Okay – so after an awesome day out on the town; mad-cap soccer induced antics included, how on earth could we possibly top those adventures? Easily enough it would seem! Em-J and I got up at half six – batty I know; such a evil hour should not exist... -_- But there was reason enough for this as we where going to see the Vienna Boy's Choir preform at a Mass in the Chapel of the Imperial Palace.
That is if we could even catch the train – the six of us (Canadian JazzGirl, AussieFe, JoyfulJ, Em-J and myself) where all up and fairly ready when we realized how late it actually was – so we ran for the train station, thankfully only two minutes away, and were getting our tickets when the train came! Em-J, AussieFe and I ended up getting tickets off the conductor as we had to drop everything and jump on.
Luckily everything worked out alright and we made it to the church. The early morning was well worth it... Depending on how much you pay – you get a seat somewhere inside the church, we were in the Hausoratorium to hear Wolfgang Mozart's Missa brevis F-Dur.
You walk up the stairs from a very unimpressive, rather shabby exterior into a large sweeping stairwell – white marble accentuated by striking red carpet flowing over the curving stairs. We walk through empty rooms with small oval portraits of the bishops hanging on the walls, only to be escorted into the back passage ways. We are tucked away in a small dark alcove papered with rich maroon damask cloth. You can't see anything in from the balcony other than the shadowy recesses much like your own opposite you. On one side – rows of wooden chairs, to the front; a burry screen for viewing the service, and to the right a mirror in which you can see the reflection of the choir. You are glued to that sight as the conductor raises his hands – it is about to begin.
Pure sound washes over you, the earthy, melencolic tones of the violin rippling through the waiting silence as the first cords hit your waiting ears. Lark-high notes from the wee sopranoes clustered around the conductors like puppies at their mother's feet mingle with the resonating timber of the basses standing at the back like the sentries that they are. Sound washes together in smooth gentle harmony only to seperate and dance to the parts own rythmic tunes – the contrast of high and low punctuating in perfect timing.
Em-J and I left the chapel rather dizzy, not just from the singing but also the incense (yes, it was a proper service but as it was in German I must confess the only thing I paid attention was the choir), and headed across St. Micheal's place for the next awesome expiriance of the day – to see a performance of the Lipanzzaner horses at the Spanish Riding School.
The Spanish Riding School, or Spanische Hofreitschule, was a beautiful building – wide sand arena sat at your feet – tall columns rising above the high wall of the school to support the arching roof. The detail, the delicate curling impressions that were coated white in contrast to the soothing grey roof – the two magnificent chandeliers that drooped from the ceiling, the juanty red banners that sat over the balconies; everything inside was enough to catch your eye. It was not, however – our main focus when the horses came in. The crowd was held captive for the next 80 minutes as the rider and horses preformed movements that even the Olympic Riders would kill to do. For all the non-horsey people out there (if you haven't already stopped reading by now!) the Spanish Riding School is the most exclusive and best riding school in the world. The dessage/riding done there is the highest form of riding you can find- full stop. So when I say that I would die happy if I could just ride ONCE like they can – I really do mean it!
Long blurb – we saw the horses dance. They preformed extented trots that looked like they where hovering above ground – defying gravity with each precise hoof-step, collected canters that practically stayed on the spot, pirouettes that spun their front around whilest the hind legs kept tempo in the same place (in both a walk and canter), piaffes like it was nothing at all to keep moving and stay still at the same time, half passes that merely moved them in and out of line in perfect unison, full passes that saw them gliding across the arena in both a trot and canter; the horses skipped (flying changes at two strides per lead), flexed, floated, worked, danced, flew and excuted their “airs above ground” with such presicion you almost had to wonder if they were from another place. That is until they chucked a wee tantrum and skittered sideways with a buck for a few seconds – then you knew well and truly how amazing they really are because they do all of this and in the end are still horses...
The airs above ground – the Levade (or rear), the rear and buck – leaping twice their height into the air, jumping forwards on their hind legs, all of these movements where preformed in hand and under saddle. The riders sat with their legs draped around the horses sides; sometimes with stirrups, sometimes without; but always in perfect unision with the horse's movement.
The rest of the day didn't really hold much after that – we wandered around enjoying the relaxed 'Sunday' feel of Vienna in the sunshine – we saw a tribute to Mozart and had really yummy 'Durum Kebaps' and slowly made our way back to camp after another full day on tour.
I decided that Vienna was the City of Royality – it does have a manner of imperial, exquiste way of life. Busy, yet happy to stop and take time out for the finer things this world has to offer.
I shall say goodbye – I've proably bored you enough for now.
:3, b.
