Viennese walks

Geopolitics intertwine here deeply with history and ideology

As a lazy Viennese Saturday afternoon was slowly unfolding in the 18th district, my tram was swiftly chugging through almost empty alleys, climbing an emerging hill. Picturesque compact houses, although indeed tiny, with a second floor and a balcony, were ornamentally lining up, boldly playing with colours. I couldn’t shake off a feeling that the bright red streetcar just didn’t belong here. You’d usually see one among the sky-reaching imperial settings, on the vast 19th-century avenues, but here its foreignness was hard to miss. And yet the line was stretching its curves further.

As I got off and began my short walk, the growing steepness of the hill was making this stroll feel like a demanding mountain climb. Gradually emerging warm yellow facade greeted me in a small courtyard, as did the playful glance of a single Austrian police officer circling the perimeter. Three-storey Reneissance mansion was looking exactly like the history textbook clipping on the UPR. Nothing else could smoothier complete the scene as the blue-yellow banner, stretching into the golden European sky. I could only imagine the view of the Inner City unravelling from the upper terrace.

Slightly rusting green fence and blossoming, although deserted on a weekend, lawn, shaped the front yard. I began to walk around, trying to avoid any occuring questions from the law enforcement, and at the same time took a glance through the decorative bars. Numerous wide windows, free from any blinds, were now probably filling up the inside with a pleasant spring sun. Backyard contrasted the front history book with some gardening equipment and a practical plastic Ikea-like warehouse. As well, there was a wooden table. The one you’d find at any city park, offering some shade and rest for summer adventures. Suddenly, I noticed that it was currently occupied. A small group of men dressed in casual sportswear, were enjoyng a peaceful afternoon lunch. Among them, the tallest one’s bold cut was reflecting the lazy sun rays, as he stood up and quietly toasted. A similar grey sport tunic and jogging pants unusually shaped the Head of the Ukrainian diplomatic mission, as he was taking a break with his colleagues at the embassy’s backyard, next to some rakes nearby. A woman from the neighbourhood, walking her dog, smiled as she marched by. A slight smirk had also crossed my mouth in response, which was rather a rarity since 2022.

Clatter of wheels, iron rattle, and the darkness of a tunnel, some other day. Windy and dirty railway platform somewhere under Belvedere Palace. Thousands of unknown faces and a wild rush of the 8 am crowd. As I toured the Landstraße district, hundreds of engines’ hum passed me on the narrow imperial-style streets. Dark oil in engines mixed with owners’ quickly brewed second plastic cups of black coffee in their cars’ holders into some unimaginable fueling essence. It was cloudy. Approaching that one dot on my smartphone’s map, however, the streets became more and more deserted, with rare dog walkers who quickly evaporated after a subtle glimpse. My Slavic appearance was rather telling here.

I firstly noticed the Iranian banner, regardless of how hard I was trying to spot that one flag. Tall black fence, thickets of some bushes, windows covered in blinds and the striking whiteness of the building. Tidy, what was sought to be seen as an English-style backyard, and what was presented as a prosperous Orthodox cathedral at the back. Eyes swiftly went over familiar Cyrillic inscriptions. Not a soul could be spotted behind these black bars. An image summed up by the mild-sized tricolour, which, now, despite the wind, got tangled up in its own flagpole. Cameras. An empty street surrounded by empty imperial houses. Dirty railway nearby. Clatter of wheels. With no further hesitation, I turned around and walked away as fast as possible. Towards the British and German embassies. Towards the red streetcars.