Before returning home, I spent one last day in Vienna, having a few significant realizations about my month-long European travels.
Missed the first Part? Start Here or read the Previous Part!
Freud, the man you didn’t know
After de-boarding the morning train from Bratislava, I set out to Riesenrad to see the historic ferris wheel. The famous area, again recommended by the hostel staff, turned out to just be a generic theme park I avoided in a big arc. Perhaps the hostel staff really was not good with recommendations.
Being a psychology nerd, I took the metro to Freud’s museum hosted in his old apartment. The little “Dr. Freud” buzzer required to get in was a nice touch.
I never knew the famous psychologist was such a world traveler and collector; his most important works were written abroad. I reflected on how my own travels were subconsciously shaping me, and how even the most passionate or successful business figures often have rich lives outside of their breadwinning passions. Freud also claimed he could not write without smoking, making me feel a bit better about my own creative inspiring indulgences.
Also, he took cocaine. Good times.
Blisters and Polish Hostels
Walking back I grabbed lunch at an Indian “all you can eat / pay what you wish” buffet place, definitely not lacking in popularity. I picked up a cute little wedding gift for my sister and stopped at a café where I caught up on web work while mending my poor blistered foot now slowly going numb. The cafe really like its bagels for some reason.
Having filled my exploratory craving, I left for west Vienna. I enjoyed strolling down the calmer streets with shorter architecture much more than the hectically busy and touristy center. I thought about how my life would be if I stayed here longer, what would I actually do besides sightseeing, how would I fill my time and meet people? Bit of existential retrospection, but then, that’s the whole reason for my traveling, isn’t it?
And I had time to reflect given it took me an hour to navigate to the hostel. Dear lord, how do you cross these railroads, there is no crossing here, god damn…
The last supper of my travel
The hostel was unusually well equipped with communal kitchenware, from pots and pans to cutlery and huge bag of coffee. I did what I do best and whipped up a yummy stir fry for mere 3 euro of groceries picked at the nearby store.
I hung at the kitchen and drank a tasty Ottiker beer (different from the picture above), my favorite of all the countries I visited aside from the Belgian one I had in Lyon. I chatted with a guy from Chile using Google translate, and a Croatian guy who could understand my Polish. I met two boys from Netherland also finishing their Eurotrip, and a Vietnamese web developer who was a little too inquiring about my own skills, portfolios and salary. I wished I had mingled more at the hostels of other countries.
Digital Nomad Epiphany
I sat in the hostel on the other end of the globe with nothing but my backpack, sipping on sweet beer, meeting fellow travelers, and leisurely answering emails. For a few minutes I forgot about my torturous workaholic urges, existential unfulfillement, subconscious loneliness, or the exhausting compulsive walking.
For a few minutes, I was blissfully free.
THIS is how I should have done my travel. Not rushing around and blistering my feet into oblivion or thinking of unfinished work while gazing at Greek statues. I unwittingly become a tourist, something I always scoffed at. While it was good to experience the thing I criticized, I felt a bit vindicated in proving such manic travel was not sustainable. At least not for me.
I am ready for more travel, but this time, without the madness. I will take my time to relax, rest, and soak in the experience. I will stay longer and “live in” the cultures I visit.
… but of course, I would have this important epiphany on the last day before returning home!
(If you are curious, I described specific tips for travel-work lifestyle in a separate posts)
Back to Motherland
During the checkout I learned the hostel was basically ran by Polish folks. The receptionist told me of her family in Krakow while treating me to some home-made wine for safe travels. Soon. I was waiting for my flight, wondering why more airports don’t have these awesome cushion-things for lying or sitting:
Sooner yet, I was back at my grandparent’s eating Polish sandwiches and watching the news. The PiS party was still up to its political shenanigans.
Back to the old. Or is it?
There are changes I am starting to notice. Changes I do not yet understand. And it is not the end of this blog, for there are more travels ahead as well.
But one thing is certain: as much as I always praised Polish bread, it’s got nothing on the amazing Swiss hunks I devoured with only butter.
Perhaps there is something to the Swiss simplicity.
