A Viennese Tuesday Morning

In Vienna, you don't wake up grateful for life. You wake up gloomy. From the start, you think about everything that needs doing. Essential things such as how many croissants you'll buy from the bakery. And even more important, which ones? Likely an almond croissant, my favorite. Then a marillen croissant (apricot filling) and, of course, a plain one so you can add your butter and salami or, if you feel like it, honey and butter or just that different marillen jam you have at home.

But first, the dogs need to drain their bowels, and while that is not enough, a stop at the dog park for morning socializing is a must. The guy in the white pants is there, and it's memorable as it takes a particular type to wear white pants at a dog park, especially when it's muddy. But that's a typical Viennese "I don't give a fuck" attitude, which can only be appreciated. Half an hour later, he leaves with his black pug and less white pants, and now it's time for my quest to the bakery.

It's not a harrowing quest, but there are random shops along the way that leave you wondering how they make money. Once in a while, you find an intriguing coffee shop that you say you'll try one day, though you never do. Then there are some unique poster shops where you can find posters dating back to the beginning of posters.

At the bakery, people are sitting and having their morning coffee, and the vitrine is stacked with endless pastries and sandwiches, all in their glory and ready to be consumed by today’s Homo sapiens. A “Grüß Gott” is thrown at me by one of the bakers, and I proceed to ask for four items but only buy three. My excitement got ahead of me. I'm pleased with the total price; Vienna is an affordable world capital.

Off I go, but why go home? The croissants won’t get cold, so I might as well stop at the plant shop—not the flower shop, the potted plant shop. This one is overpriced because they've branded plants with a logo, offering a beautiful experience and excellent customer service. Of course, I’ll pay the higher price for that green plant that will beautify my home. Pick the right pot, have the guy pack the plant in brown paper, and he writes down the Latin name of the plant for me, not because I asked but because this is part of this vanity experience: an unnecessary experience but a much-desired one.

And now, off home I go with a bag of croissants and a new plant. That’s what a Tuesday morning should be like in Vienna.