nines, but that’s still just not our scene.  So after passing up a handful of well-known Viennese late night hang outs, we headed back to the fourth district to the brewery across the street from our apartment where we drank beer and Sturm and talked about how much we love our babies.  After a few rounds, we crossed the street and we were home.  That’s my kind of date night. 

If we thought it was odd that the lights in our living room were on as we crossed the street, imagine how odd it was to find my mother sleeping on the floor next to Bailey's bed, her head resting on a giant stuffed octopus. Meanwhile, Bailey's eyes were wide open.  Apparently our little opportunistic Bailey girl decided that our date night was a free ticket to burn the night oil.  She is cute and she knows how to work people.  I would’ve been proud, but I wanted to go to sleep, so she got Atilla the Mom instead.  We had sightseeing to do in the morning!