As featured on Varsity: Postcards from Vienna | Varsity
As I headed down to the Post Office the other week in a blizzard of snow and two-degree weather (I told you the sunny skies only lasted as long as I was working on the ‘Week in the Life’ piece), I found myself thinking about how absurd it seemed that the aesthetic, and probably now slightly soggy, postcards in my bag would effortlessly land on my friends’ doorsteps in a matter of days, while any similar cross-European trip I might take would entail hundreds of pounds of Covid-19 tests, flights, days of quarantine, and the risk of getting stuck. As I fumbled around in the cold with my FFP2 mask and steaming-up glasses, I dare say I felt almost envious of the postcard which would make its way onto my Grandmother’s kitchen wall in the next week or so – coming far closer to her and those delicious toasted and buttered M&S hot cross buns than I will be this Easter.
"Postcards serve as a time-capsule, scrawled biro lines immortalising our feelings and well wishes to our Grandparents over the years." (Illustration Credits: Eve Oostendorp)
As much as I do love a witty Instagram caption, or even one of these annadventurelog articles, nothing comes close to the experience of writing and sending a postcard. We live in an age where I can pull out my phone and ping a snap of the view from my bedroom over to a cousin in The Philippines in a matter of seconds, and yet this is also paradoxically the reason why putting pen to paper is worth it. The process of finding postcards and stamps requires care, effort, and even human interaction - “Briefmarken für Großbritannien, bitte” and the subsequent Post Office exchange being an excellent opportunity for those German conversational skills. Sending a postcard or a letter reminds me of the physical distance between myself and the recipient, it makes the communication somehow seem more authentic, more tangible.
Writing a postcard is a delicate skill – when faced with such a limited amount of space, what will make the cut? Do I give a run-down of what I’ve done or where I’ve pottered around lately? Do I ruminate about how lovely it would be if they could come and visit and sign off with the classic ‘Wish you were here!’? Or do I just recall what cakes and stews I’ve tried to eat that week? (Probably a yes to that one.) Squeezing a flurry of emotions and thoughts onto half of a card is an impossible task, and I often feel that my postcards provide just a snapshot of my reality – and that’s a reality that will likely have changed by the time the recipient reads it. I had the particularly bizarre experience of opening Christmas cards in mid-February – both the cards and myself evidently having arrived in Vienna far later than expected – and felt very odd reading hopeful phrases looking forward to what would be non-existent cheese courses and family dinners. Postcards serve as a time-capsule, reminding us from their place on the kitchen wall of sunny summer holidays and school trips; scrawled biro lines immortalising our feelings and well wishes to our Grandparents over the years.
As much as I can attempt to justify my not-inconsiderable yearly postage expenditure, I also feel that penning letters late at night transports me back to a previous era, and depending on how far I’ve gotten away from my laptop that day, either makes me feel like an intrepid explorer relaying news of their travels back across the waves, or a Countess confined to her quarters with nothing to do but send invitations and requests to other nobles. I’ve always enjoyed a good epistolary novel and have often wondered if this has something to do with my appreciation of sending and receiving post. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (conveniently translated to Deine Juliet in German), which became even more popular through the 2018 movie starring Lily James, is one of the few books I’ve read multiple times and still find touching. Helene Hanff’s 84, Charing Cross Road is equally one of those terribly endearing books which leaves you wishing you had a sporadic correspondence with an unlikely bookseller or found your soulmate browsing the shelves at your local bookshop. I’ll admit that Choderlos de Laclos’ novel Les Liaisons dangereuses (1782) was perhaps a little too scandalous and complicated for my liking, especially as the last text at the end of an exhausting first University term, but is truly a literary and epistolary tour de force.
Thinking about this article earlier reminded me of some memorable moments which have resulted from my family and I’s insistence on sending each other postcards (no trip is too short for a postcard, no place too difficult to source one!), and too persuading our friends to do the same. Pre-pandemic I challenged a friend heading to Rome to send me a postcard from the Vatican – and promised bonus points if she sent it from the Vatican post office, double points if she sent me a selfie while doing so. She not only happily obliged but sent a wonderfully large postcard of a grinning Pope Francis which I later noticed had found its place alongside all the holy paraphernalia we have at home. The post office at Kyoto train station has also reached legendary status in our family after a certain sibling caused an almighty clatter knocking over a seemingly flimsy display in the queue for stamps, disturbing the peaceful Japanese tranquillity. I think there’s a photo somewhere of him bowing to a post-box in humble apology. And I often wonder where the post that doesn’t make it end up – is there some Italian postman with a goofy Highland cow postcard on his office wall, a dodgy newsagent in Lisbon stockpiling the postcards of unknowing Brits, a Viennese sorting office with my 21st birthday card from my Gran? I’ve often thought that the adventures of lost postcards would make an excellent premise for a children’s book – perhaps an idea for my next collaboration with Eve.
The phrase ‘Postcards from Vienna’ came to me long before the idea of creating a blog did. It floated around at the back of my mind, perhaps a reminder of what family and friends expected from my Year Abroad, or the title of a future travel novel. I suppose the concept of the blog was to have the space to provide an extended version with the anecdotes and bloopers that didn’t make the final cut, and I think I’ve had enough mishaps to fulfil that purpose. Rather ironically however, there’s still somewhere on the tiny space on the back of a postcard that these 1000 words will never quite fill. After quite the ramble, I think we’ve reached the conclusion: the postcards are here to stay.
Or rather, to be sent.