CITY OF PRETTY A Rave in Vienna
Since my arrival, I have not yet had to be in London for longer than four weeks in one stretch. This suits me just fine. Any longer and I start to feel the pacing hand of time pointing its finger right at me. Shouldn’t I be sitting in an office, doing something with myself like the rest of my peers, instead of chasing this pot of fool’s gold? Here, career is religion. I wish I could say the same for mine, but looking good in a photograph really is a silly long-term ambition. I have been contemplative about my future lately, but until I figure out my next move I guess I’ll just accept another travel opportunity.
A booking in Salzburg followed by a weeklong stay in Vienna to meet clients comes conveniently ahead of a planned ten day family holiday in Germany with the folks, followed by another week in Berlin. I can happily take my mind off my existential dilemmas for the time being.
I make my way to Vienna via a picturesque train ride through Austrian countryside from Salzburg. These trains have not been replaced since their Hollywood glory days of Before Sunrise. The golden spell of dusk livens the faded grey velvet seats with green racing stripes. Carriages are oversized and smell like stale cigarette smoke. In fact, everything here smells like stale cigarette smoke.
On Saturday morning I explore Vienna. In sweltering heat I delve into flea markets and Viennese architecture. The broad streets breathe heritage. On an advertisement board I see that I am missing John Malkovich’s one-man play by one day. I find consolation in Dali’s ‘Surrealisme? C’est moi!’ exhibition at the Wiener Kunsthalle. There are endless galleries to be visited, and ice creams to be eaten. The Austrians are funny, hospitable and easy-going folk, kind of what the Germans wish they were.
My housemate drags me along to Austria’s biggest music festival on a river in Vienna at night. Ten stages hosted by all major commercial radio stations means that with every 200 metres, music and crowds diversify entirely. The common denominator between Austrian metal heads and Jodel enthusiasts are novelty flickering devil horns and bunny ears, last seen at hen parties circa 2009, illuminating heads of the young and foolish alike. Austria is unified by ‘made in China’, aren’t we all.
On this night there are 1 million people, 200 000 of which have mecca’d to the house stage hosted by Radio Energy. The crowd is dense and humid. Dropped beer and Reebok raving feet have turned lawn into thick, sticky mud, which is being flung across the dancefloor – Austria’s own Glastonbury! Thank God for backstage passes.
The VIP stand towers above the dancefloor and is full of men with chops up to their ears and down their arms. Shoulder muscles are popping Hulk-style from underneath their wife beaters left and right. Tattooing is bigger here than anywhere else I have been. Everyone has at least half a sleeve of ink, girls included. I am surrounded by an army of fashion skinheads and their busty girlfriends singing along to the DJ playing Coldplay on a piano guitar. My cue to go to bed, I think…
Vienna has been unexpectedly cool and interesting, and I’m excited for another week as a stranger in a town where I speak the language but no one knows my story. With London a million miles away, for now my only worries are catching my next train on time, and fending off Austrian tattoo jocks.