Fond memories of InnsbruckPosted: June 5, 2015
It’s wonderful to be back amidst the beautiful Alpine scenery of Innsbruck, and I’m overwhelmed by nostalgia. I was last here almost exactly twelve years ago, in 2003, when I was 17, for about two months during the summer before my senior year of high school.
This was before the era of smartphones and ubiquitous WiFi, and we had no Internet access in our rented apartment. I still had to use a real map, and had maybe an hour of Internet access a day. For the first time in many years, I learned to happily do without, and to go outside and enjoy life without anxiety about the torrent of news, information and opinion to which I was not privy.
My father got a rare and coveted opportunity to teach on a summer abroad programme for American students. Practically, classes would let out around noon on Thursday, and the weekend was ours for travelling; this way, I got to see Vienna, Rome, Florence, Berlin and Paris, generally connecting by train through München. The München-Innsbruck EC train got to feel something like a commute home by the end of it all.
But it was in Innsbruck itself that I got my first exposure to Western European life, and it did a lot to mellow me out of my teenage angst, in those times expressed through we might call “niche” intellectual and ideological fixations. In everyday life in Austria, waking up after dawn to behold this ring of spectacular mountains above and piles of unlocked bicycles below, I found my idea of “capitalism with a human face”. Its attachment to reality is a complex topic, but irrelevant; my teenage mind had learned to stop worrying and love the small things, love the petite bourgeoisie. Apart from a brief exposure to the Rockies, I had never been in mountainous settings. I had only known the stifling humidity and mugginess of the Eastern half of the US and never crisp, cool air. Last time I had seen vestiges of daylight at 10 PM was in the “white nights” of Riga when I was four–a last-hurrah holiday in 1990 preceding the secession of the Baltic Republics.
In many ways, my quotidian walks up and down Maria-Theresien-Straße, ventures west on Anichstraße to the Universität Innsbruck cafeteria for our included lunch of schnitzel, and my hikes to Hungerburg (868 m) did more for my spiritual health than the whirlwind of train travel.
I returned to America in August calmer, thinner, fitter and happier, with very concrete–for once, not theoretical–expansion of horizons. I had forgotten a lot of Spanish grammar just in time for the AP course, but had a bit of German up my sleeve.
My literature teacher from the previous semester asked, dejectedly, “Where is the angry communist Balashov?” I had no answer for him; I was in good spirits, and it was a great time to be alive.