Unrecovered from jet lag, I awoke early to dark wet Harry Lime streets outside, and a chilly breeze off the Hungarian steppe. The Balkans begin on the Landstrasse, said Count von Metternich, referring to an eastbound street in Vienna. It feels like they're here.
Then a breakfast of meats and cheeses washed down with Viennese espresso. And the first segment of the conference at the Faculty of Philosphical and Cultural Studies, formerly part of the Lying-In Hospital in Habsburg days, and the lecture hall we were in the ex-maternity ward. Just the kind of unimportant non-symbolism pounced on by the lit-crit types who populate these conferences. The Flanners, as they've been dubbed, are a curious bunch, but no more so than any other academic crowd. Mostly like central casting for British TV sitcoms: long stringy hair, floppy hats, tweeds. Dr. Margarete Rebik, head of English studies, gave the introductory talk.
