Prost!

 

After the fabulous palaces and castles- Schloss Schonburnn, Hofburg, Schloss Belvedere and even the Schloss Schonburn Gardens; after the museums – Museumquartier, Leopold, Klimt Villa, Belvedere, Museum of Vienna; after the music and operas- Haus der Musik, Staatrosoper ( I put my foot down at paying over 200 Euros for tickets for the opera when they had a giant screen outside telecasting the whole thing, sure it’s not the same as sitting in the rarefied ambiance within the opera house but after you take a tour of the opera house for a  minuscule amount of the ticket price for entry tickets, it doesn’t matter. Besides we wanted to actually see the Vienna Boys Choir but unfortunately our visit dates were wrong); after the churches and cathedrals – St Stephan’s Cathedral (Stephansdom), St Augustine’ Church, St Peter’s Church, St Michael’s Church; after Dr Freud; after Naschmarkt;  after a visit, somewhat disappointing to Prater and the amusement park there said to be a historic one because it was the first one to have the giant Ferris Wheel; after the wining and dining and the endless walks, we decided to head into the woods literally. 

 

Schloss Schonburnn

 

Wish the water was there

Someone heard my prayers! Schloss Schonburnn gardens

  

Walk all the way up for a stunning view

 

St Stephan's Cathedral

  

 

 

 

Haus der Musik

  

Museum Quartier

 

    

Caption - not required!

 

That's THE couch!

 

Was this a tree a baby during Dr Freud's time?

 

The world's first Ferris Wheel???

 

The destination was Kahlenberg in the Vienna woods, on the northern side of the city and located at 484 metres with a platform that provides a stunning view of the city. Driving to Kahlenberg is itself a pleasure, passing through quiet tony residential areas, the vineyards, the woods and finally to the platform (panorama terrace), beyond St Joseph’s Church that provides a stunning view of the city.  The day is sunny but slightly hazy, which though adding to the romance, leaves the distant horizon a little blurred. On a clear day it is said one can even see the lower Alps - or Austria’s snow mountains- in the region of Schneeberg, from where the city gets its spring water. It is also claimed that some hikers to the lower Alps in Schneeberg might even come across the Edelweiss plant (Remember Sound of Music!) Well it was not our Schneeberg sighting day unfortunately. But the view that spread out below – rolling farms, greens, cottages and mansions, the urban elements further on - more than compensated for the loss.  Except that one wished there were less people around. 

 

On way to Kahlenberg

 

And below stretches Vienna

 

Vineyards on the way

 

St Joseph's Church

Any chance of getting lost?

 

Musical moment

Then there is St Joseph’s Church, a baroque creation, with the Black Madonna making it a popular place for pilgrim. I love the way history is preserved and retold in Europe. We are told the battle of Kahlenberg is crucial in Austrian history because it was here that the German and Polish armies defeated the Ottomans in 1683. Unfortunately, the battle proved disastrous for the Camaldulensis monks in the monastery (after Brother Ambrosius Camaldulensis) there which along with the church was destroyed. The church is said to have been rebuilt in 1734. Everything around is little touristy, but ignore it all, find your own corner and let your eyes sweep the vista unfolding below, it’s worth every penny.

Vienna is one city which has the Wine Trail that takes one over most of its more than 300 vintners spread out over 700 hectares of vineyards. Despite the temptation one couldn’t take the trail. But heading for Kahlenberg had a motive behind it – to hit one of those heuriger (wine taverns) and binge! On the way to Kahlenberg we passed several – impressive, grand to quaint ones, all very inviting. At the last moment, or rather the spur of the moment, a decision was taken to skip the heurigers there and instead drive right across to the vineyards in the south zone. The drive is quite long and a bit of impatience creeps in fearing that it would be dark by the time we reach there, but thankfully the weather and sunlight holds good.  As we approach the destination, gentle hills rise in the background while the vineyards spread all over. The central road is somewhat narrow but flanked by colourful houses. 

Then Tada! It’s heuriger time. I have no shame in admitting that we walked into the first open door. A small narrow cobbled entry and then, a door on the left leads to an indoor pub (give or take 2/3 tables) and straight ahead an enclosed garden with rattan seating. It’s a spirited time, every which way, interrupted only by delicious bites of ham and more ham of every kind, salads and breads. Two dogs keep us company, one lazy as every and the other frisky as ever. No effort – cajoling, physically dragging, reprimanding, tempting tidbits and what have you- by the owners can keep the dogs away. She and her son brush off their hands; apologise and let them be.

I am dog freak- couldn’t have asked for better company.This is the time when one really believes that god is up there and everything is right with the world below.

Prost!

 

 

And here it is!

 

 

Not the real one

  

Not drunk! That's from a speeding car in fading light

Prost once more!

Pigging out

  

Trust the Austrians to walk divergent paths so elegantly–the imperial capital of the past, classical architecture, palaces, castles, Mozart, Beethoven, Dr Sigmund Freud, operas, sacher torte, schnitzel, wines is today also the conference capital of the world! They surely know how to make the most of what they have, which unfortunately at the cost of sounding like a Carping Cassandra; one can’t say the same for India despite its embarrassing wealth of historical monuments and such. Ah sigh!

The first time I had landed in Vienna was in November end. As the small plane from Luxumberg started descending, it was like being transported to fairyland, with snowflakes floating down, some even knocking on the plane window, while outside was a surreal misty world. It was love at first sight. This time it was way into the night when we exited the airport. For dinner of course we had to go to Naschmarkt. Unfortunately, it was a weekday and most of the eateries had pulled down shutters. And not surprisingly, the only place still operating was an Asian joint – so it was the regular mix of Chinese and Thai.   

I guess at the start of every travel, we all make resolutions not to over indulge, no binging, watching what we eat and drink and all the blahs. And like all the blahs, it went spinning out of the window the first day itself. The breakfast was heavy and we dutifully parroted the usual of 'let’s stick to a salad lunch and maybe later coffee and sacher torte'. Hah! Like the dreamy snowflake it melted instantly. Schnitzel it had to be and it had to be only at Figlmüller, the flagship restaurant on Wollzeile 5 1010, Vienna, the home of the schnitzel since 1905. (In 2001 Figlmüller opened another outlet at Backerstrabe 6, 1010 Vienna. There is also the original Figls, now a gastropub in Grinzing, in the suburbs of Vienna).  Figlmüller has an interesting history. Its website says that Johann Figlmüller opened a small wine tavern on Wollzeile, right behind St Stephen’s Cathedral, a place to propagate the Viennese way of life – a restaurant with a great menu and select wines for patrons to meet, dine and chat. Then of course the schnitzel happened!  

  

When we  landed there, every table was occupied and most of those waiting outside were directed to the other outlet at Backerstrabe 6. We of course wanted to lunch at the original one and after a bit of - aws, from India so far away, a table for two, we don't mind waiting worked - the steward finally relented and we got a table. Everything about the place says, we have been here for more than a century. It's a small-ish joint with two levels, the walls crammed with newspaper writings and reviews right from 1905, pictures of renowned dignitaries and celebrities who dined there. It's cosy, comfortable and welcoming. 

What then is the Figlmüller schnitzel that has everyone raving? It is a scrumptious, finger-licking pork dish that proves once again that great ingredients and a simple recipe work magic. In precise terms it is a flat round cutlet measuring around 30 centimetres. Yep at Figlmüller, measures and weights are taken seriously. The meat, weighing 250 gm is said to be a shoulder cut which is then pounded until is wafer thin. Next it is the regular egg and flour coating and hang on, the recipe is not complete. What comes last is the special ‘imperial’ breadcrumbs from the Austrian emperor bread rolls and these rolls are specially baked for Figlmüller. Then it is deep fried, just for 30 seconds till it is golden, crunchy on the outside and succulent inside and irresistible. While the Viennese potato salad is the general accompaniment, we opted instead for the green salad- a pile of greens, carrot slivers etc with an appetising citrussy sweet dressing.  Glasses of fruity wines, a squeeze of lemon over the schnitzel and then, you die and go to culinary heaven!

   

Yes, very soon we did pounce on sacher torte along with coffee. So much for resolutions!

And off to the market…………..

I have a fascination for markets – not the tony high streets, not the glitzy shopping malls, but the buzzing-with-life-and-activity markets abounding with foods and fruits, fish and fowls, sauces and savouries and all that keep the kitchen fires going and the dining tables groaning!

Everywhere I go, I try my utmost best to check out the local markets – the sabzi mandi as we call it. There have been good experiences, there have been wow ones and some unadulterated yuck ones.  The horrendous ever was in Taipei in the early 2000s in a group visit, one inadvertently landed at the Huaxi (Hwahshi) Street Market better known as Snake Alley. We had said we wanted to check out the night market and before we knew it, we were being led into what initially looked like a bright, bustling oriental market. What unfolded was unmitigated horror that left me puking and nauseated for days. We clearly hadn’t done our homework because everywhere one looked there were every kind of snakes in bottles and vats, live turtles and such. Even before one could take it all in, one was witness to a cruel gruesome act  – while a large wok three-fourth filled halfway with oil was simmering away over a huge fire, one man took a long iron rod with a pointed end, plunged into a large glass jar of snakes, speared one, took it out, wriggling for dear life, put it on a table covered with a bloodied plastic tablecloth, held it firm with the iron  rod and with a big peeler like instrument skinned it alive, while the snake frantically writhed in agony, chopped it into pieces with a huge cleaver, tossed the pieces into the simmering oil. The deep fried snake pieces were put in a plate, covered with sauce and served. I must have made a pathetic sight, running to the nearest corner and retching till I felt all my insides would come out. That was my first and last visit to the Snake Alley. For the record this is, I presume, the only place in the world where one can get to drink fresh snake blood! 

Barring the one aberration, visits to the markets have always been an exciting journey, a new discovery. From the floating market of Thailand, to my favourite Lumpini Night Market (Bangkok), which unfortunately closed down in 2011, the tiny roadside market in  Surathani (Thailand) as also in Ko Samui and Langkawi (Malaysia); the spice market and some local markets in Istanbul (they love children, the daughter kept getting treats and freebies); the markets in Madrid (especially Mercado de San Miguel) and Barcelona; Camden and Portobello (by now I guess everybody’s favourite), UK; the Farmer’s Market in New York and Los Angeles,  the Mexican market on Olvera Street in downtown LA (go on a Sunday for the best experience); the very touristy yet very quaintly attractive market at Catalina Island, off the coastline of southern California from where I carefully carried a beautiful handmade dragonfly mobile from a all the way home;  Atwater Market in Montreal, one of the best one ever with its art deco style architecture near the Lachine Canal;  Ginza in Tokyo ( I still crib about missing the Tsukiji wholesale fish market right next to it for lack of time), Nascht Market (Naschtmarkt) in Vienna;  INA in Delhi; Crawford in Mumbai; the nearly all women run Bara Bazaar in Shillong; the roadside market in Kurseong (where you might have to step aside and squeeze yourself against the wall to let the toy train pass by),  Jaggu Bazaar in Kolkata – wherever just give me markets any day. Naturally, when it came to Sofia how could one not go to the Zhenski Pazar. I was told that it was an all ladies’ market which made it all the more attractive. Unfortunately, it is not so any longer – there are equal number of men and women, in fact I think more men.

 

The Mexican Flavour in Los Angeles

 

Entertainment at the LA Market

Farmer's Market, New York

Buying fruits at a local market in Istanbul

Catalina Island

Mercado de San Miguel, Madrid

 

Some fowl play! (Madrid)

These piggies did go to the market

 

Berry, berry inviting! (Madrid)

Atwater, Montreal

   

The name says it, England

 

First I fell in love with store and then its goodies, UK

 

Getting to Zhenski Pazar (Stefan Stambolov Boulevard) was a bit of an anti-climax because no one seem enthusiastic about it especially not the hotel people who tried to convince me to opt for the more up market Sofia Central Market Hall(Tsentraini Halite) in the centre of the city instead.. Armed with a city map I chose to walk all the way and every one I sought directions from seemed either taken back, amused or surprised that a visitor wanted to go there. Earlier the www.freesofiatour.com guide Viki had said it was best to skip it and if I was determined to go, then to watch out for my purse. Clutching my purse I managed to find my way there.  In simple terms, I would best describe it as the local bazaars every city and town in India has.  But definitely not Indian like in terms of structure, layout and cleanliness! At the entrance is a small very modern two-storied structure with the ground floor housing florists and hence ablaze with every hue of colour and flowers and plants. There are wooden benches placed outsides where you can take a breather, drink coffee, watch the crowd pass by.   The entire market has cobbled flooring in different patterns. The perishables – from fruits, vegetables, cheese etc- are a burst of colour and aroma, are housed in roofed-rows with open stalls. There seemed to be more Turkish shopkeepers around than Bulgarians and in a butcher’s shop, manned by Turks, they seemed more interested in what a woman from India was doing in Zhenski Pazar, often to the annoyance of some impatient buyers. Their knowledge of English was, to put it politely; simply minimum but their curiosity factor knew no bound. Family, family, husband, children (sign language here, loved it with a man imitated rocking a baby in his arms, made me feel very young!) I don’t know if I responded the right way but someone with sign language again, asked me if I wanted coffee. I love Turkey and everything about it, except Turkish coffee!

Incidentally eons ago I went to a Turkish cafe in The Haque to gorge on the baklava's. The old man running the show with his grandson plonked himself in the opposite chair and fired a barrage of questions. The grandson left the counter and tried to take him away, no go. The old man spoke only Turkish (is it called Turkic?), the grandson spoke Turkish and Dutch and a smattering of English. I didn’t any of the language they spoke. It was both funny and irritating, I just wanted to eat the baklava's, thank you, but without my asking a tiny coffee cup materialised on the table, sheer politeness made me gulp it down in one go. And then, before I knew it there was a refill.  I figured the old man wanted to know where I was from so I kept repeating India, no go again. The grandson understood but for some reason the old man kept on looking blankly. Then a light bulb moment came, on a napkin I drew a rough map of India, added Pakistan on the north west border ( I am sure even Pakistan wouldn’t recognise itself in the diagram I drew), Afghanistan, Iran and so on till I hit Turkey.  The old man pondered over it for a long time and then Viola, his face split by the widest grin ever, he blurted out Hindustan. I nearly jumped with joy, thinking thank god the ordeal is finally over. Well, it wasn’t, the questions were like arrows shot from all over. It was worth it, he refused to charge me; no bill Hindustan was very lucid and distinct was very clear to me. I also got a long warm hug. That however was not the end. The next day as I crossed the square, I walked straight not looking at the Café.  Just when I thought I was safe, I heard someone shouting, Hindustan. I continued walking but someone politely tapped me on my shoulder and pointed behind me. Yes, I went back, yes I drank more Turkish coffee.  

So at the butcher’s in Zhenski Pazar, I shook my head vehemently when it came to the coffee offer. I did go out and opt for cappuccino at a little kiosk run by two old Turkish sisters with floral head scarves tied under their chins. I wanted to photograph them, but one of them jumped out and with a toothless smile and wagging finger barred me from doing so. All the ‘pleases’ in the world didn’t help.  Maybe buying coffee would thaw them, I felt, but for all the smiles, the no photographs rule was rigid.   Well, sometimes everything can’t go your way. One reason for fondly remembering Sofia is the Zhenski Pazar and twin Turk sisters..

The entry to Zhenski Market (Sofia) is on the left

 

The vegetable and fruit section, Zhenski Market, Sofia

 

First he scowls.....

 

Then he finds it funny

And this one is least bothered

No coffee please!

When we landed in Vienna it was pretty late in the evening and by the time one checked into the hotel it was past 10pm, very late by European timing for dinner. It was of course not a coincidence that the hotel was pretty close to Nascht Market (Naschtmarkt). I guess after over two decades of conjugal togetherness, you begin to understand and more important accept what it takes to keep the partnership going and proximity to the city’s/town’s bazaars is crucial! It is another matter that discovering markets is not his cup of tea. Over the years we’ve, sorry make that I’ve learnt to find a simple solution, bargain, fight, argue, debate whatever but do find a day, or at least half a day to get away on one’s one and explore the market to my heart’s content. So on the night of arrival, Nascht Market was where we headed straight for to find some dinner. Most of the market was shut but trust the Asians, or rather the Orients to work way beyond given hours. A few eateries were open and we headed for the one which had a variety of Asian fare.  

I managed to find my alone-in-the-market time and it was a wonderful experience. Initially it might seem a bit jumbled but there sure is a methodical layout. You have the eateries spread out more or less in one area interspersed with food stores as well as confectioners, sea food and meat stores, florists and nurseries, bread sellers and bakeries. There are permanent stalls and there are kiosks and large carts around and at one end is where you have the flea market where everything is on sale from Persian carpets, art, trinkets, furniture, dinner wares to just anything under the sun. This section is a little haphazard with both stalls, carts, tables over laden with stuff and even sheets spread out  on the ground.  With so many Indians (soon to overtake China at least population wise!), there was an Indian restaurant, an Indian store very prosaically called Indian Pavilion and a couple of Indian employees in the store. One turned out to be from Karol Bagh in Delhi, working at a Turkish delicatessen and he generously threw in extras for us, of course when the employer was looking elsewhere. I almost told him not to do so but he seemed so happy at meeting someone from his home town one didn’t have the heart to do so. So I bit into more Turkish delights

Nascht Market (Naschtmarkt)

 

Kegs in a row, all vinegar, Naschtmarkt, Vienna

Just tulips

How green is my market!

 

Nascht Market (Naschtmarkt) Vienna

 

Bread and more

 

The tentacles say it all

 

 

Treasure trove or trash - Naschtmarkt

 

Would you pick anything from here?

 

Pretty as a picture

And finally to the pavilion