The Quiet Places Between

This summer, I was given the chance to study abroad in the Western Balkans and Vienna as a part of the Burch Field Research Seminar. Touring around cities like Sarajevo, Banja Luka, Mostar and Pristina, days consisted of meeting with international politicians, policymakers and community builders, with some time in between and after to immerse ourselves in the culture. 

The stories of these cities reveal the realities of divides between citizens almost thirty years after ethnic conflicts that displaced 500,000 total people in the region. Balancing the desire to learn from leaders or from the community was a constant struggle within the mere six weeks I was there. Finally, this conflict became a crisis when we landed in Vienna, Austria.

During my three weeks here, I wanted to see popular attractions or museums because of Vienna’s wide variety of cultural exhibitions. Vienna has been the site of cultural renaissance movements in art, such as the Vienna Secession, the birth of psychoanalysis, and the first site of Nazi occupation in World War II. However, upon arrival, I set out to a flea market and immediately caught COVID. I was devastated. I had to waste a week abroad, rotting on my saggy mattress and 2-inch pillow. As days passed in my room, and my brain fogged, I would hear my friends’ laughter in the halls as I was cooped up in my room, desperate for conversation and human connection. Even worse, the weekend that I finally felt better is the same weekend they left the city. 

Ironically, the first thing I did after my quarantine was go to Naschmarkt, Vienna’s largest flea market. As the sun beat down on me, I looked through vintage lamps, jewelry, vases, and art, quietly realizing I wanted it all and could take very little of it. Leaving with a couple of scarves, a tote bag, and a bit of disappointment that I can’t wrap the city in bubble wrap and put it in my suitcase, I headed back into the city, trying to find another store with vintage and secondhand items. 

Before I knew it, I was three streets away from where I was supposed to be, but definitely where I was meant to be. For the first time that day, the shade surrounded me, a brush of cool swept my shoulders, and I stumbled upon walls painted powder blue, peppered with colorful graffiti, leading me to more secondhand stores. 

This became a motif during my trip. Quieter, transitional moments when I put down Google maps and stood in awe at artists singing for passersby in the metro stations or the couples embracing each other outside the Belvedere without a second thought made me believe I was looking in the wrong place. Before this trip, I knew Vienna only from Before Sunrise and Billy Joel’s classic Vienna —  stories that romanticize the connection of slowing down. I didn’t expect larger-than-life pop culture to shape how I experienced the city, but those themes stayed with me. Whether wandering through a museum alone or getting lost on unfamiliar streets, I found myself noticing the quiet ways the city invites reflection and connection. Even in moments of homesickness or doubt, I was reminded that the purpose of a journey isn’t just where it leads you; it’s openness to stops along the way. 

In Before Sunrise, a young man and woman (Jesse and Celine) meet on a train from Budapest, and soon thereafter they embark into the Vienna night, with no destination. I watched it with a friend a couple of years ago, and instantly discovered it was a love letter to Vienna. The couple visits the Riesenrad, and soon thereafter visits small, less touristy locations near Simmering. The film unfolds as conversations in unfamiliar places, and Jesse and Celine begin to realize Vienna has uncovered a certain tenderness between them, and make a promise to return six months later for each other. To me, the film demonstrates the affection in self-discovery through another person; however, the backdrop of this discovery is the city that sees it through. 

Oftentimes, I would find myself lost in the final stretch of this trip, whether unsure in my writing or the direction of the project, but my classmates turned friends turned my woes away and reminded me to enjoy the journey rather than the outcome.  When I hesitated to explore for fear of falling behind, Billy Joel’s Vienna echoed in my head: “You can afford to lose a day or two.” Like Jesse and Celine, who came to Vienna as strangers and left craving passion, purpose, and connection— but willing to play the long game— I can’t help but see the shared message between these two pop culture portraits of Vienna. Maybe wandering down unfamiliar streets, making mistakes on journals and papers, and spending too much on a slice of cake is part of the journey. 

Before this trip, I didn’t really understand what Billy Joel meant by “Vienna waits for you.” What could possibly be waiting for me there? Now I realize the song wasn’t just about the city — it was about the parts of yourself you only meet when you slow down.