My initial impressions that Vienna is not 24hr were confirmed today. Wandering around the shops at 9:30, I was greeted with looks of amazement that I should want to buy anything at such an ungodly hour. I found the electrical cord I needed, and some sun tan cream; the chemist shop was small and prissy, with signs for "laxa soft" everywhere; mute testimony that Viennese food is Germanic — everything you can decently do with a sausage.

The city itself is not, to my mind, beautiful everywhere as the taxi driver suggested, rather it is impressive. The buildings are large blocks, heavily ornamented and shine in the sun. The streets are wide and gentle, with a confusing combination of foot, bike, tram and car lanes. The street I am on — Lassallestraße — is not only named after Frederich Lassalle, but it has little, potted life histories on the road signs. At least, I presume thats what they are. It could say "Frederich had a big nose, bad temper and we are glad that he is gone".

Now that the temperature has reached over 20C, I am tempted to be British and lie in a air conned room, sweating and moaning. I think, however, I shall pop out and do the inner ring. I wish my sandles had arrived with me; I fear this evening I shall need surgical separation from my socks.

Originally published on my old blog site.