Summary
Vienna cityscape
We are delving into our collection of exceptional travel narratives and exploring the rich stories of journeys both grand and modest.
This piece from Ann Patchett recounts her experience of missing a flight to Vienna and how she ultimately made better use of the ticket a year later. Read additional travel essays in the GoTravelDaily Travel Anthology.
When I was 29 and residing in Montana with my partner, I accepted a year-long fellowship at Radcliffe College and relocated alone to Cambridge, Massachusetts. Initially, I perceived it as an invaluable opportunity; however, only a few weeks later, I began to grasp the impact of this decision. When I tried to contact our apartment in Missoula late at night, no one picked up, and when I finally reached my partner, he seemed distant and evasive.
Heartbreak had not yet overwhelmed me, but I could envision it clearly on the horizon—the headlights of an approaching vehicle piercing the night. I contemplated returning to Montana to reclaim my life, but I suspected that if damage had already occurred to our relationship, departing from Radcliffe would lead to my loss of both a partner and a fellowship.
As winter approached in Cambridge, the days became shorter and colder. I trudged home from the library to my small apartment, passing the Brattle Theater, Sage’s grocery, and the American Express Travel Agency. Something about the travel agency captivated me. The posters in the window depicted the Eiffel Tower and the picturesque beaches of Tahiti. I began to think that perhaps my perspective had been too narrow. I might not need to be in Montana or Cambridge at all. I placed my hand on the door and entered.
I lament that traditional travel agencies are a rarity today, at least not as prevalent as they once were, with their expansive windows showcasing the beauty of global destinations, and the attentive staff eager to facilitate your travels.
That summer, I purchased a Eurail pass and traveled across Europe with a friend until our funds were depleted.
At the age of 20, I had won a writing competition, and the cash award was specifically intended for my development as a writer. That summer, I acquired a Eurail pass and journeyed through Europe with a friend until our finances waned. Vienna left a lasting impression on me: the cafes lining the Ringstrasse, the catacombs beneath St. Stephen’s Cathedral, and the grandeur of the Hofburg Palace.
I had always anticipated returning someday. Thus, I departed the travel agency that evening with a plane ticket secured in my coat pocket and a confirmed week-long stay at a pension. I intended to go in December to celebrate my thirtieth birthday. The travel agent expressed admiration for my spontaneity, as did I. Although I did not have a substantial amount of money at the time, it sufficed for a single impulsive decision. As I walked back to my apartment, I felt a renewed perspective on myself: I was independent and adventurous. I was no longer passively waiting for someone else to determine my future. I had become the author of my own destiny.
“Vienna?” my partner responded over the phone. “By yourself?”
I envisioned a future where individuals gathered around a table at a dinner party, each reminiscing about their experiences on their thirtieth birthdays. I would share that I visited Vienna. Alone.
I obtained a booklet of travelers’ checks and $200 in Austrian schillings. I acquired a new passport. At the end of November, I bid farewell to my friends in Cambridge, who wished me an early happy birthday. I packed my bag and positioned it by the door. My intention was to call a taxi for an early morning drive to the airport at 5 am. I sat on the edge of my bed, waiting. The clock indicated it was 4 am, then 4:30 am, and subsequently, 5 am. I admonished myself to pick up the phone and summon the taxi. I convinced myself that I could walk into Harvard Square and find one myself. By 5:15 am, I had planned for an early arrival at the airport. There was still ample time to make my flight. Yet, as I gazed at the clock, it read a quarter to six.
It felt as though an immense weight pressed down on me, anchoring me in place.
Was I lacking the courage to travel alone? Was I apprehensive about leaving my partner? Did I feel unwell? Anxious? Was I experiencing a premonition regarding a potential plane crash that eluded my understanding? The answers remained unclear to me. What was evident, however, was that I remained seated. I refrained from lifting my bag. I did not reach for the phone. It felt as though an immense weight bore down upon me. It was now six o’clock. I reclined back onto my bed, still cloaked in my coat, and wept. I felt deep shame. Four hours later, I awoke ill with a fever and began to vomit. This cyclical discomfort persisted for five days.
I cannot recall ever feeling that unwell or that euphoric simultaneously. Regardless of the ailment that incapacitated me, it would have manifested on the plane. What then? I would have been incapacitated in the airport in Vienna. I might have managed to reach the pension, engulfed in fever and unable to communicate in German.
I reached out to a friend who graciously left ginger ale and soda crackers outside my door. I slept through my thirtieth birthday and the subsequent day. My partner called to check on my well-being. Over time, I recovered. After Christmas, he revealed that he had developed romantic feelings for one of his students.
He sent me my belongings in several large boxes. Every emotion hurt, yet nothing proved fatal.
Having lived in a furnished apartment in Missoula, we had few possessions. He sent me my belongings in several large boxes. Every emotion hurt, yet nothing proved fatal. I returned my paper ticket to American Express. Though the prepaid accommodation in the pension was a complete loss, the agent informed me that I had one year to utilize the ticket to Vienna.
The autumn preceding my thirty-first birthday, I found myself in Nashville. Throughout the year, I felt the plane ticket ticking away in my desk drawer like a biological clock. I maintained the intention of traveling alone; however, my previous abandonment of that plan made commitment difficult. During this time, I went on three dates with a gentleman named Karl, who had recently experienced a divorce. His wife had departed, leaving him adrift and reconsidering his life’s course. On our fourth date, I studied him across the table in a restaurant. Though he was acquainted with my mother, he remained a stranger to me in essential ways. Still, life offers little without risks. I proposed the idea of traveling to Vienna together.
He accepted. He willingly agreed without hesitation: Yes. This sentiment echoed the night I entered the travel agency. I informed him that we would need to travel soon due to my ticket. He confirmed that timing was not an issue.
I had not intended this as a dating tactic, yet it functioned effectively, so I pass this insight along: If you encounter someone appealing, invite them to accompany you to Vienna.
We indulged in pastries filled with marzipan and strolled along the Danube hand in hand.
As it turned out, we visited Vienna for Karl’s birthday, which occurred a few weeks before mine. We savored pastries filled with marzipan and meandered along the Danube, holding hands. In the catacombs, we engaged in conversation with a young woman carrying a backpack. She was traveling alone, presumably from Alabama. After departing from her, Karl noted she appeared weary and financially stretched, suggesting we invite her to dinner. We backtracked to find her and brought her to a delightful restaurant named Drei Hussars. We enjoyed small glasses of freezing, syrupy vodka infused with peach pulp. I reflected on whether someone might have extended an invitation to dinner had I made it to Vienna the year before, but then I remembered that I, too, would have been unable to leave my room then.
Karl and I had intended to divide our trip between Vienna and Prague; however, en route to the train station, he spotted an old silverware set displayed in a shop window. Since his divorce, Karl owned no silverware. In truth, he hardly possessed anything at all. After discussing it with the shop owner, he purchased the forks, spoons, and knives, arranging for them to be shipped to Tennessee. This transaction took longer than anticipated, causing us to miss our train. The next train to Prague was not scheduled until the following day. We found ourselves in the expansive station with our luggage, staring at the board displaying the train schedules.
“Budapest,” he mused, assessing our options. “I’ve never been to Budapest.”
I acknowledged that I also had yet to visit Budapest, so we opted for that train instead because, at that moment, the company mattered more than the destination. This remains true to this day. Karl purchased me a delicate gold ring in Budapest to commemorate the day, and eleven years later I married him. Our initial rush was supplanted by a relaxed and deliberate pace, illustrating that we were both impulsive yet exceptionally careful. It proved that we were in love and that Vienna was indeed a destination worth anticipating.
