SCHMÄH
Forget Vienna. There is no Vienna. Or at least not the Vienna you know or think you know. I unfortunately need to tell you that you know nothing about Vienna. But I am ready to tell you the whole truth. First of all, you need to accept that the Viennese are all liars. Without guilt. I know that, I’m Viennese. You can trust me. Or trust Orson Welles, who understood Vienna perfectly. In 1968, he put it this way: ‘The Vienna that is, is as nice a town as there is. But the Vienna that never was, is the grandest city ever.’
This town shields itself, hides behind façades, keeps outsiders at a distance. If a Viennese local smiles at you, you’d better be alarmed. They are smiling because they want something from you; they expect you to behave in a certain manner, or they want your money. The natural Viennese attitude to life is a mix of grotesque arrogance, pointless hubris, a surprising lack of self-confidence and a hatred of anyone who makes them feel inferior. It’s the result of living and surviving hundreds of years in a rigid class society, reigned by emperors who often behaved like military dictators.
Nobody will tell you to your face that, in Vienna, tourists are considered clueless idiots who should stay in their bubble, their make-believe world. Sure, they’re welcome to leave their money here, if they don’t bother the Viennese too much with their presence. You must understand they are kept from getting the real Vienna experience.
You also need to understand what Schmäh is – the sometimes charming, sometimes annoying Viennese way of not saying what they really mean, or rather saying the absolute contrary of what they actually do mean, restricted by a show of manners, and constantly hiding their true feelings and intentions behind jokes and irony.
HOTEL ORIENT
The Viennese don’t want honesty. They pass every opportunity to be honest, and instead seek out places to lie and distract. The more they tell, the less they tell the truth, and this is the only truth about Vienna. Truth has consequences for your love life. There must be ways to avoid a certain reality and immerse yourself in another one, only to return later to the first. An ideal place for Viennese lies and their architectonic embodiment is the Hotel Orient. It doesn’t look like other Vienna love hotels; it’s more sophisticated, it could be a regular hotel. Housed in a typically Viennese building from 1896 with subtle Jugendstil touches, the hotel itself is like the perfect Viennese lie: told with full conviction, until the lie is taken for the truth and the truth for the lie. In the 1970s, Heinz-Werner Schimanko, a former soldier and member of an elite group in the Austrian military, took over the house. From then on, prostitutes and their clients came as customers, initially only staying on a single floor. Back then, love for sale was still omnipresent on the streets of the historic old town. Vienna was disreputable, dirty, sweaty, mouldy. In the late 1980s, Schimanko, famous for his bald, shiny head and his imposing moustache (which would have commanded respect from Hercule Poirot), parted from the red-light scene, and the Hotel Orient became what it is today. Its twenty imaginatively designed rooms display the most beautiful camp aesthetics, tickling the imagination with a sense of pleasure. Helmut Newton took photos here, Orson Welles came to visit, films were shot and plays staged at the hotel. I used to live nearby and remember seeing Schimanko’s Rolls Royce parked out front between 3 and 4 a.m. many nights. Schimanko checked on all of his businesses, including the hotel, daily and personally. While enjoying the ambience and ideal location in the middle of the historic old town, know that discretion is the most important currency of the Hotel Orient. Staff are carefully selected, no one remembers names, and the business model must not be destroyed. Since the legendary Herr Schimanko is said to have died in bed with a beautiful woman, the hotel has been managed by his son. Incidentally, reservations are only accepted by telephone, where guests can choose their names.
BUILDING DESIRE
Like dogs and their owners, every city reflects the personality of its inhabitants in its architecture. And vice versa. Inner courtyards, backyards and passageways are typical of the city. Some of them are publicly accessible, while others are private, secret or simply unknown. This is perhaps the real Vienna. Just as the real Viennese allow you only to see their faces – their façades – never their true personalities.
You have to penetrate these courtyards, these secret spaces, if you want to understand Vienna. Don’t let outward appearances irritate or deter you. It’s like sex, where, consciously or subconsciously, some kind of aggression may probably never be avoided. If you think sex without aggression is possible, stay away from Vienna. It’s not by chance that Sigmund Freud got the ideas for his landmark books here. And think of artists like Hermann Nitsch or Valie Export. Today, the unique choreographer Florentina Holzinger is their heiress, and excels in combining dance, politics, nudity and bodily fluids.
The Viennese hide themselves and their personalities behind walls, barriers and fences. On first glance, there are some parallels with Milan. But in Milan it’s a matter of arrogantly sealing off elegance from the bad taste of the common people, while in Vienna it’s about highly personal matters: the Viennese don’t want to show their secrets, but keep them for themselves. As an English friend and connoisseur of Vienna puts it: ‘It’s all about hidden desires and conflicting appearances.’
THE INNER TRUTH OF COURTYARDS
Take, for example, the courtyards of the Schottenkloster monastery in the first district. Originally founded in 1155, the current complex was built between the 1770s and 1830s. The most beautiful courtyard is reserved for the monks. Explore it by booking a room at the Benediktushaus, the monastery’s own bed and breakfast. The psychological character of Vienna’s courtyards is revealed in Michaeler Durchgang, close to Hofburg Palace. The late-Baroque building features a stone carving depicting Christ on the Mount of Olives. This was once a place where street prostitutes pretended to pray with rosary beads in hand. Potential customers also feigned a prayer, signalling their interest with a cough, which was answered by the women with a cough in return. In the 18th century, and especially under the morally strict Catholic empress and archduchess Maria Theresa, helpless authorities were unable to take action against these praying people.
The neo-Gothic Rathaus (Vienna City Hall) offers a wonderfully large inner courtyard that is pleasantly cool in summer. Do not miss the paternoster from 1918. You should, under all circumstances, do what I have on more than one occasion: ride the lift up and down for as long as possible, using the cabin’s narrowness as a space to approach and be approached.
The Deutschordenshaus and Heiligenkreuzerhof in the first district, the Raimundhof in the sixth and the Adlerhof in the seventh are all suitable for romantic walks and explorations, as well as for looking into other people’s windows. Irresistibly idyllic inner courtyards for all kinds of dates are offered at the former homes of three classic composers: Franz Schubert’s birthplace in the ninth district (Schubert Geburtshaus), the place where he died in the fifth (Schubert Sterbewohnung), Joseph Haydn’s home in the sixth (Haydnhaus) and the Beethoven Museum in the nineteenth.
LOBAU
Not the city, but the jungle. Without Tarzan, and part of Vienna. Lobau is a floodplain on the northern side of the Danube river, and a protected area since 1978. These 2,300 hectares belong to one of the last large floodplain landscapes in Central Europe, and have been part of one of six Austrian national parks since 1996. People who are interested in animals and birds are guaranteed to get their money’s worth here. For several decades, a small part of the area has been famous for naturism. As a child, I went on a couple of summer bike rides to the Lobau, winding through the places where nude bathers used to go. I didn’t understand why these people wanted to show off their naked, often extremely tanned bodies outside of a sauna. Nor did I understand that other people wanted to see these naked people, at any cost. Numerous voyeurs and peepers wait for a glimpse of naked, copulating or masturbating people. And these people show up. Some encounters happen by chance, following the principle of supply and demand. Other encounters are agreed in internet forums ahead of time, privately.
The audience is not one that otherwise attends fashion shows or flies to the Maldives for vacation. You don’t meet them at vernissages, theatre premieres or waltzing at the opera ball. They are too tired for that, because they have to work to afford to live. They ensure that Austria, including its politics and culture, works at all. They are people who are looking for a break from oppressive routine and suffocating normality. Dating apps don’t help them, nobody is interested in them, and they don’t dare to go to the hip clubs. They want a temporary escape, a short debauchery without personal consequences or enormous costs. It is not surprising that people act in this way, rather it’s surprising that there are so few, given the impersonal state of this world characterised by detachment and loneliness.
CULINARA SEX
The Viennese would die to eat. They love to drink even more. And most of all, they are, both positively and negatively, obsessed by the idea of having sex. But they are shy, and dare not admit the last too openly. The topic is mostly avoided or covered up. There is a great reluctance, and it is not the words that are missing but the appropriate style. Pure enjoyment and shameless desire are only socially acceptable to a certain degree in Austrian society. Journalists have always fearfully avoided the issue of sexuality when it comes to prominent politicians, business people, artists or athletes, and the rest of society is no better off. A lot of substitute satisfaction is going on. Clumsy jokes are made about sex, a favourite item of not-too-funny Austrian comedians. Or sex is seen in the context of tragedy, guilt and crime, as in the works of many musicians, writers and filmmakers. Positive associations are rare. The choice of words is generally coarse, emotionless or primitive. The times of Klimt, Schnitzler, Freud and Schiele really seem to be long gone. Nowadays, sexuality has more to do with torment and work.
A very Viennese way of addressing desire, eroticism and sexuality in a roundabout way is nutrition. The Viennese addiction to food and drink cannot deny its character as an ersatz satisfaction.
It is impossible to imagine pleasure – and therefore also sex – without food or beverage. There’s no such thing as too much. In this town, you can eat and drink a lot, ruthlessly and shamelessly. Even alcohol poisoning is no reason to despise someone. Here, ‘drunk’ really means ‘drunk,’ and not ‘tipsy.’ If you’re not drunk yet, you may keep drinking. Complete inebriation is totally accepted, even in the best of company. Only when you urinate in public or lie on the floor and vomit would people suspect that someone might have had a little bit more than they should have. The same applies to eating. So when in Vienna, don’t be shy; gorge until you can’t anymore.
AT THE KAMEEL, UNDER THE INFLUENCE
There is little more Viennese than drinking alcohol beyond the point of tipsiness. Do it at Zum Schwarzen Kameel, where even the most stubborn and dry of Viennese lighten up after a few glasses of wine. A prime location for flirting with real, funny Viennese under the influence, here you’ll probably start something you might’ve wanted to avoid before the booze.
The German language name of the restaurant, which has existed since 1618, refers to a camel (Kamel), but is misspelled Kameel. This is thanks to the first owner, Johan Baptist Cameel, who joked about his own name. Zum Schwarzen Kameel is a restaurant, snack bar and bar. Culinary delights are elementary components of sensuality, and in Vienna wine has always been key. Austria is a traditional wine country, and drinking wine is not considered a sign of high society or being a gourmet. Wine is inclusive.
In 1901, the Kameel got a new building with a Jugendstil interior design. In the warmer months, the city’s most exciting beer garden – or wine garden – spreads out in front of the restaurant. How do you flirt with the Viennese? Eye contact first, not too often, but not too little either. Then go to the person of your heart and ask … nothing. Just say what you want, what you have in mind. As long as it stays civilised, of course. Maybe a harmless joke, a funny remark, or the polite invitation to drink a glass of wine together. And never exaggerate when flirting. There is already enough craziness in Vienna. Avoid topics such as health or politics. Talk about the wine, the food, your favourite music or gossip about the passers-by. Also add a few ironic tips, or even say something slightly nasty. While good humour and Schmäh are core ingredients of the Viennese soul, they are complemented by sarcasm and sheer meanness. When you have finished the glass of wine and are still seated together at one of the small tables, a highly trained waiter will come and ask if another glass is desired. It couldn’t
be easier. The rest is up to you.
BAKED MIRACLES (AND APHRODISIACS)
It is nigh impossible to enjoy Vienna without tarts and cakes. These works of art made from eggs, sugar, flour, marzipan, chocolate and other delicacies are the ultimate expression of Viennese culinary sensuality. The Conditorei Sluka belongs to the elite of Viennese confectioners. Founded in 1891, it previously supplied the imperial-royal court. Empress Elisabeth was a customer, as were the great Oskar Kokoschka and the unique Thomas Bernhard. The pastry shop features in the 1988 drama Heldenplatz, Bernhard’s most melancholic and at the same time most merciless piece about Vienna. The author himself enjoyed the pies; der Sluka also shows its competence with savoury dishes and snacks, including ingenious sandwiches and typical Viennese specialties. Go to Sluka (I recommend the original location between the parliament and city hall, rather than the newer location near Kärntner Strasse – tourist hell!), stay there for at least an hour, eat lots of everything, and if you are so full of joy afterwards that the next level can only be reached via sex, then it sounds like you’ve done everything right.
Next stop: Trzesniewski. Don’t try to pronounce it. Let a Viennese tell you how. And don’t trust Viennese who fail that test, as it is the ultimate proof that they don’t know anything about where and what to eat in Vienna. Trzeniewski is the Polish name of the man who founded this restaurant-bar in 1902, which specialises in delicious canapés. It is an ideal meeting place for an informal, very Viennese rendezvous. The most popular canapé combines bacon and egg, and is useful both before and after sex or heavy drinking.
It should not be a surprise that French specialties the baguette and croissant have Viennese roots. This is related to the legendary Boulangerie Viennoise (Viennese bakery), which opened in Paris in the late 1830s.
Viennese pastries and bread can be more than just very tempting. The sight can be irresistible, the scent beguiling, the taste seductive, pleasurable. The best way to enjoy this pleasure is by going to Kurrentgasse in the first district, another narrow, ancient street that looks as though it was designed for a film. Stop at the Arthur Grimm bakery; founded in 1536 it has stood in the same place ever since. In the cellar, the dough is prepared in the traditional way before being baked. I remember a wonderful erotic encounter from a few years back that, in addition to champagne, was garnished with delicious Grimm bread rolls. The anticipation was wonderfully delayed and had truly aphrodisiac effects. And after all the exhausting fun, we were happy to fortify ourselves with the baked miracle.
BABYLON
‘Can’t buy me love,’ the Beatles declared back in 1964. They obviously weren’t Viennese. Germans may be romantic, Austrians much less, Viennese – those cynical, sarcastic, mean bastards – not at all. In Vienna, the concept of unconditional love has never been accepted nor appreciated. Everything is negotiable, purchasable, including opinions and political standpoints. Personally, I am not convinced that the concept of buying sex is particularly acceptable or thrilling. But I respect all sex workers. And I have to take into account that in 2023 this phenomenon is still part of Viennese reality. In a very visible way, too, right in the city centre. Babylon is big and impressive, entirely occupying what was originally a four-storey residential building in classic Biedermeier style from the first half of the 19th century, with a newly added fifth storey and, not surprisingly, including a whole courtyard. It shows some clever discretion without ultimately disguising its existence, and the unmissable green lighting at night seems to emphasise a distance from anything remotely connected to red-light districts.
When the nuclear negotiations between the US, Russia, the EU and Iran took place in Vienna a few years ago, participating politicians and diplomats only had to turn one corner to get from the luxurious Hotel Palais Coburg, where the negotiations happened, to the Babylon. Vienna is a centre of international politics and diplomacy. There’s the UN, the OSCE and OPEC. All those people with desires, fantasies, dreams, hopes, fears. You can experience and do things in Vienna that could cost you your life at home. A few years ago, in the sauna of a posh Viennese gym, I struck up a conversation with a slim, tall, self-confident French woman claiming to live as a model in London. After some time she told me with surprising frankness that she was escorting a man to the OPEC conference in Vienna.
There are solid, rational reasons for Babylon’s existence, and non-interference is central to the Austrian mind and soul. You let others do whatever they like while hoping that you can somehow benefit from it, or at least survive unscathed. Those considered weak often have no choice but to engage in some form of prostitution, whether political, psychological, economic or sexual.
DER KUSS
Viennese folk sometimes pretend to be romantic – for the tourists, of course. It’s easy to project romantic thoughts onto Vienna. The city offers enough places that allow that. Only this has nothing to do with Viennese reality. Gustav Klimt must have sensed this, and it is no coincidence that Der Kuss (The Kiss), realised between 1908 and 1909, became his masterpiece. There are many popular interpretations regarding the painting. The closest, almost banal variant is always forgotten, namely that the scene primarily tells of the longing for love. It’s a utopian image, not a realistic one. I am convinced that it was Klimt’s own difficult, painful longing for love that made him realise this work, in a city interested enormously in sensuality and only little in love. For me, looking at the painting – with its hypnotic, symbiotic, gold-drunk fusion – is associated with deeply felt joy but also with endless melancholy. I always seem to hear the yearning, inconsolable music of Gustav Mahler. Emotionally, Klimt – like Mahler – would have been better off somewhere other than Vienna. And yet, nowhere else could he have become Klimt than in this deranged, abysmal, unforgiving city. All resistance and hostilities were essential for this. It took Vienna a long time to accept the power and beauty of Klimt’s art. Up until the 1970s, many saw him only as a kitschy, luxurious producer of escapist dreams. Incidentally, it was even worse for Egon Schiele, who was for a long time perceived as a perverted pornographer at best. Their works were sold in Vienna at comparatively dirt-cheap prices, as though people wanted to get rid of this crap as quickly as possible. So please, do Klimt justice when you stand in front of Der Kuss at the Belvedere Museum. Think of an artist’s lifeblood that can be felt beyond all that gold and beauty. In the Belvedere, couples can have their picture taken in front of a very good and true-to-original reproduction of Der Kuss where, of course, they are allowed to kiss. Please do so. And if you are alone, persuade someone to have a picture taken with you. Be what Vienna is not now and never was: romantic. And send a prayer of thanks to Klimt, wherever he may be. In any case, he was dead less than ten years after Der Kuss, and soon after almost forgotten. Today, however, the Viennese tourist industry adores him, despite some Viennese still refusing to do so. They will never forgive Gustav Klimt for being infinitely more sensitive, more ingenious and, above all, more loving than they have ever been, or ever will be.
