Travel Drinking In Vienna

We’re going to have to get this out of the way to start with, aren’t we?

If I’m going to be talking to you about Vienna this is going to be on your

mind the whole time anyway, so you may as well check out this link for

a couple of minutes, and I’ll see you when you’re done:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQlI70PiyTg

Back again? Cool. Let’s talk about the Austrian capital...

Vienna in February, I can confirm, is cold. In fact, “cold” doesn’t really do it justice. Vienna in February is as

cold as the atmosphere at a party where Gary Glitter has just offered to babysit.

When I first arrived, my Metro stop was the excellently named Zieglergasse, on the equally excellently named

Mariahilferstraβe. And from there it was a short walk to the hotel I’d booked, which steals the award for the best

name of the lot: Falkensteiner am Schottenfeldgasse! I did try to write that without an exclamation mark but I

just can’t read it out loud without shouting a little bit. All apologies, but the German language is endlessly

entertaining to me. There’s just something quintessentially enjoyable about sounding like an irate general in a

war film. Please don’t think less of me, but I was disproportionately happy to spy on the shelves of a news

stand a fitness magazine entitled – and, again, you have to slightly shout this – Fit Und Schlank! (I’m sorry; I

could do this all day. I’ll stop now.)

In fact, one of the most entertaining aspects of watching Austrian telly soon proved to be

celebrities dubbed into German. At least, that was true until I had the harrowing experience of

watching a Daffy Duck cartoon. I should clarify: it wasn’t the concept of a duck speaking

German that I found harrowing. (Or, at least, no more harrowing than a duck speaking English.) (I wonder if, in

real life, German ducks actually go ‘kvack kvack kvack’?) The thing is, with his none-too-quiet delivery and spiky

intonation, the Austrian Daffy sounds exactly like Hitler. Which, I probably don’t need to tell you, is all-out hilarious

for the first few minutes.

Then it just gets weird.

The beer I found in the hotel’s mini-bar, by the way, was a very pleasant beverage called ‘Stiegl’ which, I

gathered from the bottle’s label, is brewed in Salzburg and is described as “Braukunst auf hőchster Stufe”.

And there’s no way I’m going to Google that phrase to find out what it means – the English translation is

never going to live up to the German. Let’s say it again: “Braukunst auf hőchster Stufe”! (Ok, I really am

going to stop it now...)

I don’t want to descend into low-brow toilet humour – especially having maintained such sophistication for so

long – but it’s very difficult to avoid doing so when you actually need to comment about a toilet. Or, to be

more precise, all the toilets in an entire nation. Austria goes in for that continental Europe lavatory bowl design

that’s basically a shelf. And the specific reason for doing so is ... I’m almost too English to be able to say

this ... so that you can inspect your own stool before flushing it away. (Just in case you’re not familiar with

this concept, it really honestly isn’t a joke.)

Seriously, guys, what are you expecting to see? It’s your own shit! Yes I know it can vary a bit from one dump to the next but do you really need to rate and rank each outing? (Oh dear god; now I’ve started to think about how you’d actually judge each one ... and now you have too, haven’t you? Okay, let’s pretend none of this happened and move on.)

But here’s a weird thought: this whole concept seems bizarre to us because it conflicts with the more

reserved British sensibilities, which is why, when we return from such travels, we comment on it. So does

it work in reverse? Do Austrians return from visiting this country ranting that ‘ze Englishers are really veird!

Zey do not inspect zeir shit aftervards!’?

So ... on to the subject of booze. The Austrians don’t really go in for a pub / bar

culture – but nevertheless large numbers of them seem to consume very little more than an endless stream

of cigarettes and alcohol. It’s just that they choose to pursue their addictions in a variety of small,

atmospheric coffee shops. And those are worth checking out. If you’re ever here, seek out Cafe Hawelka

for an all-day nocturnal feel, an arty bohemian atmosphere and the fact that this is one of the few places

in Europe where you can see someone wearing a monocle and smoking a pipe and somehow it just works.

Oh and by the way, did you catch the word “smoking” in that last paragraph? If there’s one part of Austrian culture which will make you weirdly nostalgic, it’s the copious, constant, and utterly excessive, smoking in bars and restaurants. It’s like stepping back a few years in time and then realising just how much you’ve missed leaving a drinking venue with your clothes stinking of fags.

The Cafe Museum is a slightly more art deco version of such an establishment, a little more light and airy.

It was designed at the start of the 20th Century by a guy called Adolf Loos (pause for mandatory childish

smirk...) and apparently his stark architectural style was so vehemently detested by Arch-Duke Franz

Ferdinand that he went to all efforts to avoid the place. Although, I have to say, that trip to Sarajevo was

probably a step too far. Here’s a thought: if Adolf Loos had gone in for a fancier design of

coffee bar, we might not have had the Great War...

I personally thought the place was fine and dandy, and cheerfully tried my hand at sinking a beer called Edelweiss.

(Look, did you think I was going to get through an entire article on Austria without at least implicitly referencing

The Sound Of Music?)

If, by the way, you’re thinking that a coffee shop-type culture means that a lot of people

will in fact only be drinking coffee ... well, you’d be wrong. I stopped off at the (apparently

world famous) Hotel Sacher to sample their (also apparently world famous) Sachertorte, a gateau that’s

probably best described as a Vulgar Display Of Chocolate. Not usually being a coffee drinker, I thought I’d

give it a go this time to see what all the fuss was about.

Turns out it’s served in a tall glass with an obscene dollop of cream, and is then liberally drenched with

apricot liqueur. Yes, even the caffeine-based drinks are not considered intoxicant enough for the Viennese,

so they need to be alcoholled up as well...

In Café Diglas, which was as smoky as the best of them and boasted a pretty cool live pianist, I asked the waiter in broken German what he’d recommend and decided to just go for that. He presented me with a veal schnitzel which covered the entire plate.

In fact, I think it qualifies as being the largest schnitzel I’ve ever seen.

And I’ve seen a lot of porn.

So, with its cafes, smokers, weird toilets, alcoholic coffee, and Nazi cartoon ducks, how would I

summarise Vienna? Easy; it’s Braukunst auf hőchster Stufe!

(Please don’t look it up – it’s only going to be a let-down...)