Memo To The English: Winter Exists. Deal With It.

For the most part the English are an eminently practical race of people with their feet planted firmly on the ground in sensible shoes. No less than Napoleon thought he was insulting them when he borrowed Adam Smith’s phrase and sneeringly called them a ‘nation of shop keepers.’ Rather than be insulted the English took pride in the name, and smiled brightly as they packed Napoleon off to a rock in the South Atlantic to spend his sunset years.

Their national passion seems to be standing in line patiently for whatever reason, even sometimes no reason at all. Serious criminals may get off with a warning, but queue jumpers quickly become social pariahs. English drivers stop at red lights and actually let pedestrians cross the street safely at designated pedestrian crossing zones. “Keep Calm And Carry On” is more than a memorable World War II slogan. It has become ingrained in the English DNA.

For all that, they suffer from one serious blind spot. They refuse to believe that winter, more particularly snowy winter, usually comes every year. Temperatures drop. Snow falls. Yet the general attitude – especially in official circles – seems to be that this phenomenon is somehow unreasonable and really shouldn’t happen. Therefore, according to them, it doesn’t really happen. But winter does happen – every year. We have been back in London for several years now and every year it has snowed sometimes a little and sometimes a lot. But regardless of the amount the result is complete chaos.

London traffic snarled in 2 cm of snow

Every snowfall is preceded by dire weather announcements making it sound like a giant tsunami is rolling up the Thames or an errant asteroid is about to obliterate much of Scotland. Meteorologists react with wide-eyed wonder that such a thing could happen, as if this is the first time in recorded history snow has fallen on Britain. Every year the drama caused by as little as 2 cm of snow is the same. Britain’s largest airport Heathrow cancels flights, schools close, train service is disrupted, and the tube inevitably goes haywire. I’m not sure London even has a snow plough. I have never seen one. In any event, side streets remain snow covered, and no one even thinks about clearing the sidewalks. The attitude seems to be ‘God put it there. God can take it away.’ Maybe I’m a little prejudiced having recently returned from Canada where even a great deal of snow and freezing temperatures don’t cause a complete breakdown in daily life. But, really, one would think that official Britain would begin to get a grip and admit that winter comes around every year, and perhaps, just perhaps, they could learn from the Russians and Canadians and take some precautions.

Mariella on a snowy day in London

But you don’t really experience (endure?) a British winter until you have been invited to friend’s old country home that has been designated as architecturally significant. Forewarned is forearmed. The zealots of British architectural heritage have dictated that no amount of cold air sweeping through loose 18th century windows and thin, un-insulated walls should serve as an excuse to install useful things like double-glazing (Heaven forbid!) or modern insulation.

The Horse Guard braving a winter day

“Just put on another jumper and snuggle up to the fire,” they proclaim in their hearty, horsey tones, dripping with scorn that anyone would prefer warmth to architectural purity. This might be good advice if you weren’t already wearing two large sweaters and the fire actually generated some heat. Usually these homes come with enormous fireplaces better equipped for roasting an entire pig than heating a room. Any heat from the fire goes straight up into the huge chimney while acrid smoke from unseasoned logs soon fills the room. It is very bad form, of course, to notice any of this even as your eyes water and you start to lose sight of your hostess through the icy smog as she attempts to pass you a glass of champagne.

Planning commissions, in charge of guarding this dubious heritage, ignore completely that these houses are environmental disasters in wasting enormous amounts of heating oil and natural gas in a futile effort to heat them. Some brave soul even tried to put up, gasp, solar panels on a shed behind the main house. These were invisible to all except the planning authorities who quickly ruled that saving energy and limiting carbon emissions were far less important than maintaining the rather dubious architectural heritage of a 19th century barn.

Meanwhile, grab an extra hot water bottle as these two visions of ‘what’s good for us’ battle it out.

A City to Experience in December

There are cities best experienced in the warm spring and summer months, and there are cities that shine brightest when snow starts to fall. Paris and Rome are famous for their sidewalk cafes filled with people watching other people – most of whom are scantily clad wearing very expensive thin bits of leather on their feet. Very nice in May; very cold, wet and miserable in December. Parisians and Romans don't do puffy down parkas and sensible shoes. The trouble is you can not even warm up by going inside, where you are often greeted with the incredulous attitude ‘This is Paris. You want central heating too?’


Then there is Vienna. This old imperial city is pleasant in the summer but doesn’t really display all its finery until December. The Christmas markets, the concerts, the decorations down Karntner Strasse, and, perhaps most of all, the welcoming, warm coffee houses where you can fill the long hours between breakfast and lunch by indulging in rich coffee topped with thick cream and a few of the ever-so-delicate pastries. You are welcome to stay as long as you want, and most coffee houses provide newspapers to pass the time while you sample the Sachertorte or perhaps the Esterhazy Torte.

Unlike Londoners, the Viennese do not go wobbly in the knees at the first hint of snow. Streets and sidewalks are cleared faster than ladies can get their fur coats out. One of the best views of the ornate, imperial architecture decorating Vienna like an operatic stage set is from the inside of a warm tram as it rattles gently around the elegant Ring in a light snow fall.

But most of all, December in Vienna is a peak of the music season. Vienna is a city that takes music very seriously, indeed, and it’s best to book tickets at least two months in advance. One December we forgot which venue had our particular concert. When we asked at the main concert hall, the Muzikverein, the clerk put on a sympathetic smile and reminded us that there were concerts in 40 different locations that evening.

One wants to be very careful in Viennese Advent concerts where there is the possibility of audience participation. We were at such a concert looking forward to joining in a rousing rendition of Silent Night when the father of the family of four next to us pulled out a pitch pipe and made sure everyone was in tune and prepared to sing in harmony. Right. We decided it might be best if we just listened.

Vienna is one of the few cities we have visited where the churches are packed on Sunday morning. The ancient Gothic masterpieces may lack any heating, but this does not stop the well wrapped crowds from getting there at least half an hour early. While the Catholic liturgy undoubtedly draws a good many parishioners another attraction is the full orchestra and chorus and enormous organ performing any one of the great masses of Mozart, Bach, Haydn, Handel, Beethoven – just to name a few. These churches are wise enough to put the schedule of masses on their web sites.

It is easy to forget that not that long ago Vienna was the intellectual and musical capital of Europe. The musical legacy of Vienna speaks for itself, and a brief walk around the courtyard of the university filled with busts of famous scientists reminds us of the intellectual power of a city where Sigmund Freud attended concerts directed by Gustav Mahler. The 20th century was not kind to Vienna. The tottering Hapsburg Empire collapsed after World War I leaving Vienna with the architectural accoutrements of an empire and the political power of New Jersey. The rise of the Austrian Nazis revealed the darker underside of the society, and haunting walks through the Jewish district of the city bring home the horror of those atrocities. While there are some who would like to pretend those events never happened (Beethoven, of course was Austrian while Hitler was German), modern Vienna has become a vibrant melange of cultures that were once a grudging part of the political empire.

Even the Turks, who twice besieged the city, have become an integral part of the city in many different ways. Those people who miss the lazy lunches alongside the Bosphorus need go no further than the Kervanseray restaurant in the middle of the city to get the same quality seafood and service. After a few days of Central European meat and potatoes – however disguised – it’s nice to taste the fresh vegetables and green salad more common to the Mediterranean than the Danube.

Vienna might be a member in good standing of the European Union, but at least one part of the city is a very reluctant member of the 21st century. Enjoying good cigars is as much of the city’s life today as it was in Freud’s time. Bars that in the rest of Europe would ban smokers to frigid gardens offer a welcome haven to cigar smokers.

Somehow, in Vienna this fits. It is not California with its brash, thrusting modernity and cadres of self -righteous politically correct zealots roaming the streets stamping out any deviations like red meat and cigars. This is Vienna, a city that has seen it all, lived through it all and has found a way to combine the best of the past with the reality of the present.