I’ve been away for a few weeks. I was in Vienna (Wien) and then Florence (Firenze). I had always said that I wouldn’t go to Austria as long as Jörge Haider was still drawing a breath, but I had a need to see Klimt and Schiele. So, off I went to Wien.

Wien was decimated during the Second World War (see: The Third Man) and it didn’t profit by its reconstruction. There are rows upon rows of ugly concrete apartment blocks. As I looked out of my hotel window, I realized once again that many people don’t care where they live. Or perhaps it’s that they can’t afford to care. We don’t all have a real choice as to our living arrangements.

Wien has its charms. Stadt Park and the Hofburg Quarter are two. It certainly has good food and lots of it. It has some of the most dramatic skies in the world. It’s exciting to watch the weather move through. Yet, somehow I kept thinking of that saying, “How clever those Austrians, they’ve made the world think that Beethoven was Austrian and Hitler was German.”

There is a lively art scene in Wien, and the museums are top notch; but I kept wanting to stop old men and ask them what they did in the war. I had this same desire in Spain every time I saw an old man wearing a beret. “Whose side were you on?” In Spain no one would ever own up to having heard of Franco, so I couldn’t engage anyone in a discussion about him. This is why I should never go to places like Austria, Germany, Poland, or anyplace that capitulated or conspired with the Nazis. Of course, that would put most of Europe off limits for me. So, it’s best I don’t think about it.

There is certain irony here, at least about the Klimts. Some of the best works had been sent back to their rightful owners just before I arrived. The Nazis had presented these works to Austria after looting their owner’s homes. The museum people don’t want to talk about this turn of events, and it’s probably best. When asked they just shrug their shoulders and give a kind of half-smile. They should have given the paintings back a long time ago. It shouldn’t have taken a law suit. Usually it’s the winners who get to keep the booty, but over 60 years later the paintings have gone back to their owners heirs.

All of that said, everyone was unabashedly friendly (save one old man, but perhaps he was just having a bad day). It was Easter season and there were chocolate bunnies and painted eggs everywhere. It’s amazing how we can be reminded of the pagan roots of all of our religiosity at Easter. It didn’t think that I would see the Klimts or the Shieles outside a book. The added bonus was the Rubens, and Vermeers, and Rembrandts. So, the eyes were filled with riches beyond belief; even if the heart was a little sad.

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)