Sports and Travel

In a sense, Los Angeles can be said to be a surprisingly quiet city. This is because it is so suburban – a patchwork of quiet neighborhoods with a shopping mall or a collection of restaurants and shops splashed every now and there.

The City of Angles sleeps a lot. It goes to sleep early and gets up late. Bars and restaurants will empty around nine or ten and so will the streets. The hum of an 18-million-person city will turn into mysterious peace just occasionally disturbed by a stranded helicopter. Nights are quiet and long – the hum will reappear long after the birds are awake, around eight.

But the reality is, Los Angeles is louder than life.

It was 15:40 at the Heiligenstadt Station on a Thursday afternoon in early summer. On the platform of Track 4, a scattering of well-dressed people mingled in threes and fours; one checked a watch; a cell phone rang. A young Austrian man in a well cut black suit came striding up the steps to be hailed by three others, in a hubbub of laughter, two-cheek greetings and hearty slaps on the back. Then three Japanese, two men and a woman, also in dark suits, stepped off the escalator, looking around inquiringly and consulting with each other in low tones.

Of all the things that start a fire in my heart, running for a cause lies somewhere at the bottom of the list, just before ketchup and people who tell you things just so they know that you know they know…Why, then, did I do it? Why did I sign up for the Vienna City Marathon and, more importantly, did I ever really believe I would go through with it?

Minutes away from landing, my girlfriend and I glanced out of the oval window of the airplane and caught sight of the beach promenade at Nice, glowing yellow in the lamp light. Say what you will, this is Romance.

It is 6 a.m. at the Vienna International Airport, and I can barely keep my eyes open. You would imagine that everything and everyone would still be fast asleep. The Air Berlin gate, however, is crowded with people caffeine-ed up and ready for action, talking so loudly, that I can't help but notice the Berlin dialect I enjoy so much – edgy and energetic.

At its best, people say, Austrian hospitality is luxurious yet also familiar and with a friendliness that seems instinctive rather than trained.

The drive from Vienna to Prague is simple enough: north to Brno and then west, three-and-a-half hours straight into the Czech capital.

It’s far too early on Sunday morning – the morning of my first cyclocross race – the RC Schnecke Wintercup Finale in Vienna. The rain, blown by a howling wind, is rattling against the bedroom windows as I wake up. I look out the window; it’s dark and gloomy and clumps of hardened snow are still lying on the pavement.

During the 40 minute bus ride to the center of Stockholm I can’t stop humming “Dancing Queen, young and sweet only 17”, even the over-priced fare of 8 Euros can’t spoil my mood.