That is what I was told before I left for the June Trip: Prague is cheap. Of the four countries we visited, it was the only one that had its own currency, and it was weak currency, at that. For instance, our “decent” Prague meal (since we always reserved one “nice” meal at which to sample traditional—and usually pricier—international cuisine) cost me about 300 Czech Crowns. Because approximately 30 Crowns equals 1 Euro and 1 Euro equals 1.5 US Dollars, my meal cost me about $15. This is pretty average for a proper meal in the US, but in Europe, it is definitely less expensive than the usual. (When spending GBP or Euros, I almost always spend over the equivalent of $30 at any given restaurant.) However, believe it or not, my bus ticket to Vienna—an international bus ticket at that, since Vienna is in Austria—actually cost me less than that meal (270 CzK). However, since converting monetary units was so complicated, it was too much effort to determine a “good deal,” so I generally shied away from buying things. I took 2,000 CzK with me and did not manage to spend it all.
Unfortunately, I spent all of my Euros. Our stay in Vienna proved to be more expensive than I had anticipated, because we attended a performance of the Vienna Boys’ Choir. Michelle was enthusiastic about the prospect of seeing this choir perform, but Angela was absolutely ecstatic. A singer herself, she demanded that we take the best seats available in the allegedly “best acoustic theatre in all of Europe.” During the performance, she swooned over their clear, bell-like voices, particularly that of the soprano soloist.
As for me, I appreciated attending the performance, particularly because it will no doubt be a once-in-this-lifetime experience (and because I can now brag to all of my singer friends that I saw the Vienna Boys’ Choir). Nonetheless, I feel like all of the expertise I have gained from my mother and sister has turned me into a choir snob. I couldn’t help but silently ridicule the boys’ technique (or lack thereof): they didn’t open their mouths when they sang; they didn’t stand up straight; most of them didn’t even look like they wanted to be there, especially the older ones (“older” being a relative term, of course, when the average singer appeared to be about eight years old). They sounded lovely, no doubt about it, but I wasn’t particularly pleased with the size of the theatre (it was very small), nor did I like the arrangement onstage. The boys stood on risers on either side of a piano, which their conductor played as accompaniment during some of the pieces. Surely, if this choir was as prestigious as its reputation, the venue could afford to hire an accompanist? For 58 Euros, I suppose I expected something more impressive, something less like a recital.
The most interesting part of the Vienna leg of our trip was our hostel stay. We stayed in Panda Hostel, which turned out to be someone’s apartment converted into lodgings for travelers. There were only two bedrooms, housing a total of maybe twenty people, at most, and this many only because the high ceilings permitted the installation of triple bunk beds. The kitchen was fully equipped with cutlery and dishes (which is unusual for a hostel) but lacked—of all things—a stovetop. Consequently, all cooking had to be done with the microwave. Then, there was one bathroom with a toilet and sink, one bathroom with a bathtub and sink, a table in the entrance hallway to serve as a “dining room,” and that was it.
While we failed to personally acquaint ourselves with any travelers in either Dublin or Prague, Michelle, Angela, and I got to know several of our hostel mates in Vienna. The first were a group of boys traveling together from New York. We went through the preliminaries with the chattier two (there were five total): where are you from, where have you been, where do you study, etc. It was during these introductions that I mentioned I studied at Rochester. One boy, Victor, stopped dead in his tracks. “You’re not serious.” Of course I was, and he proceeded to tell me that he, too, attended the University of Rochester. Talk about a small world! He was only entering his second year there, so it is logical that we had never encountered one another. Nevertheless, I wonder if I will see him on campus when I return in the fall, since I will now recognize his face.
I can just imagine the encounter: I approach him, maybe in Wilson Commons or Rush Rhees, greeting him by name. He looks puzzled. “Who are you?” “Vienna, remember? We stayed in the same hostel….” And then there would be little else to say. Maybe I just won’t recognize him.
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