You find out you are going to Vienna, what’s one of the first things you think about doing while there? Seeing an opera at the Wiener Staatsoper, or Vienna State Opera House, of course.

Lots of people think of this, which is why very few tickets were available and those that were, cost as much as our airfare.

A bit of a letdown.

However, the house is built with a certain section, towards the back but dead center stage, where one can stand and watch. Those tickets are cheap as chips. One does have to jump through a few hoops, like showing up very early, waiting in line and, well, standing through the performance.

In addition to opera, Vienna offers delicious sausages from numerous kiosks throughout the city. They are perfect for a daytime snack or to wrap up a night of drinking. The day of our opera, we stopped for a late lunch at one that had been recommended by a friend.

It had a healthy line in front. The couple behind us heard our hemming and hawing as we attempted to decipher the menu board. They kindly guided us through the choices, carefully explaining each one, growing excited when talking about their favorites. They truly seemed joyful at the prospect of our first Vienna sausage.

We each ordered different ones - so we could each try one - and bought rather large Radlers to wash them down.

Turns out the joy was well-founded. These sausages were delicious, as was the bread they were held in. We went back for seconds. Two sausages, on the street, with a can of lemony beer, in the middle of Vienna.

Fantastic.

The plan had been to grab that quick lunch, head back to the hotel and get ready to go out for dinner before the show. But we quickly realized that plan had to change.

Marissa: “We’ve just had two sausages each and a beer, and it is getting late.”
Matthew: “Yes?”
Marissa: “Are we really going to try to go to dinner in an hour?”
Matthew: “Good point.”
Marissa: “Maybe we should just go have a piece of cake.”
Matthew: “I will never say no to that.”

Off to Cafe Demel we went. It was packed, but we managed to find two seats at the bar, where we quickly got down to business. Two big slices of chocolate cake - again two different ones to maximize variety - and Marissa ordered a regular coffee while I asked for an Anna Demel Kaffee, a coffee drink laced with orange liqueur and topped with whipped cream. It was definitely a fluffy thing to order, but after sausages and beers, why stop now?

The cake was delicious, the coffee buzz-inducing, the atmosphere charming and the whole room smelled of chocolate. What could be better than that?

But before we knew it, the time had come to make our way to the opera house. We had been told to get there early if we wanted to make it in.

A pleasant-looking young woman was at the back of the line by herself. We got behind her and it was not long before she and Marissa had struck up a conversation. Her name was Diana. She was from London, treating herself to a Vienna getaway as part of her 30th birthday year. She told us she likes to travel alone. A great way to meet people. We were a case in point

The three of us chatted and laughed and told stories until the time had come to make our way inside. We decided to stick together.

A small group of opera house workers shepherded us across the lobby and through a couple of clandestine staircases to the standing section. Rows of metal railing-like structures lined the space. It took me a moment to realize they are there for you to lean on while you stand.

The three of us lined up in the first row available, about midway through the section, which was filling up quickly.

Suddenly, a man appeared next to me, in the final space in our side of the row. He was a bit older than me, smaller, with a slight frame. Neatly, but not fancily dressed, he began what looked like a well-practiced ritual of settling in.

As he tied his scarf around the railing he noticed me watching him.

“You should tie your scarf on the railing. It will help you keep your place in case you step out, which you will want to do at intermission,” he said calmly, efficiently.

“Thank you,” I said, as I began to heed his instruction.

“Otherwise, you will lose your place.” His English was good, but I could see he was struggling to find the right words.

We talked more. He lives about 40 kilometers outside of Vienna and for almost 30 opera seasons has been coming into the city to stand in that very spot to watch the opera. Every season, every weekend. Standing.

“It’s what I like to do,” he told me, simply.

Curtain time was drawing near. He excused himself, letting me know he would be back before the lights went down.

Just as he left, one last throng of people surged into the now crowded section. A group of Spaniards. Spanish words, Spanish laughs now filling the space where only German and English had been.

A woman moved into my Austrian friend’s spot.

"Es este lugar libre?" she asked, as she began to take ownership of the spot.

“Oh, no, lo siento,” the only Spanish I could conjure. “No, mi amigo…”

“No? Pero…” she indicated that it looked like there was plenty of room.

She was friendly, she had a nice laugh, I was having trouble holding down the fort.

“Ah, lo siento, un hombre…el panuelo…” my Spanish so bad I sounded like a toddler making up a story about a man with a scarf.

But then he was back, slipping between me and the Spanish woman, silently but with an air that made it crystal clear this was his spot.

As the lights went down her eyes met mine. We both shrugged our shoulders and she moved to another row, where fellow Spaniards welcomed her with open arms.

And then we watched the opera. La Bohème.

I had worried about standing through the whole event, but that worry quickly faded as I got caught up in the beautiful melodrama unfolding on stage.

During intermission I went out to the lobby. Those who had seats for the show were anxious to stretch their legs so there was plenty of seating to be had. I rested my legs and headed back for the second half refreshed.

My scarf had held my place. Marissa and Diana were on the floor, chatting. The Spaniards were gone. My friend from Austria too.

He arrived back just before the lights went down.

“I always take a glass of champagne at intermission,” he told me.

“And you didn’t invite me?” I said to myself.

Then he quickly explained that at the exact moment the curtain came down at the end of the show he would be leaving this section and heading to a little spot at the side of the stage, so he could greet the performers as they came off.

I had an urge to invite myself, but I resisted, which I regret to this day. It’s not that I am a die-hard fan of opera, but what fun it might have been to tag along with this kind man from rural Austria who clearly was? I will never know.

The second half was spectacular. Some of the most beautiful music I’ve heard live. But then the opera ended, my Austrian friend headed for the stage and we untied our scarves and made our way outside, into the cool night air.

Diana said goodbye. We turned and began walking home, our feet tired but happy to be doing something other than standing.

We passed by another sausage kiosk, open for the after-show crowd. We did not stop.

But it did cross our mind.