When we were deciding on honeymoon destinations, the wife and I came to a compromise. We would spend two weeks in Central and Eastern Europe after our wedding, and she would get to pick whatever sunny beach she preferred for the next ten vacations. In short, given our milky complexions, she traded spending the two most romantic weeks of her life trapped in a place I had always wanted to go for a decade of fruity drinks, umbrellas, SPF 100 and the still undeterred skin cancer. Good deal all around, I think. We made the flight reservations, booked the hotels and even managed our way around the train schedules. No thought was given to why it was particularly difficult and expensive to procure a hotel room in Vienna or, to a lesser degree, Salzburg. After all, one existed for hundreds of years as the capital of Europe under the Hapsburgs and the other has a second rate Glockenspiel and a 1500 person biergarten (that’s “beer garden” for those of you who don’t speak German). Two very desirable summer locations, yes indeedy.
Of course, somewhere in the back of my addled brain, I knew that the European Championships were taking place this summer, and I even looked forward to watching some of the matches. About a month before our wedding, I placed two firmly against two and managed the four that we would be sharing two of Europe’s finest cities with approximately one billion footie fanatics. Laura (that’s what I call my wife when I use her name) found this news to be charming, largely because she does not like or watch soccer, and has little sense of its European scale, despite being in France for World Cup ’98. I tried to explain how the host cities would be overrun, and how our romantic strolls down cobblestoned streets would be replaced by full-on dashes away from hooligan hordes of alliterative aggressiveness. All for naught. She claimed I was exaggerating (I was, at least a little). Turns out, we were both right (or wrong, but I guess I’m an optimist like that).
The honeymoon was fantastic. The first night in Prague, we walked down two wind-y streets that opened up into a large, open square. In that square stood a giant video screen and the air was heavy with the wafting scent of sausage. There were 20 people at numerous stands attempting to sell me European/real beer for half the price of tap water. Tourists from across Europe and the rest of the world mixed with local Czechs in large groups, watching the screen spellbound by every errant pass and back-heeled ball into the middle. Moreover, everyone was calm, relaxed, and enjoying themselves.
This scene was repeated everywhere we went, where enormous “FanZones” were set up and people congregated outside (always in the presence of beer, sausage and police officers) to watch the game communally. So while we toured museums and held hands during the days, more than one night during the first half of the honeymoon was spent cuddling close together over lukewarm beer, watching orange-haired Hollanders cheer on the spectacular offense of their nation, or the Hungarians pick a random team to cheer on, as their country had not qualified.
Still, there was some question as to what Vienna and Salzburg would be like. If Prague could bring this large a force to bear on days where their home team was not playing and in a place where no games were taking place, what would the Austrian cities look like? The question did not remain unanswered for long. Training into Vienna, we were met on the tracks by ten or so young people, each speaking a different language (as well as German), and welcoming us to the city. They offered maps, directions to hotels (mostly vague and difficult to follow, but at least they were trying) and a few hints about places to see/go/eat. As we walked to our hotel (only 100 yards or so by the estimate of the helpful greeters, and only 800 yards or so by actual distance), we passed more signs of the games.
There were giant ceramic soccer cleats, representing each of the 16 teams in the tournament, stretched out across a common lawn. Between two of the more famous museums, there was a three story tent-like structure, entirely devoted to serving coffee, cakes and lung cancer to hundreds of people at a time. A 1.4 mile stretch of the famed Ringstrasse that circles the heart of Vienna was gated off, and scores of policemen (“Polizei” is an infinitely better word for authority figures, by the way) were frisking entrants. It was a little like a scary, sort of militaristic, heaven...with the requisite sausage, beer and forty-foot television screens, of course.
We managed around Vienna pretty well for a day, and if we squinted real tight, we could see what the city looked like in more normal times. We took in an opera, and ate wiener schnitzel and calves’ livers until we decided to get something that was actually edible by humans. And then Germany had to go and play Austria in the final game of the elimination rounds. In Vienna. With both teams having a chance to move on with a victory.
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St. Stephen’s is a giant cathedral in the direct center of Vienna. All roads lead to its square, eventually. We had puttered around the outskirts of the city centre for the first day, leaving the gooey insides for the second; that morning, after a (seemingly) $200 cup of coffee, we set off for the church. The streets were noticeably more crowded than the day before, but not stifling, even given their occasional narrowing to the width of David Eckstein. Then we emerged into the square.
Say what you will about the New Europe, and the enlightened role in which Europeans are cast by America’s intellectual elite. They are more environmentally friendly than we are, for sure. And there are very few morbidly obese Euros. They even might be more tolerant of some minority groups,* although they may have some help from extraterrestrial sources on that account.
A lot has changed since the middle of last century, quite obviously, and yet….
There is something just the smallest bit chilling about turning a corner and coming upon 500+ Germans, jumping up and down, singing nationalistic anthems in unison, all while completely occupying the main square of another nation’s capital. Of course, once you realize that they’re all drunk at 11 a.m. and celebrating a team that doesn’t play for another 10 hours, the chill is thawed and you begin to wish that you weren’t so obviously a toolish American with nothing to cheer for or drink to. The rest of the day was the same: finding large pockets of cheering Austrians and crazy Germans doing the best they could to outscream the other side. No fights, no fear, and a simply amazing atmosphere. We skipped the FanZone that night, but caught the local news the following morning: Over three hundred thousand people from Austria, Germany and elsewhere, gathered together on a street to watch a game meaningful to each side, and the only injuries were heat-related. Sport conquers all, take one.
Take two occurred a few days later in Salzburg. The city was actually finished hosting games, and many of the most ardent fans had moved on to the cities where the quarterfinals were being held. Still, there was a sizeable contingent left behind, and plenty of soccer to be watched. On our final night there, we arranged for dinner and a concert in the castle that overlooks the city generally, and was a mere funicular ride up from the FanZone in particular. As the last few bars of Mozart drifted off the bass and violin and the crowd moved to the exits, the games should have just been finishing up below.
Instead, we came down to a FanZone still completely packed. The quarterfinal between Turkey and Croatia had gone into overtime, on account of no one scoring in the first 90 minutes. So, in our Sunday (or in that case, Friday) best, we sat on the uneven ground, drank a half liter of beer and watched the two 15 minute “halves” that would determine which team would move on to the Semis. Except neither team seemed particularly willing to score in the OT. Finally, around the 118th minute, with only two minutes left before penalties would decide the match, Croatia put one in the old onion bag,** and the Turks, already undermanned with disqualifications and injuries, were done. Or not. Somehow, with 11 Croats playing behind the ball and time all but up, the Turks scored a miracle goal, and sent the game into a shootout.
When the combination of high emotion, momentum, and scoring more goals than the other team secured the Turks’ victory, the tiny hamlet of Salzburg exploded. We walked the half-mile back to our hotel without once having to stop for street lights, as there were so many people clogging the arteries that no car dared to move. And all of those people were singing and dancing and lighting things on fire (in a safe and harmless way). It might not have been as personally satisfying as the 2002 NCAA basketball championship, but the general feeling of bonhomie was far more “Sports can be Wonderful,” and far less “Burn Stuff.”
I watched the last three games of the tournament (2 Semifinals and the Final) back here in the States. This necessitated taking a long lunch break during one workday, and following along on my computer while doing work in a window below on another. Twice, the feed of the game went out, and I was left watching ESPN analysts sit behind a desk and tell me what was going on, information which they too were getting second-hand. It was extremely disappointing, not just personally, but because I really would like soccer/football to catch on here. The exuberance of victory and soul-crushingness of defeat in the sport is completely unmatched by anything here. Maybe it’s a little slower than most sports, and maybe there is less “action,”*** but the connected spirits of every player, coach and spectator are part of the reason I love sports. Of course, the fact that I was able to so fully enjoy it while on my honeymoon is a pretty large part of why I love my wife.
P.S. Sorry about writing what amounted to a terribly long travelogue with no actual travel advice. For all of those who really need this sort of thing: Prague was amazing, and no amount of time there will allow you to enjoy everything (you should still try); Budapest was somewhat lackluster, but the rabbit ragout I had at our hotel restaurant turned out to be one of the best meals of the trip; Vienna was beautiful, but I would suggest not going to the world-famous art museum unless you really, really love pre-Enlightenment art; Salzburg is just fine as a city, but amazing as a starting point for exploring the country around; Munich has far too many biergartens for its (and my) own good. The End.
*This basically ONLY includes the LGBT spectrum. There was no discernable positive difference in the way women, Turks or non-soccer playing blacks were treated and a notable NEGATIVE difference in the way soccer-playing blacks and Jews were perceived. Obviously only one person’s experience in a short period of time, but it was pretty strongly suggestive…
** I have no idea where this expression comes from, and I have never heard it used in Europe. I am pretty sure that Tommy Smyth invented it solely for ESPN’s catchphrase lexicon, but cannot find any hard evidence to that effect.****
*** I don’t believe either of these things.
****After the tiniest modicum of research, it turns out that “Onion Bag” is an incredibly prevalent phrase, and that I am none too bright. Oh, and that I just dropped a footnote from another footnote.