Transformative Journey to Vienna

When I was 29 and living in Montana with my boyfriend, I took a year-long fellowship at Radcliffe College and moved by myself to Cambridge, Massachusetts. Initially, I thought it was too great an opportunity to miss, but weeks later, I realized what my decision would cost me. When I called our apartment in Missoula late at night, no one picked up. When I finally did reach my boyfriend, he was distracted and evasive.

Heartbreak had not hit yet, but I could see it approaching like headlights in the dark. I considered returning to Montana to reclaim my relationship, but if damage had been done—something I suspected—leaving Radcliffe would mean losing both a boyfriend and an opportunity.

As the days in Cambridge grew shorter and colder, I walked back to my small apartment past familiar sights—the Brattle Theater, Sage’s grocery, and the American Express Travel Agency. A glance at its windows, showcasing destinations like the Eiffel Tower and the serene beaches of Tahiti, sparked a thought: perhaps my circumstances were too narrowly defined. I didn’t need to be in Montana or Cambridge. I opened the door and stepped inside.

Sadly, travel agencies today are no longer the abundant dream shops they once were, showcasing the world’s beauty through wide windows and warm smiles behind the counter.

That summer, I invested in a Eurail pass and traveled around Europe with a girlfriend until our funds dwindled.

At 20, I had won a writing competition, which came with the stipulation that the cash award be used for my development as a writer. So that summer, I acquired a Eurail pass and traveled Europe with a friend until our money was gone. It was Vienna that captivated me—its cafes along the Ringstraße, the catacombs beneath St. Stephen’s Cathedral, and the glorious Hofburg Palace.

I always thought I would return someday. Thus, I left that travel agency with a plane ticket for a solo trip and a week’s stay in a pension. I planned to go in December for my thirtieth birthday. The travel agent seemed impressed by my spontaneity, and so was I. Even with limited funds, I had made a bold choice. Walking back to my apartment, my self-image shifted; I felt independent and adventurous. I no longer waited for someone else to dictate my future; I was in control of my destiny.

“Vienna?” my boyfriend asked incredulously over the phone. “By yourself?”

I envisioned a future gathering where each guest would share experiences from their thirtieth birthdays. I would proudly state, “I traveled to Vienna. Alone.”

I secured travelers’ checks and $200 in Austrian schillings, obtained a new passport, and prepared for my journey. However, as I sat on my bed waiting for the taxi I had planned to call at 5 AM, my nerves took over. Clock hands moved slowly from 4 to 5 to 6, and I wrestled with my fear. Instead of doing what I intended, I lay down, cried, and eventually succumbed to illness, resulting in five days of being bedridden.

The sickness hit hard, but strangely, I felt relief. Whatever illness prevented me from boarding that plane, it would have struck mid-flight, leading to further complications in Vienna.

My boyfriend called and expressed concern. I recovered, but when he reached out post-Christmas, he revealed his love for one of his students.

He sent my belongings in large boxes, and I felt the mixed emotions of loss and relief.

We had lived simply in Missoula, owning little, yet the break stung. I returned to the travel agency; my prepaid room was a monetary loss, yet the agent informed me that I had a year to redeem my ticket to Vienna.

As autumn approached my thirty-first birthday, I found myself in Nashville, constantly aware of the ticking ticket stowed away in my desk. I still wanted to travel solo, but my past hesitations lingered. During this time, I began dating Karl, a recently divorced man trying to redefine his life. One evening, I broached the idea of traveling to Vienna together.

His enthusiastic agreement reverberated my earlier impulsive decision at the agency. We had to move quickly due to my ticket’s expiration, and he assured me that timing wasn’t an issue.

We enjoyed pastries filled with marzipan and strolled along the Danube, hand in hand.

Our trip coincided with Karl’s birthday, just weeks before mine, and in the catacombs beneath Vienna, we met a young female traveler. Intrigued, we invited her to join us for dinner at a charming restaurant called Drei Hussars, where we sampled delightful vodka cocktails. I reminisced about how a dinner invite might have changed the course of my previous journey.

Initially, we planned to spend half our time in Prague. However, Karl’s newfound curiosity for an antique set of silverware led to missed train schedules—a momentary adventure that shifted our plans entirely.

“Budapest,” he said, scanning our travel options. “I’ve never been to Budapest.”

So, we chose the unknown instead, reiterating the importance of companionship in our travels over destination, a lesson that still resonates with me. To mark that day in Budapest, Karl gifted me a slim gold ring, and eleven years later, we exchanged vows.