Get Sleepy: Sleep meditation and stories - The Viennese Coffee House

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Starting point is 00:02:18 The podcast where we listen, we relax and we get sleepy. My name is Thomas and I'm your host and I appreciate your company tonight. Tonight Elizabeth will be reading our story which is set in the beautiful city of Vienna in Austria in the early 20th century. We'll follow a young man, Franz, on his walk through the snowy streets of this charming European capital. His walk leads him to a cozy, traditional coffee house that he often visits to read, write and relax. But this time his visit is rather more memorable than usual. Make yourself nice and comfortable in bed. Close your eyes if you haven't already done so. And just pause and appreciate this moment of tranquility as you begin to relax into the

Starting point is 00:03:40 night. Take a deep breath in, feeling your stomach and chest rise with the inhale. your body sink back down. Breathe in fully and slowly release the air back out, sensing the calming contact of your body on the mattress. As you continue to breathe at a relaxed pace, picture snow falling in a city street. At first it comes down in thick flurries. You watch it fall like rain, an endless stream of glistening white flakes dancing and twirling. The snow comes down, past the rooftops and the windows, and then settles on the ground. But as you watch the snow fall on and on, you notice that it gradually becomes slower and lighter. Soon there are just a few snowflakes drifting through the air like moats of dust. The last flakes stick to the bare branches of the trees. The sky is clear now and the air feels crisp and fresh. Our friend, friends,

Starting point is 00:05:55 has just set out for a walk, and this is where our story begins. One winter stay in Vienna, long ago, a young man named Franz went for a walk. He spent his week working in an office, and at the weekends weekends he often left the city. But on this particular Saturday afternoon he decided to spend the day exactly as he wanted. He would stroll through the streets of the city centre and then warm up over a coffee in one of his favourite cafes. France had not lived in Vienna for long. He'd grown up in a small town nearby and only moved to the city when he found a job. Perhaps this was why he loved his city walks so much.

Starting point is 00:07:36 Everything still felt new to him. He took nothing for granted. He took nothing for granted. Wherever he went, he marveled at the architecture, especially the elegant art nouveau buildings in the center. He loved the graceful exhibition hall which resembled a futuristic church. It had white walls and a spherical sculpture on the roof formed of golden leaves that glitted in the sunlight. Then there was the anchor clock. This ornate mechanical clock was located on a bridge between two parts of a building. When the clock chained at midday, a set of twelve figurines slowly paraded along the bridge past the center of the clock. These mechanical figures included models of princes, emperors, and the Austrian composer,

Starting point is 00:09:01 Yosuf Heiden. Whenever Franz saw this unusual procession, he was filled with a sense of childlike wonder. The more ordinary things attracted his attention too, like a horse-drawn carriage or a flower storm. He often stopped to gaze at the window display of a department storm, or even a humble pastry shop. He was struck by the attention to detail. It was as though everyone in the city from the architects to the pastry shops was dedicated to the pursuit of beauty.

Starting point is 00:09:59 Frons liked to appreciate the beauty in everything, a line of poetry, the decorative details around a window, or even a slice of cake. Everything in the world had its own unique aesthetic, representing the passion and imagination of its creator. Walking past the opera house, France was reminded of of the building itself, but also the music inside. He had tickets for an opera performance the following evening. As he walked through the the portico, he was filled with a warm feeling of happiness and anticipation. It was turning out to be a perfect weekend, even the weather was getting better. The chilliest days of winter seemed to be over and the snow had finally stopped falling. But wherever he walked, the ground was still covered in thick layers of snow. It rose up along the borders of the street, creating a boundary between the pavement and the road.

Starting point is 00:11:50 The electric tram still rattled briskly along the tracks no matter what the weather, but friends slowed down with so much snow and ice on the ground he preferred to walk slowly and carefully. He didn't feel the cold too much as he was wrapped up in a thick coat and woolen scarf as well as some warm gloves. France was absent-minded and in the past he had lost a pair of gloves every winter, but this pair had been a present from his older brother just before Franz moved to Vienna. He was careful not to misclase these ones. Not only were they the warmest, most comfortable gloves he'd ever owned, but they also reminded him of the brother he loved and missed.

Starting point is 00:13:09 The following weekend perhaps Franz would go back to his hometown to see his family, but for now he wanted to make the most of his afternoon in the city. And although he didn't mind the cold, he was starting to look, wistfully at him free cafe he walked past. He was tempted by the idea of warming up in one of Vienna's classic coffee houses for an hour or two. This was how France liked to spend his free afternoons, reading and writing while drinking coffee at a cafe in the centre. He had several favourite cafes and he would switch between them, depending on his mood.

Starting point is 00:14:14 Café Chbeau was one of them. It opened in 1818 and soon became a popular spot for artists, musicians and authors as well as officials from the nearby military academy. France loved the opulence of the decor with its marble tables and crystal chandeliers. Sometimes he would go to cafe shbow with friends to play billions. When he went on his own he would settle at a table near the window and order a coffee and a slice of chocolate cake. The cake was rich and delicious, made with a blend of vanilla and cinnamon. Just thinking of it made his mouth water. Cafe Central was another grand coffee house that served delicious desserts, including apple strudel.

Starting point is 00:15:39 This sweet sugary pastry was filled with apple and cinnamon and was served piping hot. It was Franz's favorite dessert. On a cold winter's day like today, there was nothing better. Better. Cafe Central had also been around since the late 19th century, and it had an air of timeless elegance. This cafe was a meeting place for intellectuals. The psychologist, Sigmund Freud, The psychologist, Sigmund Freud, the writer, Stefan Zveig, and the revolutionary Leon Trotsky had all been customers. When France went to Cafe Central, he would always keep an eye out for famous faces. He enjoyed people watching as he savored each mouthful of warm apple strudel. He also liked to watch the men playing chess at nearby tables. One day, once he had a little practice, maybe he would join them for a game. Justice Franz was wondering where to go. He

Starting point is 00:17:20 realized he was round the corner from another coffee house. It was an old-fashioned place, named Cafe Mont, and it served up some of the best coffee in cakes in Vienna. And whenever Frans went there, it seemed like there was always a table for him. This cafe was located on a quiet side street. It was easy to miss. There was no grand art nouveau façade, no eye-catching sign. Walking past, all you could see was a simple sign above the door that said, Cafe Mont, in bold black letters, next to an image of a crescent moon. The windows were small and mostly obscured by lace curtains. Anyone passing might have been inclined to walk on and head towards one of the grander coffee houses. But when Franz walked through the door of cafe

Starting point is 00:18:47 mont, he felt like he was entering another world. It was a place where times slowed down, or even stood still. Once he was sitting at a table with a cup of coffee and something to read, all right, he lost track of time. It hardly seemed to matter whether it was or night. The cafe was formed of three rooms separated from each other by a series of cleverly designed partitions. The rooms were not truly separate as they were only divided by partial walls. A customer sitting near a wall could even hear a conversation in the next room if they listened closely. This gave the cafe a cozy, secluded feel. It was more like a house than a traditional cafe, and France always felt at home here. Some of the colours and furnishings even reminded him a little of his grandparents' house. He loved the dark, wood-paneled walls and ceiling. They were a perfect match for the old wooden chairs and the pair of antique coat stands by the entrance. The name of the cafe meant moon, and there were subtle references to the moon hidden

Starting point is 00:20:51 throughout the place. The small spherical lamps hanging from the ceiling had a silver glow so they resembled full moons. The round tables were made of white marble lined with streaks of grey. To France they also looked like replicas of the moon, complete with the markings on the surface. Whenever he came to this cafe, he liked to look for other representations of the moon. It became a kind of game. As he sipped his coffee, he would look around, searching for a hidden symbol. Once he realised that all the artwork on the walls depicted night time scenes.

Starting point is 00:21:59 The moon was visible in the sky of every painting. On another occasion, the waitress brought him some delicious but three vanilla biscuits coated with sugar. Each biscuit was shaped like a crescent moon. Some said the shape of these traditional Austrian biscuits was a reference to Turkey. In 1683 the Ottoman army from Turkey arrived in Vienna. One of their attempts to enter Vienna took place in the early morning. Only the bakers were awake at this time. By dawn they were all ready at work, making bread and biscuits. When the bakers had the Ottoman soldiers approaching

Starting point is 00:23:12 through underground tunnels, they raised the alarm, and in the end the city of Vienna was victorious. of Vienna was victorious. To celebrate the Turkish defeat, the bakers invented a new kind of biscuit, shaped like the moon, a symbol of Turkey. These biscuits soon became a popular desire to cross Austria, especially at Christmas. As well as the shape of the lamps, the tables and the biscuits, there were a couple of other moons in the cafe hidden in plain sight. It took France a long time to spot them, and when he finally did, he couldn't help but smile to himself. The cafe owner wore unusual silver-rimmed glasses that were shaped like crescent moons. France was sure it wasn't a coincidence, references to the cafe's name were everywhere. As France took off his coat and scarf and draped them over the stand near the entrance, the owner

Starting point is 00:24:48 smiled and came over to greet him. The proprietor of Café Mont was a friendly old man who always seemed to remember his customers. He'd often start with a conversation about anything that came to mind, the weather, local news, or even the book he was reading. This was unusual in Vienna This was unusual in Vienna as most people were quiet and reserved. In some cafes, France felt almost invisible. He could sit for hours unnoticed and undisturbed. Sometimes he appreciated being left alone. It meant he was free to stay as long as he liked, focusing completely on his reading or writing.

Starting point is 00:25:58 But the atmosphere at Cafe Mond felt like a nice compromise. It was warm and welcoming in a subtle, easy-going way. Here he could read all Wark with Diona, or the waitress, even if it was just small talk about the weather. Most of the tables in the main area were occupied, so Frans made his way to one of the back rooms. There was no window here, and only one other customer, so it would be easier to concentrate. In this quiet room without distractions, perhaps friends would finally make some progress on the short story he was writing. And if he wasn't feeding inspired, that was fine too. He'd brought a

Starting point is 00:27:19 book to read as a backup, and entertaining detective novel he was enjoying. Either way, he was ready to spend at least a couple of hours relaxing in the cafe. Perhaps it was only imagination, but this room felt warmer too. It was the smallest room in the cafe, and there was a heater right next to the table in the corner. This is where France decided to sit. A plush, burgundy red sofa, next to a marble moon-shaped table. There was just one thing left to do before he sat down and made himself comfortable. He wandered over to the small wooden table on the other side of the room, where there was a selection of newspapers and journals. Most of them didn't interest him as he preferred to read fiction, but he was keen to see the latest issue of a famous literary journal which was published once a month.

Starting point is 00:28:52 A while ago, for the very first time, France had submitted a story. He felt so proud of what he'd written. He felt so proud of what he'd written. He'd spent hours revising it, line by line, checking that each word was perfect. And although he was satisfied, he hadn't shown the story to anyone else. After finishing the final draft and reading it one last time, France had put the pages in an envelope and immediately sent it to the editor of the journal. If he'd waited, he might have had doubts and changed his mind. Sometimes, it was better to act on impulse. It was instinct that had led France to cafe Monde for the first time. And on this occasion too, he had entered the cafe on a whim. He was sure he would find a copy of the latest issue of the journal. It seemed almost fated.

Starting point is 00:30:20 But as friends searched through the piles of papers on the table, the journal was nowhere to be seen. He would have to go to a newspaper store later and ask if the new issue had come out yet. As he walked towards the table in the corner, he glanced at the only other customer in the room. He was a smart, and reading intently. He was reading something now, holding the new issue of the journal. France was slightly disappointed not to be able to read it right away, but at least it gave

Starting point is 00:31:38 him something to look forward to later. Now he knew that the journal was there. Later he would check to see if his story had been published. In the meantime he was content to get settled on the comfortable sofa in the corner and focus on his books. Once the waitress had taken his order, Franz opened his satchel. He took out a thin, hard-backed book, a leather-bound notebook, and a fountain pen, and have found him pen and arranged them neatly on the table. This little ritual reminded him of his desk at the office where he worked, which he always kept tidy. He liked a sense of order, but unlike the papers and files on his office desk, these books

Starting point is 00:32:48 had a special, personal significance. He could still remember the pleasure of buying his first notebook for writing. It was an elegant, high-quality notebook, and it was small but big. He remembered the sense of anticipation as he'd opened it for the first time. He'd run his fingers over the crisp, blank pages, and breathed in the scent of the paper, a similar smell to the Veninna biscuits. Despite his many ideas for poems and stories, it had been difficult to start. At first he had been reluctant to ride, as he felt a little self-conscious. But once he'd started, he couldn't stop. He soon filled up all the pages of the notebook and brought another one that was identical. He was now using the third notebook and he was already halfway through.

Starting point is 00:34:17 It was satisfying to flick between the pages, comparing the two parts of the notebook. The pages in the first half seemed thicker and heavier, covered in dense lines of blue ink. While the other pages were still as white as freshly fallen snow. They represented endless possibilities. He was in the middle of writing a short story. He still wasn't quite sure how it would end. Perhaps he would decide today. When he checked the last lines he'd written, he saw that he'd left his main character

Starting point is 00:35:13 fast asleep. What next, he wondered? Fans of work from his daydreams as the waitress returned carrying a silver tray. On the tray was a tall glass of black coffee, covered with a layer of whipped cream and dusted with cocoa powder. There was also a glass of water and a serving of France's favourite dessert, apple strudel. The pastry was still steaming and smelt as though it had come fresh from the oven. Franz thanked the waitress and put his notebook to one side. Although he was keen to start writing, he wanted to enjoy the coffee and pastry while they were still hot. Firstly, he used the silver spoon

Starting point is 00:36:32 to eat the layer of whipped cream. Then, he took a sip of the hot black coffee beneath. In Vienna, this kind of coffee was known as an einschbanner, a word that also meant one horse carriage. Traditionally, coach drivers in Vienna would order this coffee while waiting for customers. The whipped cream kept the coffee hot for longer. Holding the glass of coffee was the perfect way for the driver to warm up his hands on a cold day. Vienna had a long, rich tradition of coffee culture. Just like the origin of the moon-shaped biscuits, it all began in the year 1683. The city was at war with the Ottoman army, according to legend, when Turkish invaders fled the city.

Starting point is 00:37:50 They left behind some mysterious sacks, filled with brown beans. The soldiers in Vienna had no idea what they were. They thought the beans were camel-feed and were about to burn them. But then, a Polish soldier decided to experiment with the beans. He had spent some time in Turkish captivity and he knew a little bit about coffee. The Polish soldier added some milk and sugar to the beans and in doing so he introduced coffee to Vienna. Not long after, he opened the city's first coffee house. But according to another account, the first coffee house in Vienna was opened in 1685. The founder was an Armenian trader who had contacts in Turkey.

Starting point is 00:39:07 For 20 years, this trader was the only person in Vienna with a license to sell coffee. It was considered an exotic beverage. leverage. There's some disagreement about who was the first person to bring coffee to Vienna in the 17th century, but there seems to be no doubt about the Turkish connection. As fans drank his coffee in between bites of the delicious apple strudel, he daydreamed about turkey. He'd never left Austria, but transport him to a warmer climate. He closed his eyes for a moment to savor the taste of the coffee. Istanbul, a city of palaces, domes, spires and sunshine. Franz finished off the last sweet crumbs of pastry and then opened his notebook ready to write. He was feeling inspired now. He just had to find the courage to start

Starting point is 00:40:54 whether he was writing a poem, a story, or even a letter, starting was always the hardest part. Starting was always the hardest part. Once he'd written the first sentence, or even just a word, the rest flowed naturally. As he was removing the cap from his fountain pen, he became aware of a quiet sound, as well as the background murmur of conversation and the occasional clinking sound of clades and cutlery, there was something else. Friends turned towards the other customer in the room, the elderly man who is reading the journal. The man had fallen asleep and was snoring quietly. His expression was one of absolute peace.

Starting point is 00:42:07 He looked as relaxed and comfortable as if he was sleeping at home in his own bed. This was another sign that cafe mont really felt like home. It's true, thought France, the cafes of Vienna were the city's public living rooms. France saw that the old man had left the journal lying closed on his table next to his empty coffee cup. This was Franz's chance to check the journal to see if his story had been published. He got up and moved quietly and carefully towards the table. He didn't want to disturb the man who looked so deeply, blissfully asleep. France took the journal and then tipped to his own table. He could feel the anticipation slowly rising as he turned the pages. There was no sign of his story on the first few pages, or the next. But then he reached the final pages of the journal which were devoted to new upcoming writers.

Starting point is 00:43:53 And there it was. Franz's first published story. The title was The Coffee House and below were two columns of text. His hand-written story had been transformed into dense lines of black newsprint. There was the first sentence which he had written and rewritten so many times, and there at the end was his full name in print for the first time. Franz was delighted. A warm glow of pride and satisfaction spread through him, warming him from head to toe, like a steaming cup of coffee. He couldn't wait to share the news with his friends and family.

Starting point is 00:45:15 He wished he could tell someone right now. Perhaps he would show the waitress or the owner with the moon-shaped glasses. or the owner with the moon-shaped glasses. Then he became aware of the old man once again, still quietly snoring at the table. When he woke up, funds would show him his story. Maybe it would just be a moment of friendly conversation between strangers. Or maybe it would be the start of a new friendship with another regular at Cafe Mont. In the meantime, France was happy to wait. He might order another coffee or continue writing his story or even fall asleep himself. Sitting here in this cozy spot, he felt happy and fulfilled. He took a deep, contented sigh and closed his eyes to treasure a moment. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... I'm ... ... ... ... ... you you

Get Sleepy: Sleep meditation and stories - The Viennese Coffee House

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