Smooth Lovin’ in Wien

Raymond’s Bar, 3:00, our last stop. It was one of my first weekends in Vienna. I had been toured through various lounges, dance parties under the Gürtel, and grunge bars by my new Viennese friends. We sat at the back at a wooden table across from an old couple, a really old couple, at least 80s, who appeared to be having a slurred sort of squabble.

The old man pouted, arms crossed, in his faded pink suit as his presumed wife spewed obscenities with the sluggish wave of her arm, on which a tattoo of the Rolling Stones tongue sagged on her decrepit skin.

Somehow we interceded the lover’s quarrel, and ordering another round, listened to their stories about how they had met, rock concerts in the 60s, and love.

"This is the best age to be in love," the old woman assured us. Hardly the typical cute old couple on a park bench, the sentiment was still sweet. The old woman’s smile sparkled brighter as she looked at her man, "Even making love gets better, at least for men." What?

"Giving pleasure is so much smoother, ohne Zähne." With a wink and a hoarse laugh, her tongue slid around her smile and detached her false teeth.

"And that," my Austrian friend declared, "that is the real Vienna."