Vienna Markets, episode 3. In which we are thrifty and I forget to follow my own advice.

In case I haven't mentioned it yet, I love to travel.  I blame (thank!) my parents who began their life's journey together traveling to a new country.  My mom, still single, had the inspirational courage to redefine herself in a new country, leaving her family, her way of (farm)life--everything that was comfortable and safe--behind her in the small coastal community of Vagos, Portugal.  I am forever grateful to have inherited my courage, yen for travel, and bargain hunting sensibilities from my mother (not so much her collecting habits).  I am blessed to share my life with someone with whom I have also merged my love for traveling and collecting. It's enormously gratifying when the stars align and we can enjoy fleamarketing and exploring new old cities on the same trip.

On Tuesday of Thanksgiving week we found ourselves visiting the Freud Museum where I was pleased (relieved?) to learn that Freud himself was quite an avid collector-traveler.  A display cabinet in his carefully preserved waiting room showcased small, handcrafted collectibles--souvenirs from world travels, a display which offered this collector-traveler some consolation.  Not to be outwitted, nor outcollected, I made a major discovery mere steps away from our morning history lesson:  a thrift store.

Thrift stores follow us.

Everywhere.

A small "charity shop" (as the Europeans say), the small rooms were packed with household goods, clothing, and (in their deservedly own special room) books!  I'm a fiendish book lover.  Give me a good bookstore and I'm set for the afternoon.  Give me a neatly organized collection of books in a thrift store and I'm good while Mari is devouring the clothing aisles.  Although I don't read German, I found it amusing and particularly comforting to recognize book jackets of familiar novels and authors in this tidy backroom library.  One thing I've noticed about books in thrift stores outside the states is that there is always more than one language represented.  In this case there were separate sections with French, Italian, and Spanish novels, in addition to German.  

We actually came away from the Volkshilfe (people's aid) Secondhand Shop with some bargains, including a beautifully patinaed cast iron bundt cake pan and a sweet little faceted glass vase--both on sale that day, thank you very much.  The cake pan scrubbed up very nicely and remains to be christened in its new American home, but the vase has already fulfilled its floral function on more than one occasion.

Historic visit and thrifted goods in tow, we walked a few blocks to Sigmund Freud Park from which we photographed the majestic Votivkirche (above) before touring the 150-year-old neo-Gothic Votive Church for ourselves.  Other than fleamarketing, I think we spend most of our travel time touring houses of worship.  Maybe it's simply the Catholic schoolboy in me waxing poetic, but like thrifted treasures, each church is unique, historic, and has its own story to share.

Here we are under the bannered entrance to another market just blocks away from our hotel.  It 

was here that I fell into a deep love (Mari and the Vienna Psychoanalytic Society would say obsession) with a beautifully hand-carved/turned/stained nativity set. I looked and asked and touched and thought and... walked away.

Didn't I say to buy it

if it speaks to you?!

I did buy that small carved owl staring you down from the front row.  He's looking at me right now from the parliament above my computer (remember our lesson from a few weeks ago?).  I know what you're thinking (because I thought the same thing):  I didn't follow my own advice and I regretted it at every subsequent market we visited for the next few days.  After scanning hundreds of market stalls, I came to realize that the exquisitely-cherishable nativity set in question was indeed one of a kind and that particular one demanded extradition to Texas swaddled in bubble wrap.

I am happy to report that the Christmasmarketed wooden nativity set is proudly on display in our living room and yes, I realize it's the middle of March.

That's me up there admiring an attractively enticing display of cured meats and homemade cheeses like it's some museum display.  Look.  Admire.  (cue stomach grumbles)  Walk away.  Not to worry; we sampled plenty of local treats including my first cronut (overflowing with Nutella!).  Even if you are not an avid fleamarketer nor collector of holiday regalia--if you are a foodie--the Vienna Christmas markets are their own scrumptiously satisfying experience.

More treats (sweet and collectible) next time.