I love coffee houses. All of which to say, I love Vienna. Where some of the greatest minds of the past years found their inspiration? We claim a corner table. I stammer something about the doorman having told us to sit wherever we liked and the waiter brushes the air with his hand as if my excuse was a physical thing he was just flicking away.
He then takes our order. The next day for breakfast we visit another old coffee house, just on the outskirts of the inner city, called Cafe Jelinek. I ask him for a couple more minutes. He gives us twenty. The ordering experience is similarly accommodating. Lenin and Trotsky used to play chess here, and thick marble columns rise up around a piano in the center of the cafe.
There are two Chinese couples standing in front of us. The waiter, clearly dissatisfied, storms off. As soon as we step into the Sperl, one particularly dreary Monday morning, the middle-aged waitress eyes us suspiciously. Later, another, different waitress delivers our scrambled eggs to the table. But now I feel differently. Have I become a masochist? Am I just that self-loathing? Theirs is a refusal to give in to the era of TripAdvisor and don a more polite, but false, facade but to instead remain unrepentantly authentic.
Or, at least, authentically Viennese. Vienna is a theatre. And their Kaffeehaus is their particular stage. They have chosen to stick to character rather than simper to the Starbucks generation. Like Liked by 1 person. Skip to content. A short time later a waiter approaches. Like Loading Previous Reincarnated as a Taxi Driver in Dublin. Next Life in the Bubble. Penny for your thoughts Cancel reply. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use. To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy.
Comment Reblog Subscribe Subscribed. My Life in Transit. Sign me up. Already have a WordPress. Log in now. Loading Comments Email Required Name Required Website.
