Vienna immediately presented itself as a city steeped in history. It reminded me a lot of Rome in its self-important air and fascinating architecture, including seven stories built underground and the cellar system connecting houses to one another. St. Stephen's Cathedral was the architectural crown jewel of the city, a towering, once-white cathedral in the heart of Vienna now stained in shades of black and gray from modern-world pollution. Deep in its underbelly lies catacombs of human skeletal remains arranged into walls of bones or discarded in heaping piles of ghosts, femurs mingling with one another. The oldest part of the catacombs is for the archbishops, and is kept in perfect condition, with walls as smooth and as white as the bones they've been burdened with.
For me, Don Giovanni was the most memorable performance in Vienna. The new take on a classic opera created a strong connection with the audience that could not have been achieved with traditional costuming and set design. Leporello was a highlight of the show—dressed in a black hoodie and black skinny jeans like me in my middle school angsty era, his qualms with his morally corrupt master, the titular Don Giovanni, reminded me of my tweenage rebellion against authority. The use of an oversized garden in lieu of a forest gave the opera an abstract, whimsical color that reminded me of Van Gogh's sunflowers. The uneven rocky ground facade created a sense of confusion about the direct setting of aspects of the opera that allowed the audience to fill in the blanks, mad-libs style. And their interactions with the pool of water, including the square of deeper water, was wonderfully ridiculous.
Vienna is a city I will remember as one of a high, aristocratic culture and historical significance. I hope to return to explore more of its museums, history and music.
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