How can one capture in print the idiocy that is the Spanish Riding School in Vienna? Prancing, leaping Lippizzaner horses, meticulously bred for centuries, groomed to a dazzling white in their polished saddles, led by Austrian gents in full riding regalia. As a father of three horse-loving daughters, how can you go wrong with that? By taking them there, that's how. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Knowing the Spanish Riding School to be one of the most popular tourist tra—er—attractions in Vienna, I buy our tickets the second the box office opens. What a smart father! We're through the line in under a minute, and so with an hour to kill before the 10:00 show, I lead the girls on a leisurely walk through the old city.
That was Mistake #1. For when we return at 9:48, a crowd of over 200 people is jammed into the entrance hall, which was designed for perhaps 10. Over the heads of the crowd, I see that this bowl-shaped entrance hall is emptying into a corridor barely two butts wide, at a rate of about 1 person per 5 weeks, so these poor saps are going to be waiting for a long time. But not us, right? Surely there is a separate entrance for Smart Fathers who bought their tickets early, right? Oh, no, the usher tells me. That crush of people IS the entrance for advance-ticket holders! Oh, and it's also the line for buying tickets.
"Daddy, why are we waiting here? Don't we already h—"
I'm too mad to even explain it to them. Twenty-five minutes later (the show has already started), we have fought our way through the "line", shown our tickets, and walked into the arena, ready to take our seats. Except there are no seats. The 80 or so chairs in this arena went to the lucky few who made it through at 9:18. For the remaining 180 suckers who showed up at 9:48, it's standing room only along the railings! Ah, but wait! Here come the horses with their noble riders! The show is on! The day is saved!
No it isn't. This is the most boring and lifeless performance I have ever paid admission to see. The riders seem unaware that their audience has waited an hour to see them, or even that there is an audience. They cooly put their steeds through gentle paces, nothing too strenuous, old chap. A cantor here, a little prance there. No galloping, no jumping, and certainly none of the formation riding the School is famous for; we mustn't tire our horses before the evening show. The canned parade music playing over the speakers is the last straw. After 20 minutes of this drivel, we walk out in a huff.
Next up on the Vienna-day-tour: the Vienna children's museum! As a father of three museum-loving daughters, how can you go wrong with that? The answer by now should be obvious: by taking them there. The long walk to the museum from the Spanish Riding Sham is made even longer by our crummy mood.
"One adult with three kids, please," I say.
The cashier, however, informs me that it doesn't work like that here. You see, sir, this is not a "normal" museum. You make reservations the day before. Then you show up at your prescribed time, and they lead the kids through in pre-arranged groups.
Oh.
WHAT KIND OF CHILDREN'S MUSEUM REQUIRES RESERVATIONS?! Viennese, that's what kind.
Well, the kids are about ready to vote me out of office. There's only one "attraction" left on our list: the famous Viennese ferris wheel. After this morning, those first two adjectives alone should be enough to make me call it off and go back to the hotel. But I can't lead them home on a note like this.
"All right, girls, we're going to try one last place. If it also turns out to be a dud, then we'll declare this the Worst Day Ever, okay?" This attempt at self-deprecating humour perks them up a little.
The map shows two subway stations nearby that lead to the ferris wheel. Which one is closer? On the theory that every decision I make today is bound to be wrong, I know that whichever station I pick will end up being farther away. So I instruct the kids to do the opposite of whatever I tell them. The kids like this idea, and it works! From the map I calculate that Station A is closer, so we head towards Station B. And reach it almost immediately! We laugh ourselves silly for the first time today.
In a welcome boost to my approval ratings, the ferris wheel is A) easy to get to, B) has a short line, C) is actually fun. Finally, a success. I acknowledge that 33% is not an impressive ratio for a vacation day, but at least we ended well.
Vanessa falls asleep on my shoulder in the restaurant, and so when Cornelia volunteers to plan our subway route back to the hotel, I happily acquiesce. She does a fantastic job. Map in hand, she tells us exactly when and where to get off and on which platform to stand to catch each connecting train, while I lug our stuff and her sisters behind her. I'm so proud of her. At least I did good in the long term.
You have just validated my long held belief that Hell is the First Tourist City in any country. Vienna, Munich, Paris, London, New York, etc. We prefer to take our kids to either the second or the multitude of third cities. For us Canuck hicks, there is no difference between that damned cathedral and this one. A two Euro coffee is not half as good as a four Euro coffee. Most importantly, any tourist in the second or third cities tend to be nationals of that country as opposed to [fill in the nationality of your favorite country that you mock in the privacy of your own home]. We haven't been to Austria yet but our first instinct would be Salzburg or better yet, Graz. Mainly because neither are Vienna. For us, Germany was Weimar, Bamberg, Aachen, Mainz. Belgium will always be Antwerp. UK is Edinburgh. France? Unfortunately France does not have a second city ... but that's another story.
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