Here in Vienna it is bitterly cold. I’m sure it would be worse if it were windy, or snowing more than the occasional icy flake, but it’s enough to be a palpable force – something each inhabitant must push against with coats and gloves and hats, both physically and mentally, in order to function each day. It drives some to drink, perhaps, lured to use artificial warmth and energy against the psychic paralysis of the cold. It certainly tempts others to fashion disaster: earmuffs? And those damn hats which include artificial black or brightly coloured hair poking out the top.
The city is grand. The boulevards are wide and sweeping and faced by eight story residences which would be “palazzo” or “manor” anywhere else. The fading glory of the Hapsburgs is writ large here. Huge. But there are surprisingly few echoes of the next, aborted, empire. The futurist decal on the glass and metal elevators in the subway. Something in the lines of the Westbahnhof. Italy, especially in the north, remembers the 1930′s well (although perhaps not well enough to keep Berlusconi out of office), but here the heroes are Mozart and Klimt, and the infrastructure is glass and metal modernism.
You can tell by now that I’m rambling. Well really I’m stumbling toward a question I’ve been thinking about since Naples. I’m not even sure I’ve thought this through clearly, but it concerns cities, order, life, and a woman I saw eating breakfast. Here goes.
Naples is hopeless. There’s crime and chaos and the infrastructure is nearly completely broken. It’s full of refugees from Albania and Africa begging and grifting in the station and the piazzas. Half its population live in unsanitary firetrap highrises stuffed ramshackle into neighbourhoods without work or amenities. It’s under the shadow of a volcano which is going to erupt and destroy the place some day. But it’s also vibrant and alive in a way I absolutely love.
Vienna, on the other hand, is everything a modern city should be. The subways are perfect. It’s the second safest city in the world. It’s clean, productive, and pleasant. There are good services, wonderful museums, and a devotion to music and the arts. The people are friendly. So what’s not to like?
Obviously it’s not that I object to things being well designed and functional. Honestly it’s a relief to be able to easily get from one place to another on time, to be able to drink the water (perhaps it’s not poisonous in Naples but it tastes that way), to easily find a working phone booth or toilet. The Viennese, I’m sure, would not want to swap their housing, transport, bureaucracy, or even their cafes, Opera, or parks with the Neapolitans.
Keep that image in your head while I tell you about the lady at breakfast. This was in the charming Hotel Abbazia in Venice. She sat quietly, by herself, and ate a bread roll and drank tea in a composed sort of way. I would guess her to be in her late 50s, and she had neat grey hair and frameless glasses. She daintily removed crumbs with a napkin. As the kids polished off their second croissant and orange juice I made up a story about her, which I’m completely aware is most likely wildly off-mark. In my imagination she had been the dutiful older daughter who looked after younger siblings when her mother worked night shift. In school she had worked hard and obeyed the rules. She was never a troublemaker; never a risk taker. She did what was expected of her, and was rewarded with a steady job. Perhaps she was a librarian. I imagine her liking Agatha Christie, marrying the right sort of fellow, never having children. She would be dependable, a bit bossy, seen by her subordinates as something of a stick in the mud. And now, having retired from the Library, she has come to Venice since she always thought it sounded fascinating and exotic in “Death in Venice”, what with the steamer trunks and the Panama hats.
She finds it crowded, a little intimidating, and just as wonderful as she had hoped – except in her most secret dreams, where she hoped for adventure and romance. Sure, the prices are a little exorbitant and it can seem that the foreigners outnumber the Italians, but it’s unbelievably picturesque and at every turn there’s history and beautiful glassware and sights and smells which make your head spin.
So I’m not criticizing Vienna, and especially not the lady at breakfast (even in my imagined version). But I’m saying sometimes you can tie up the strings too tight. It can be better to let your hair down a little, to not keep everything under control, to let a bit of chaos have it’s place in your life or in your city.
My question is: can modernism achieve this, or is it by it’s nature too technocratic and rigid? Is Vienna the ultimate city or can we keep a little of the Naples in it? And personally: where is the balance between chaos and prudence?