The outsider view of Austria tends to revolve around some pretty specific cliches: the idea that it’s almost exclusively populated by buxom ladies holding tankards; fat, dormant Nazis (which might not be all that untrue); and alcoholic man-children in funny tunics and knee-high socks. In that respect, Vienna isn't that different to the rest of the country; it's just more "urban." But Vienna is as contradictory as a schnitzel served with cranberry sauce.
The city somehow offers everything but nothing. There are—despite the extensive pedestrian zone on Mariahilferstrasse—more suicides than road deaths. There is a violent "black bloc," but it’s said to be mostly composed of West German "riot tourists." There’s also a separate language knocking about, which is mostly made up of bits and pieces from other languages (but no one speaks it these days, anyway).
Vienna is kind of a paradise, but it's also not—just like any other city you spend more than a week in.
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