Black coffee, brown coffee

Vienna it seems familiar to us, in a certain way and close, even if we have never been there. So much is the history of friendships and enmities with that city woven into our collective memory, so many people from these areas live in Vienna today, there are so many stories from personal experience that we listened to (whatever they were), so many of those New Year's concerts in Vienna got in our noses, there are so many prejudices related to that city, it is so close to us (eight hours by bus) that if we can choose, we would rather choose something more distant and exotic - Paris, Barcelona, ​​Florence - than Vienna, so it's probably no wonder that a person from these areas feels at home once (finally) arrives in that city. And it is a shining and magnificent imperial city. Our eyes will easily detect a certain architectural similarity between Belgrade and Vienna (even more Zagreb and Vienna), but this similarity will quickly recede before the purity of urban forms on the one hand and diversity on the other. If we compare Knez Mihailova Street with Vienna Street Graben, let's say (which, let's immediately notice, Thomas Bernhard hates the most in the world), our beautiful promenade will appear to us as just one of the streets of the Old Town (Inner city). If we compare, immediately after, the Student Park with Stadtpark which forms a whole with the Old Town and is one of the more exciting green city areas of that size that the signer of these lines has seen, we will understand that the comparisons are meaningless because Vienna has not been demolished for hundreds of years, while Belgrade was under serious fire three times in the 20th century alone.

One comparison should still be kept: Belgrade and Vienna are cities of approximately the same size, but the cleanliness of Vienna and its traffic accessibility are impressive. It is an overwhelming feeling that even at rush hour, the traffic in Vienna flows smoothly, and the answer is not only the metro - Paris also has a metro, so the traffic jams on the surface are often unbearable - but, all opportunity, in a very well-thought-out and efficiently applied traffic layout. In addition, it is impressive how the otherwise barely visible policemen (who emerge from corners whenever it is least necessary) are ready to take 70 euros from you if you get carried away and cross the street in a place not intended for that, or, let's say, a little violate the bicycle driving regime. All the charm and impudence to spill in front of them - it's not worth it. To your whining that you don't have enough money on you, that you come from a poor country, that capitalism is an unjust system that exploits the working class, that you worship Vienna and the Austrians and the Nazis if you have to, dressed in slightly theatrical uniforms and with caps more suited to railwaymen , with a friendly smile, all in English, will patiently escort you to the ATM and just as politely hand you a receipt confirming that they took 70 Euros from you for God's sake and of your manipulation. The same will happen to you if you don't sign a contract with public transport and still use it (you don't have a ticket, in case someone didn't understand), with the fact that in public transport you can bump into one of ours, so if you wait and if he takes pity on you, you will , instead of 50 EUR to pay, let's say, 25. (The previous paragraph, in fact, shows what a civilization gap we are in with more normal parts of the world: is it necessary to spend so much space and paper in order to state something that goes without saying: disobeying elementary rules is, in civilization, punished?)

BLACK WITHOUT MILK

Like any big city, Vienna is made up of strong identities that coincide, pass each other, go in different directions or together, oppose each other. Each of these identities is a mixture of prejudice and reality, each is of impure form, made of solid (Austrian identity) and mobile elements (Vienna identity). National identity is, of course, a gooey substance with a dominant component of palanquin consciousness. It is hardly necessary to say that it was precisely this identity that enthusiastically welcomed the annexation of Austria to Nazi Germany on March 13, 1938 (Connection). On the other hand is that layer of Austrians/Batchleys who did not put up with the crimes committed in the name of Austria and who, in the end (with a little help from the Americans), led to the fact that neo-Nazism in Austria - at least the visible one - was persecuted more fiercely and effectively but in countries that, like Serbia, were victims of Nazism. Recently, a person showed up at a public swimming pool with Nazi tattoos prominently displayed. It was removed from there in about five minutes. When asked by that person if this was not a matter of restricting freedom of expression, the judge answered that highlighting Nazi symbols is not an expression of ideas but of criminal idealessness, and when asked by the tattooed room if this means that he is no longer allowed to go to the swimming pool, which is a threat to elementary of human rights, the judge replied that of course he could go to the pool if he removed the Nazi symbols or covered them up. Then he gave him the appropriate punishment.

Why this instructive story? In order to counter a lot of prejudices and prepare for pleasant and unpleasant encounters those who do not have enough experience in being on foreign soil. The intensity of those encounters will depend mainly on us, the intending travelers, students, and workers. We want to say, there are idiots everywhere, and Vienna is not an exception in this regard, with the fact that in more normal parts of the world idiots are better distributed than here, so it is easier to dodge them. (We, for example, keep ours in power.) The experience of the signatories of these lines is quite acceptable in this regard.

During my first stay in Vienna, every morning I went to the wonderful cafe in Ulica Klene Neugasse in a picturesque neighborhood Wieden. On the third morning I was the first one, I already recognized the guy who brings drinks (he also recognized me), since there was no one there I suggested that he take a drink at my expense and join me. It was a nice one-hour conversation with an educated young Austrian very interested in politics and very worried about the rise of the right in Austria (it turns out that the Austrian republican institutions are too strong for political spiders). I listened with interest as he spoke about the large Serbian population in Vienna that supports right-wing parties with their leaflets and receives certain privileges from them in return, but I also learned from him how to order the coffee I like: big brown coffee, big black coffee, so "big brown" and "big black", the only thing he spoke was in German because I showed a desire to communicate in German, which I don't know, and probably to make fun of me a bit. The next day I was again the first in the cafe, we shook hands like old acquaintances, and then, all proud, I ordered ein grosser brauner mit Milch für mich, Please visit (“one large brownie with milk for me, please”) und einer grosser schwarzer ohne Milch für du ("and a big black one without milk for you, please"). When he covered his eyes with his hand, I realized that I had excelled less than I, carried with confidence, had believed myself to be. You see, he told me roughly, yesterday I killed myself trying to explain to you – although it's quite complicated, he added cheekily – that Brown got its name because it's black coffee mixed with milk, that's why it's brown, and there's no need to emphasize, he added not without irony, that milk is also needed. So much so, he continued mercilessly, in black coffee (black) by definition has no milk, which is why it is called black. That's why... I interrupted him there, asked him not to ramble anymore (at this point imagine his loud laughter) and to bring us those fucking coffees (fucking coffee) with or without milk.

VIENNA IN NOVELS

Layers of Viennese identities can also be found in literature, of course. Novel Glacial by Robert Schindel is one of the "most Viennese" novels that the signatory of these lines has read. In it, the main character walks around the city a lot, and the meetings take place mostly in Viennese cafes. The writer obviously knows the Viennese scene very well, and the signer of these lines has more than once walked the very streets and neighborhoods where the heroes of Schindel's novel walk, and entered the cafes where these characters meet. On the other hand, a new work by Dragan Velikić Viennese novel brings us a gloomy picture of a gloomy country and a gloomy city, an image that corresponds to the state of mind of the hero of the story. Well, if we go along the streets and promenades where Velikić's characters pass, it will only depend on our mood whether we will recognize the dark shadows chasing Olga, Pavle and Andrej, or whether, while walking along the banks of the Danube Canal (Donaukanal), absorb the strangeness of this city. Musil's Man Without Characteristics also takes place in Vienna, but it is a Vienna over a hundred years old, a city that is reflected in the tired souls of Musil's heroes. However, we will understand that great novel even better when we see and feel the spaces that Ulrich and Agatha moved through. Not to mention Dr. Freud, Klimt and Schiele, and Gustav Mahler.

If, finally, in all the magnificence of this city, only one thing should be pointed out, the signatory of these lines would without hesitation single out the complex of sculptures by Alfred Hrdlička in the heart of the city, on Albertina square (Albertinaplatz), Mahnmal gegen Krieg und Fascismus (Memorial against war and fascism), with a sculpture of a Jew on his knees, wrapped in barbed wire. The sculpture will not save the world, nor will it save the people of Vienna from themselves, but it will remind them of what their ancestors did to their fellow citizens 85 years ago and thus, perhaps, encourage them to be better.