R. S. Hughes

I’m walking in the manicured grounds of Schönbrunn with Thomas Bugnyar, Professor of Cognitive Ethology at the University of Vienna. It’s late afternoon; heavy thunderclouds have dispersed and a monsoon-like downpour has just rained itself out. Moments ago, shrieking schoolchildren ran for cover and mothers desperately shielded babies and toddlers with umbrellas too small for the job. Now though, the wet lawns and paths are beginning to steam under a hot May sun, and a pale woman uses an umbrella to shield herself from its rays.

“One of the things we’re most proud of is our old trees,” says Michael Kiehn, Professor of Botany and Director of the University of Vienna’s Botanical Garden. We are standing near to the garden’s main alley, looking up at a majestic sycamore that is close to 200 years-old and perhaps 40 meters tall – its muscular trunk dappled pink-grey with age. The maelstrom of Renweg, one of the city’s main traffic arteries, plays out just meters away.

As we walk along the southern bank of the Danube Canal, I am reminded of how important this park-lined waterway is to the natural balance of life in Vienna; how integral it is to the city, while remaining a world apart.

I turn to my companion Franz Essl, an ecologist with the Austrian Environment Agency, who agrees. It’s more than just a question of ecology.

“It’s important for other reasons,” he says. “About 200,000 people live within a couple of hundred metres of it. For some, it’s their only regular contact with nature.”

My grandmother lived on the top of a big hill in Wales. She never had much money, but her simple house and garden were well kept. Towards the end, though, as her health failed, she let the housework slip a little, and the garden pleased itself. Things eased themselves into a comfortable state of disrepair; both my grandmother and the house were getting tired. “You’ll have to take me as you find me,” she’d tell visitors.