Christmas Charade

It was 20.30. I was going up the escalators at U1 Stephansplatz, and as every year I was caught off guard. Giant Chandeliers lit up the night’s sky, the streets looked as if they had been scrubbed clean with a toothbrush and the familiar smell of Punsch hit me with full, mouth watering effect. A fortepiano was carted out into the middle of the Graben. The poor pianist was cowering next to the tiny heater that someone was nice enough to provide. A throng of tourists gathered round and listened in awe to some ridiculously complex passage.

The Lions Club had expanded its Punsch-stand to twice its usual size. Business types in suit jackets were standing around on the mild evening, sipping at the brew and conferencing, or whatever you want to call it.

While walking through this scenery I couldn’t help feeling as if I were in a theme park. It didn’t feel like my familiar city. I was expecting a Disney-esque parade to go down any second: People in oversized Mozart and Sissy costumes, golden carriages and a marching band blasting the Radetzky march at full volume.

By the time I woke up from my day dreaming, I had almost reached Schottentor. After 16 years in this city I am still not used to this annual charade…