A Postcard from Vienna

The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon refers to the uncanny tendency of noticing something more often after observing it for the first time. 

Also known as the frequency illusion, several potential causes have been suggested, which draw on the psychological processes of selective attention and confirmation bias. The term was coined in 1994 by a commenter on an online discussion board, who had heard the name of this West German far-left militant group twice in 24 hours.

The first time I researched this unsettling experience online, and found out that it was called the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, I walked into a lecture hall the following morning to find that the topic was the Rote Armee Fraktion (the Red Army Faction), and that the photos of Andreas Baader, Ulrike Meinhof, and the other early leaders of the group were on the first slide.

If that doesn’t confirm the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, then I’m not sure what does.

Admittedly, being a student in the German Faculty probably tinkered with the probability statistics on that one.

Another probability which increases with being a student in the German Faculty is that of telling everyone you strike up a conversation with how delightful your Year Abroad destination was.

Over the last few weeks, these two phenomena have combined. I recently made a short trip back to Vienna, and ever since my return to London, I’ve come across multiple sources saying how great the city is.

There was this comment piece in The Times about housing policies in Vienna, ‘Britain can learn how to rent like the Viennese’, which mentions that on average, 20 per cent of income is spent on rent in Vienna, compared to nearly 45 per cent in London. It followed a piece in The New York Times Magazine exploring Vienna’s social housing, ‘Gemeindebauten’, and post-war development: ‘Imagine a Renters’ Utopia’.

And then in the ‘Appetite’ section of The Financial Times Magazine this weekend, Tim Hayward describes his journey ‘from soup zero to soup hero’, which brings him to a bowl of Tafelspitz at Plachutta Wollzeile in Vienna. This leads him to this profound conclusion: “This was worth the money, the trip and half a century of wasted life.”[1]

And then this morning at London Bridge Station, what should be floating out of WHSmith at 7.30am but Billy Joel’s lilting refrain, ‘Vienna waits for you…’.

Based on the entirely anecdotal evidence above, as well as a more empirical amount of Apfelstrudel consumed in the name of my degree, I would therefore like to propose my opinion that Vienna is truly one of Europe’s finest cities.

I’d touched down and trundled down the U6 just in time to catch the end of the annual neighbourhood party, the Währingerstraßefest, heading over to my friends’ apartment just as fair rides were being packed up and the unmistakable chorus of NENA’s ’99 Luftballons’ was drifting down from a stage further up the road.

I was also in time for the Wiener Weinwandertag – special walking trails around Vienna’s vineyards organised by the City of Vienna. Huddling outside a pub on the pavement for an overpriced pint in the London drizzle suddenly seemed rather unattractive, as I sipped on Sturm looking out on panoramic views and enjoying a mouthful of some home baked Sachertorte, sold to me by a sweet Viennese girl, who had endearingly added ‘mit Liebe geschnitten’ (sliced with love).

And I wasn’t the only one on time for something either. Believe it or not, that legendary form of European transportation, the luminous green FlixBus, was also on time, bringing me from Vienna’s Westbahnhof to Graz and back in a day.

I had never made it to Austria’s second city during my Year Abroad (most plans were scuppered by lockdowns), and was intrigued to find out if the Graz was greener on the other side, if you’ll excuse the pun. One UNESCO-listed castle and historic city centre, one ride up a funicular to a stunning view - and a steep walk down, and some slices of cake later, I was delighted to find that Graz had not disappointed. Although given that I’d visited everything I’d been recommended to see by 5pm – including a thrilling double-winding staircase, and still had an hour to go before the Flixbus back, I was glad that I’d chosen Vienna to spend a year in.

As ever, it was a pleasure to spend time catching up with the friends I’d met on my Year Abroad – fellow residents of the legendary Studentinnenheim I lived in, and friends from the Chaplaincy who I’d been in small groups and been on trips with during that year (nothing bonds you quite like that specific steep hill on the second day of the walking pilgrimage to Mariazell). It was delightful to be able to spend quality time together, to swap those stories which had somehow been missed through sporadic WhatsApp conversations, and to do things which lockdown had gotten in the way of.

A particular highlight was watching ‘Fiddler on the Roof’, or ‘Anatevka’ as it is known in German, in the Volksoper. I could see the Volksoper building from my bedroom window on my Year Abroad, but it had remained tantalisingly shut, so it was quite the moment to finally step foot inside. There was also something particularly amusing about hearing the familiar lyrics of the smash hits in German - ‘If I were a rich man’ turns to ‘Wenn ich einmal reich wär’. Eleven-year-old Anna who was struggling with forming conditional phrases in German would have been proud.

As I left my Vienna friends behind once again, wishing them best for the imminent start of the Winter Semester, and made my way back to catch my flight, I wondered when I’d next be back.

For some glühwein at the famous Christmas Markets? Or for a twirl at the Hofburg for the February Ball Season? Or perhaps for a refreshing springtime dip in the Donau? I was already dreaming and my flight hadn’t even left yet.

Ryanair, of course, was not on time.

As always, I’m not exactly sure when I’ll next find myself in this hauntingly beautiful city, or which seasonal delicacy or event I’ll be back in time for.

One thing is for sure though: Vienna waits for you.

[1] Apologies, these articles are all behind paywalls. But excellent journalism requires funding!