So Jenny and I were watching the last season of Sex in the City last night . . the first disc of the second volume of season six. (yikes. . thats a lot of TV watching!)
We were watching the episode where Carrie was being wined and dined by Petrovsky (played by, none other than Mikhail Barishnikov). She was talking about romance . . . and how girls these days aren't used to *real* romance . . . grand gestures, chivalry, etc etc. And I realized . . . she was right. How often do men of 'this era' attempt uber-romantic gestures? (unless they are proposing . . and even then!?!?)
hmm . . never.
I can think of only ONE time that a man has done something superb-ly (is that a word?) romantic . . . and it was a stranger that I have met only once! The guys I have dated have been sweet to me . . . said nice things, or given a cute card . . but not a single one has gone out of their way to be romantic towards me. I find this highly interesting.
ok . . rewind. I have to explain the gesture. Funny thing was . . it was the simplest thing ever . . but it almost bowled me over.
Back in 2004, I went to Vienna with a group of musicologists (oy . . was I nuts?). We stayed a week, and had a smashing good time being absolute music dorks. We went over Easter, and spent most of our time in Church (for those of you who really know me. . you'll see the irony in that). . . and basked in the lovely traditions of old gothic Churches and the music that they play. (not the contemporary christian popular music hodgepodge that you hear today .. no no . . REAL music. Mozart. . Schubert . . Bruckner. . oh my!) It was quite an experience. We trekked to Haydn's house, and visited Beethoven's and Mahler's grave (you may recall past pictures that I have posted.)
But one night really stood out to me. I'm a performing musician . . . so meeting other professional performers tends to be quite a thrill for me. . . even if there is a language barrier!
We went to this little hole in the wall italian restaruant (yes . . Italian in Vienna . . what was wrong with us?) . . but it really was fantastic!
There we met the first horn of the RPO (radio philharmonic orchestra), and the second oboe of the Vienna Philharmonic. (wow. . . fantastic musicians. I kick myself . . because I do not remember their names. I kick myself daily!) We shared halting stories over wine and pasta, and burned the candles to the ends. We spoke music, orchestras, America vs. Vienna (the horn player couldn't get over the fact that smoking was banned in so many places. He laughed at us, saying that we claim to have freedom . . but we really don't.) 
We couldn't get over the fact that a horn player would subject himself to toxic chemcials. Aaah Europe.
Then the horn player finally put two and two together . . and realized I was a horn player. And being the studious horn player that I was . . I had my mouthpiece with me (yes . . there is something wrong with me. . but hey . . I am what I am). He then produced his Pumpen Horn from its case, and asked if I'd like to play it.
ha!
abso-fucking-lutely!
For those that don't know . . the Pumpen horn is an instrument that really hasn't changed from the 1800's to today. Vienna is the ONLY orchestra that uses these horns . . its one of their signatures. It's not modern . . but has qualities that make the Vienna horn players some of the best in the world. So I was not going to turn down this opportunity. So there I was . . farting around with a horn in the middle of an italian restaurant in the middle of Vienna. (this has an end. . I promise). We all had a great time . . and it seems the Viennese (austrians?)
were quite taken with me . . the oboe player (who was there with his girlfriend) . . made his way over to me and tried his absolute best to hold a conversation. His broken english . . and my 5 days of Wien made for interesting conversation! We did well though, and laughed and had a thoroughly grand time. He was very charming . . and made me promise to keep in touch (which, sadly, he never gave me anything to keep in touch with . . . so I have no clue how to find the man, aside from through the orchestra . . and they don't give out contact info).
But anyways. . . we didn't leave the restaurant until 1am . . .thoroughly exhausted, but deleriously happy. On our way out the door, we did this 'reception' line up to say good bye to the Viennese . . . and the oboe player was the last in line. I stopped infront of him, and told him ( as best as I could in absolutely horrifying german) that it was lovely to meet him and I hope to keep in touch. He then grabbed my hand and looked me in the eye. In the best english I had heard that night, he said . . "no miss, the pleasure was all mine." He then raised my hand slowly to his lips, and very lightly kissed the back of it. He smiled, released my hand, smiled again, and wished us all farewell.
I floated back to the apartment we were staying in.
THAT was romance. It wasn't corny . . it wasn't contrived . . he meant every second of it. It was easy for him. . he didn't have to try to be romantic. . . he just was.
Thing is . . I don't even think he was interested in me in any sort of romantic way. . . just in a curious sort of way. The same could be said for myself. I was in no way interested in him romantically. But that one simple gesture left me speechless.
Men over here . . just don't get it.
Me. . . holding the Vienna Horn (Pumpen Horn). How fun! (what a horrifying picture!) *lol* Oh well. The restaurants name was Oliva Verde. If you're ever in Vienna . . stop by. Its . . AMAZING.
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