Vinegraveyard

Since I was having a highly unproductive day today, I decided to cut my losses and go exploring some of the hills on the northern edge of the city. I hopped on a tram which took me to the endearingly-named suburb of Nussdorf, ‘nut village’, which has its own suburb of well-to-do houses nestling on the lower slopes of the Wienerwald.

Some of these houses were more like mansions, complete with security gates and German Shepherds dozing in the yard. I walked past the home of the Moroccan ambassador to Austria, which was most impressive. I thought better of standing outside and taking a photo, so you’ll just have to trust me.

This man has a much nicer house than you

Above the mansions, overlooking the distant, misty metropolis of Vienna below, was an entire hillside of deserted vineyards. I followed an old cobbled path up the hill, passing one or two people walking their dogs. A vineyard is a haunting place in the winter, a cold, colour-drained hangover to the bacchic excess of the summer.

Bacchus, who knew that no party was complete without nude, drunk infants peeing on the floor

There was a woman sat on a bench with a thermos and a book; I would have asked out of curiosity what she was reading, but for that unfortunate social norm which would compel a woman sitting in a deserted vineyard to regard any strange male who approached her as a potential rapist or worse.

I walked on. On each side passed row after row of naked vines, clinging to their poles and wires like frozen snakes. The only trace of life was an occasional clutch of grapes hanging limp and shrivelled in the still air. Empty holiday chalets, which no doubt sat in a bucolic paradise of green and purple in July and August, now looked like tombs in the middle of a graveyard. Anyway, here are some photos.

It was very peaceful, and I hope to go back up there for some hill running.