In Austria for a week, I was met with windows that defied opening, resistant as if guarding old secrets. My meals were punctuated by the weighty presence of Wiener Schnitzels, each bite a reminder of tradition. The gardens bore statues, their inscrutable forms keeping silent vigil among the greenery. Austere houses lined the streets, their stoic facades revealing little warmth or mirth. Yet, an inexplicable fondness for lamp poles was evident, standing solemnly at intervals, their stark contrast to the environment only deepening the enigma of this land.