February 8th to the 11th of 2024
The First Trip
On the first of February in 2024, I moved to Copenhagen, Denmark for six months on a semester abroad. This supposed, “study abroad” actually had very little to do with studying as I used every other week to board a plane to a European city I’d only ever heard of in my parents grasping memories. I went to Vienna, Budapest, Paris, Prague, just to name a few (who’s bragging here?). With each trip, I felt older and wiser, understanding the responsibility of holding your own passport. And with every return, I learned something new. Whether that be to hoard tums like I did my spare Euros or to just look up more. I was improving at being a person, the person I want to be. Only that realization took it’s time to find me. For now, there was the trial run that was Vienna.
Using photos from my camera roll and the exhausted diary entries I scribbled on that final plane home.
This is most definitely TMI.
For Context:
“This was a hard trip.” The first sentence I wrote, however temperamental I was at the time, was pretty spot on. Only my second week into my semester and I was not in a healthy mindset. For the past two and a half years, I had relied on weed to lull me to sleep, every night, no matter the hour. It was only in January that my depression and insomnia reached a breaking point, finding permanence in the hours of daylight I had convinced myself were untouched by my dependence. I don’t want to say addiction. My imposter syndrome has that word by a chokehold. And yet I had quit smoking weed a week before my flight to Copenhagen. February 8th was like every other day. I was quiet, on the verge of tears, and lonely in my negativity.
Except that I was in Vienna, Austria. Vienna, the song that filled my ears while I watched soft clouds sweep over industrial wings. Austria, the city I had only ever referenced in my history classes, accompanied by mindless dates. Both places that would soon cease being imaginative, and live in my reality.
Day 1
My first day in Vienna was wet and grey but I felt as if I’d just taken off sunglasses for the first time in years. The city was so much larger than I thought, the roads wide and winding. (I love alliteration) I felt like a duck treading an ocean with each traffic light I passed.
My Partners:
I was travelling with Syd and Lily, two cousins from Toronto I had known for a while then. The three of us all studied in Montreal and were doing the same semester in Copenhagen together. I was closer with Syd but incredibly excited to get to know Lily more. I will always be grateful for the support these girls gave me on this trip. Whether that was a hand held at the dinner table because apparently public crying was not a line I wouldn’t cross or a self-deprecating joke that pulled me out of my void to correct and compliment there after. Or a lot of laughter. Because I fucking love to laugh. And I missed it.
And what about Vienna?
Well, the first day we got there, we checked into the Stadtaffe Chic Hostel. My first hostel stay ever! I was not scared, actually. We had booked a female dorm room that we ended up sharing with two other girls, one quiet and the other up the entire damn night on the phone with her boyfriend, on speakerphone, and in Greek, so we couldn’t even eavesdrop. But I felt safe, knowing full well that even in my lowly haze, I was in control.
Syd, Lily, and I spent the beginning of every day walking down to the centre of Vienna, stopping as soon as possible for a coffee and a danish. Our hostel was about a half hour walk to wherever we saved on google maps, but I loved the routine. In fact, habituating the most mundane routine, like finding your morning coffee fix or nailing a new subway system, has always been my favourite part of traveling. I feel the most accomplished when I fit right in somewhere I have no business being.
Our Days in Vienna
We wandered into an incredible cafe for lunch, a bright tuna salad I have since tried desperately to recreate. We stalked the record store from Before Sunrise (I did not like the film, but these girls were film-fanatics and on a mission). I took objectively bad photos of tall yellow buildings, a selfie or two to send to my grandparents, and typed text messages to myself as reminders to write down everywhere we went. My favourite places were the thrift stores we stumbled into right before closing. One unnamed store on 77 Kaiserstrasse was run by an old woman who was a retired fashion designers. Let me just say, the best vintage stores are always run by eclectic retired fashion designers. They are consistently fantastic and hoarding the most brilliant pieces you could never find anywhere else. From this store in Vienna, I found the most adorable studded loafers that fit me to perfection. Granted, they were horrible to walk in. Whoever made them did not know what a padded sole was. But, I digress. Those days in Vienna, we also spent scouring antique markets and museums. Personally, I’d rather stare at the architecture of a neighbourhood than wander a gallery for hours, but I am not so young that I don’t know the education of museums.
Food, however, is very important to me while travelling. When I was younger, my family and I would take advantage of our proximity to the states and go on long-winded road-trips around the North-East. In every city we went to, my dad had at least five restaurants featured on Drivers, Dine-ins, and Dives, that we had to stop at. Each one, a reminder that we were making the most of our travels. Thank you, Guy Fieri, for fostering my love for foreign food. So naturally, in Vienna, we had to try schnitzel, apple strudel, and cocktails (this exists internationally). Everything was incredible. The only negative I could comment on was the horrendous acid reflux that damn schnitzel gave me, heightened of course by my temperamentally depressive state. That night after dinner, I sat up enclosed by my hostel bed curtain, clutching my stomach and smothering every burp with the back of my hand. TMI? I told you that already.
Goodbye Vienna!
Pretty soon, Vienna was over. We hopped a flight to Copenhagen, how strange to call it home, and I was back to my single dorm, stewing in my well of defeat. And yet, there was a weekend I spent in Austria, staring at lovely yellow buildings, connecting with strangers over glorious vintage and breathing in the Viennese air. I was pretty stumped how the two experiences could live together simultaneously in my mind.
This was only the first trip of many, and although it would take a few months for me to fully recover from those years spent dreading daylight’s end, I could feel the shift take root. If only from the astonishment of my adventure that temporarily choked the depressive thoughts. If only from the phone calls home that reminded me how lucky I was and that someone somewhere was really proud of me. If only because I could relate to Billy Joel now, Vienna did wait for me.
The next trip: Groningen, Netherlands
P.S. I am no photographer.
Darling Reject 
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