OVER the years, The Bug's travel section has received many requests for a series of features on Austria, especially its captivating capital, Vienna. A recent letter from Samantha Wilson, of Redcliffe near Brisbane, is typical of such requests. "I'm not actually planning to go there, but I think I'd really enjoy a series of features on Austria, especially its captivating capital, Vienna." Our travel editor Don Gordon-Brown heeded Sam's and the many other calls and visited the country that's only two letters short of being God's own.

Looking for a blue near the Danube

It really should have come as no surprise, all the snubs, sneers and shouts that followed considered, that the first Viennese we encountered was rather abrupt.
Okay. Rude.
We had made the mistake of opening ever so slightly a window in the travelling sauna the locals call the airport-city train.
The German (and English) language sign above the window said not to lean out. That, coupled with a device in place which seemed to make lowering the window a far from difficult chore and an obvious precurser to anyone wanting to do the wrong thing and lean out, indicated it was all right to lower the window. Especially as the air-conditioning vents running the length of each side of the carriage were pumping out hot air with an efficiency that would have made the designers of Hitler's gas ovens proud.
We had barely taken our first draught of life-saving, morning-fresh Viennese air when a scruffy young man in dungarees across the aisle and back a bit shouted abuse.
"Freshen air ist verbotten," he may have yelled. Whatever, it was clear he was going to carry on until we did the right thing. We snapped the window shut and apologised profusely.
An English sounding woman who spoke German and who lives in Sydney but was sitting behind us at the time confirmed that the young man had been very, very rude indeed.
"The local people are very averse to fresh air," she explained. "They worry they might catch something from it." Like politeness, presumably.
Still, the young man did us a favour in a way. Prepared us for the insolence, indifference or outright ire ahead.
Like when crossing the street near the Opera House (right) where a young Viennese woman pedalled straight for us and gesticulated wildly – we may or may not have been in a designated bikeway – before veering off at the last moment.
"Who the fuck do you think's paying for your Austriastudy?" is something that should have been thrown after her still head-shaking form as she wobbled away if we'd known the German for that.
Then there was the blue on the Danube. A derelict moved way off line to knock Australia's leading travel writer sideways as he took in the famous waterway from a rail station on a strip of land between two broad reaches of the river. His shouted words proved obscenities know no language barriers.
Later still, in a city bar, a giant of a man dripping with Ayran aggression and biceps shouldered me aside at the counter. He should count his lucky stars that he didn't end up in hospital; I certainly would have expected him to visit.
And there was the man at a famous, seedy old hotel off the Stephanplatz, who just stared blankly at us for a very uncomfortable 20 seconds after we'd asked what beers he might have behind his bar. Language difficulty? No. He later conversed quite well in English when we made it clear that we were only there for the one drink and wouldn't be a burden for the rest of the night. Heaven forbid.
They were the worst cases, but as a general rule of glum, you started to wonder whether you could even buy a smile throughout the service industries for a hundred Austrian shillings.
So, what is it that has put this chip firmly on many Viennese shoulders?
Now it is true that poor old Austria throughout its history has been done over by just about every other race on the planet, so zenophoebia would be rather understandable. And the latest invader is probably the most vicious and unrelenting of all of history - and we speak here of the American tourist. "Oh, look Mabel, what a cute little cathedral. Just like the one at home, only smaller!"
One of our tourist guide books even warned that a local backlash against tourists was a reality, but even that poses the question of why. Even in the height of summer, Vienna is not exactly awash with tourists. American or quiet.
Is it because Austrians have to speak the language of a people they detest the most of all - Germans? Is it because for 10 months of the year they live in an ice-box? Or are we tourists the rude and unthinking ones. Like all things, the answer is probably a mixture of all of the above.
For one of the problems facing the tourist to Vienna – and one which must put them in a bad light when they query it as we did - is the constant feeling, regardless of the widespread use of English, that you might be getting ripped off every time you open your wallet.
If Australian Prime Minister John Howard was as absolutely sure as he is 5ft that Australia needed a whole new tax system, spend a few days in Vienna and you suspect that Austria could do with any one at all - even the one Australia ditched.
Cafe, restaurant and bar bills in Vienna are scribbled on anything that's handy - bits of scrap paper, tops of matchboxes, whatever - and frequently bear little resemblance to the quoted price. Even the most junior of staff sport the ubiquitous tatty pocket wallet, into which your payment is scrunched without a flicker of a smile. Perhaps tthere's a cash register somewhere in the building which finally tallies these transactions for the sake of accountants or prying government authorities, but its bells have been taped over so as not to spoil the ambiance.
So you sit there for a moment, adding up the menu or board prices, trying to reconcile them with the bill. Have we paid for a tip? Was there a surcharge for evening? Was VAT on top of that?
And if your curiosity or miserliness wins out and you query the total, the response is often abrupt and largely unhelpful.
Does it mean you've struck yet another ignorant local, or are you a tourist abysmally ignorant of the way things are done locally?
Some examples over the course of just a few days.
We were told a trip to a heurigen, the famous Viennese wine taverns on the outskirts of the city were an absolute must. Especially at Grinzing, where there'd be a real knees up with wine guzzling, music and merriment. As you can see, (right) we must have gone at the wrong time.
But we did have some bowls of soup and when it arrived, the bill was too high. "Tax" or a German word like it was all the cafe owner said as she shuffled away to open another can of home-made goulash soup.
Later that night, we dined at one of the city's famous beisels (wine taverns) and weren't disappointed when our bill was 90 shillings over the odds. When we queried the overcharge, diplomatically asking whether we'd not taken into account a VAT or night charge, the waiter was most apologetic, coming up with an excuse on the spot and taking half the excess off the bill, leaving us none the wiser.
The following night, we were again shocked by the bill at one of the city's oldest restaurants. It was actually printed out, included the VAT, still had no real bearing to the prices on the menu, but was more - perhaps even less - spot on.
At least we didn't have to grumble.
So, are we being unfair?
There were some friendly faces and happy places in our travels. Our host for a night at a little bar not far from our comfortable Hotel Tabor was bubbly and happy throughout. Pissed? Probably.
And if the people aren't quite as beautiful as they would have been if they'd smiled, at least their city is.
Vienna proved a stunning and exciting sidetrip on our way to Britain. It is clean, not too expensive, and remains one of Europe's most sophisticated and ancient cities, yet progressive and modern at the same time, as this street poster for an upcoming event so clearly demonstrates.