Sam #6: Carlos

In his exquisite recount of the events of May 29, Professor Henry made a brief reference to a loaf of bread that Christian purchased shortly after breakfast. Although this bread did not directly affect the events of the day (and thus was not mentioned further), I assure you that it was a major part of our day. Let's begin.

Following a ripoff breakfast on Mariahilfer Straße next to the restaurant that did not exist with the waitress who acted more like Jon Voight's interpretation of Mr. Sir, Stanley Yelnats (aka Christian) was not satisfied with his "omelette" and wanted more to eat. We began walking back towards our hostel and lo and behold, Zero's bakery appeared not 3 shops down from Camp Greenlake. We mulled over the myriad of breads and pastries with varying degrees of shopping legitimacy, oohing and ahhing at every tart, fluff, and puff. In the aside that will forever be mainstage, Christian quipped, "Man, some time I wish I could just eat one of those entire loafs whole!" Upon hearing this, I sensed a distance between Christian's dream and the reality of his purchase of a family loaf for individual consumption. How to close this gap? Why of course a friendly little wager. Thus, I responded to his quip, "I'll buy the loaf if you eat it all by yourself in an hour."

The look on his face was exactly what I had hoped for. It was immediately obvious that Christian was analyzing the offer, weighing his hunger against the bread set before him in a most appealing display. In a great display of liberty and independence from the cat food given him earlier, he offered me my choice of loaf. This decision set up hours of laughter to come. I pointed to the biggest, fattest circular loaf of rye bread, measuring at least a foot in diameter and weighing well over a kilogram (2.2 pounds). He asked for the one next to it that was equally gargantuan but "it looked tastier," in the words of our dearest Takeru Kobayashi. Still in disbelief that Christian had taken my offer, I consented with a resounding yes, and the official terms of the deal were set. Christian purchased the loaf at 11:06am for 2€69, and I set my phone alarm for 12:06pm. He proclaimed, "I can eat this whole thing all by myself!" and the race was on.

Within the first five minutes, Christian had worked his way through the first 25% of the diameter with ease. All five of us were giggling the whole time watching Christian rip chunks of rye bread out of the loaf and devour them with an impetus not previously witnessed. He let us feel the loaf for weight and size, and we realized just how dense rye bread is. Upon holding the loaf in my arms, I upped the offer to 5 euros and Christian continued to shred loaf. A few times he taunted me, showing me his horizontal progress and trying to make me nervous while we all continued to giggle. I kept my calm in remembrance of one very important fact about spherical objects: the first third of the loaf by diameter does not hold a third of the loaf by weight. By rough guestimation (aided by being versed in integral calculus), the vast majority of the weight (>60%) of the loaf is contained in the middle third of the diameter, which Christian had only begun to touch.

Due to lapses in planning for the day, we had to walk back to the hostel to find our train ticket and then walk back to Westbahnhof. Christian reveled in this walking, as he was burning calories and making room for more rye bread. He walked with a pride and manliness that even Bear Grylls would be jealous of. When we returned to the station with tickets in hand, Christian had reached the halfway mark in the loaf, which was beyond my expectations. Now I was beginning to get nervous, as the principle of spherical weight distribution now worked in his favor instead of mine. The 4-way mental warfare between me, Christian, the loaf, and the clock was pure entertainment for the other three who took full pleasure in the spectacular display of Y chromosome at its finest. Christian and I also found great humor in the situation, but I must say the others had it best. When we got back to the train station, it was 11:40, and Christian only had 26 minutes to finish 50% of a rye loaf. Shortly thereafter, a game-changer came soaring out of Christian's mouth.

No, it wasn't an undigested piece of rye bread launched back screaming from the damnation of hydrochloric acid and gastric amylase. It was a simple phrase, free of food. "I think it's gonna defeat me." In a most boastful and triumphant display, I pulled a €5 bill out of my wallet and waved it all over the bread, much to the Romanesque delight of the others. We egged him on, and we also gave him tender comfort by reassuring him that if he did in fact bring back the rye bread, he would not be disqualified from the money. However, by the time we had arrived at the tour bus headquarters in advance of our 12:00 tour, Christian had officially surrendered defeat by loaf, leaving at least 45% of it for the rest of us to try. I admitted (in the past and still now to you) that I was very impressed by an effort that was as valiant as it was entertaining. Although Christian did not win the €5, he won so much more in man points.

The story does not end there. We passed the loaf around for the other 4 to try, and as it turns out, it was quite tasty, but at the same time very filling. We brought it on the bus tour with us, giving it its own seat on the tour bus and its own pair of headphones. By this point we lovingly referred to the loaf as "the baby", and the baby listened to the bus tour in Japanese. He kept quiet and did not move or cry for the duration of the bus tour. About 30 minutes into the tour, we got off for the mandatory 20-minute stop at Hundertwasser Village and took turns holding the baby and gently ripping off pieces of the baby to eat. We took him everywhere in Hundertwasser Village, making sure that he stayed swaddled in his white paper bag.

After the bus tour, we walked through Stephansplatz to find a nearby lunch spot which we had seen on the bus tour. We sat down at a goulash restaurant at a table of six, giving the baby the sixth seat. We enjoyed a delicious meal as the baby slept soundly in his chair. After lunch we strolled over to an amazing ice cream place near the restaurant, but in the interest of the baby's safety, we did not stay out in the sweltering sun (which for Austria is 75° F) too long and brought him back inside.

It was during the consumption of ice cream when the baby was finally given the name Carlos. Our love for him was renewed and strengthened as we recalled the fond memories of only a few hours ago, much to our entertainment, while Christian grinned a great grin of glory for inspiring this entire escapade. At that point it was not just Christian but all five of us who had been defeated by the great Carlos. Nobody could convince anybody else to take another bite, and we simply carried him around to see the sights of Vienna. When we went to Schonbrunn that afternoon, we realized that our time with Carlos was coming to an end, as no outside food or drink was allowed inside the palace. Thus, in a touching moment, we elected to give Carlos a proper burial instead of allowing the palace police to rip him from our loving grip. We took pictures with him, and we even recruited a kind stranger to take a picture of the six of us in front of Schonbrunn. After the picture, we paid our last respects, shared another hilarious round of memories, and at 4:09pm, softly deposited him into a small metal trash can near the entrance.

His life of 5 hours and 3 minutes was short but sweet. Actually, sweet isn't really the correct adjective for rye bread. His life was short and spicy. Yeah, I like spicy, because the name Carlos conjures up images of a tall, dark-eyed Puerto Rican salsa dancer swaying sensually to the soft bossa nova backbeat of mariachi band with his beloved señorita matching his every step in spicy calypso time. Carlos was a spicy baby, and to this day his spirit is reincarnated in other large tasty food items that we encounter along the way. Carlos, you are dearly missed.

RIP Carlos
May 29, 2010
11:06-16:09
"Variety is the spice of life, but so is Ricky Martin"