The Harry Potter series were my main obsession growing up. Naturally, when no acceptance letter from Hogwarts arrived on my eleventh birthday, I developed a new dream: to study English Literature at Oxford. Doing so, I could spend years disappearing from this tragically normal world into a multitude of universes, all whilst hanging out in buildings that were used during the film adaptation of Harry Potter. Fast forward a few years, and this dream was crushed; first by Brexit, and then by applying to and arriving at CEU.
Studying in Vienna might sound like living the architectural wet dream, especially with the UK no longer being as feasible of an option. Grand palaces, horsedrawn carriages, stunning cathedrals - you arrive in Innere Stadt and wonder if you accidentally took the train to a neoclassicist-baroque heaven. However, not speaking German quickly shuts you out of most of the beautiful places. Uni Wien closes its magnificent doors in front of your awe-strucked face and sends you off on a tram that seems to go on forever. Where exactly? To Favoriten.
In Vienna’s most “multi-cultural” district, you arrive to Central European University; a university which seems to be busting at the seams with knowledge, with fabulous professors who could fit right in at Hogwarts (looking at you, Prof. T.C), but with a building that cannot reflect this. As I stepped into the building which I was going to spend the next three years in, my inner child definitely shed a tear or two.
Quellenstrasse was a rational choice for CEU considering the university’s hasty move from Budapest to Vienna, as it had a structure which could easily be transformed to classrooms (and millions of offices for God-knows-who). It was a temporary choice – or so everyone thought. In the summer of 2024, when I was visiting Vienna and spontaneously decided to check out CEU, I was told by a student relations officer that “you’ll have a new, beautiful campus before you graduate!”. A few months later, in November 2024, students received different news. The rental agreement for Quellenstrasse 51-55 had been extended. The murmur in the corridors: for another ten years.
As it turns out, the office-building-turned-university did not scare me off from applying and coming to CEU. The past year, my brain has thoroughly enjoyed classes, socializing with peers, and all that the university has to offer. However, my body has had a different reaction. Strange symptoms, such as sneezing a single time in every seminar (twice in lectures), dry skin and eyes, and migraines (made worse by bright overhead lights and early morning PowerPoints). It has undoubtedly impacted my day-to-day life. What’s even more interesting: they do not appear when I am off-campus. I wake up feeling fresh as a daisy on the weekends. What has come over me? Is it a bug? A stress-induced, ever-ongoing cold?
Then, the verdict came. The diagnosis was not from a doctor, but rather from a friend who studies architecture (at a very beautiful campus) here in Vienna. She heard me complaining, and after seeing pictures of the Quellenstrasse campus, promptly diagnosed me with something called the Sick-Building Syndrome.
The Sick-Building Syndrome is defined as “when building occupants experience non-specific health issues like headaches, fatigue, eye/throat irritation, and difficulty concentrating, with symptoms improving after leaving the building, but without a specific identifiable disease or cause”. It checks out, as I could not find any other explanation. There is not necessarily anything wrong with the CEU campus; it is not extremely dusty, and I have not seen or heard of any mold. The air conditioning certainly is questionable (does it exist? Why only in some rooms, and not others, except for the occasional Tuesday?), but there is a common understanding amongst students and professors alike that we need to open the windows and air out, for the sake of our own good. The lack of daylight should have more mental effects (which it does) than physical. There was nothing I could pinpoint as the issue with Quellenstrasse, except for its ‘modern appearance’.
I am not alone in this. Many peers complain about feeling sick or odd when in the building. Initially, I disregarded this as the stress and pressure that comes from being a university student. But as I can now conclude after my first year; it isn’t always that stressful. There is plenty of time to hang around in the Media Hub, go to parties, and nap (the couches in the library are my to-go spot for public napping). Of course, the symptoms of stress are vividly noticeable around exam seasons, but these take a different form, such as frantic excursions to Billa for their cheap coffee, running back and forth on the first floor to ask your friends what they know about the 115th concept you need to memorize, and illegal late-night snacking in the library.
So, if it isn’t the stress making us sick, what is it then? The verdict: Quellenstrasse campus gives students Sick Building Syndrome. There is no escaping the fact that the campus does not live up to its users expectations, and that it might have a negative mental AND physical impact on them.
So, what is next? Will CEU ever move from Quellenstrasse to a building which students proudly would make their LinkedIn header? Or will the contract be prolonged for yet another decade, forcing the next generation of CEU students to find other libraries to study than their own, and dress their profiles up with a stock photo of the old Budapest Campus?
Moving forward, I urge the Board to take into consideration the need for a building which reflects the number and prestige of our faculty and students, as well as the reported Sick-Building Syndrome symptoms. As you continue your quest of ‘finding a permanent home for CEU in Vienna that meets our needs’, please take my dreams and wishes into consideration. While the campus doesn’t have to look exactly like Hogwarts, we do not want a Quellenstrasse replica. We want something we can be proud of, a place whose walls we look forward to learning within.
In the meantime – please fix the ventilation. For a building made of glass, there are too few windows that can be opened.
