The Astronomer

The most memorable cup of tea I’ve had was in an observatory on the outskirts of Vienna.

I caught three buses into the suburbs with a guy named Collin who I met in a hostel. He was part of the American military stationed in Finland and was in Vienna for a two-week break. It was our first time in the city, and we spent our days eating breakfast at Café Central and roaming palace gardens.

Collin had read about Kuffner Observatory on a blog and heard that on Tuesdays you could get a guided tour and see Mars through a 100-year-old telescope.

We walked a kilometer in the cold, finding the door open. The rooms were wood panelled containing an assortment of telescopes and posters. Our footfall echoed in the silence.

I watched as two men entered the room. The taller of the pair patted the other on the shoulder with a smile on his face. We stood frozen as they parted ways with an affectionate ‘Gute Nacht’.

The man turned to face us. He was about sixty, wearing a black fleece quarter zip and knee-high gumboots. There was something captivating about him. He had a Gatsby-esque smile which made you feel like the only person in the universe. A smile of eternal reassurance.

“Mitkommst” he said, “Come along.”

We followed him upstairs to a small office. The room was lit by a lone Tiffany lamp which illuminated rows of overstuffed bookshelves. Each wall was covered with posters and charts, the desk laden with papers.

“Why are you here?” asked the man.

I looked at Collin nervously.

“We saw that there were tours running,” I said.

The man furrowed his brow, “Where did you see this?”

“A blog.”

“A blog? On the internet? They must be so bored if they are writing about us.”

He told us that the tours had ended at six and that we’d caught him in the middle of locking the building. He explained that the cloud cover would make viewing Mars impossible and apologised for the trouble we had gone to. It was to my surprise that he spoke again.

“It is so cold out” he said, “you must have some tea.”

As the kettle boiled I scanned the pile of mugs on the shelf.  Within the array was another life, one of conferences and gatherings, organisations and societies. The Astronomische Gesellschaft, The University of Vienna’s Astronomical Institute, and the Cambridge University Boat Club.

He pulled a box of chai from the cupboard.

“This is my friend Stephen's favourite” he said, “Stephen is sick right now but do not worry, the tea is completely fine.”

The smell transported me back to high school. Coffee beans and the smell of fresh bread on the morning cafe shifts. I cradled the mug in my hands watching the snow fall outside. It was my first time experiencing a European winter and snow felt almost enchanting. It was strange to stare into a chipped mug in a stranger’s office and feel so at home.

He told us about Stephen and his work at the university. He and Stephen had worked at the observatory since the 1980’s and spent the better part of those years preventing the building from being shut down. He explained that in the time they had worked together, they had discovered over 1000 stars.

“Why did you become an astronomer?” I asked.

He was quiet for a moment; his gaze fixed on the window and the murky world beyond it.

“My father wanted me to be a psychologist,” he said, “so I went to university and studied the brain.”

He spoke with an undertone of pain. Something melancholic, sitting just out of reach.

“But then one night I looked at the sky with all its darkness and stars and realized that my true purpose was to explore the vastness of the universe.”

I stared at the books lining the walls. I wondered how his father had reacted, whether they argued and fought, sitting in a stony silence for days on end. Some people did things to piss off their parents. Pursued careers and hobbies for the thrill of disapproval.

The astronomer consulted his watch and sighed.

“It is time to pack up,” he said, a note of sadness in his voice.

We followed him out of the office, placing our mugs back on the table. He escorted us down the staircase and waved.

“Be good,” he said.

As I walked through the night I was speechless. Staring up at the sky I felt absorbed by its vastness. Networks of stars whose meaning was suddenly clear.

I am never asked, but should I be, I will say that my most memorable cup of tea was had in an astronomer’s office on the outskirts of Vienna.

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Bonnie Sykes is a young Australian writer and musician. Bonnie writes original music available for streaming under the name 'Bonnie Rose'. As an author Bonnie uses her rural upbringing to reflect and grapple with themes of nostalgia and contemplation.