Another day in beautiful Vienna. The coffee is good and I seem to have developed an unhealthy obsession for pumpernickel and cottage cheese.
Yesterday I checked out the Naschmarket, the place is the touristy market of Vienna and teems with other out-of-towners, all doing their own imagined version of bargain hunting. I almost bought a clearly stolen mobile phone for 160 Euro and had a few close shaves with the dozens of wasps buzzing around the dried fruit. A non-functioning old school LED watch caught my eye, but when the guy told me he wanted 25 Euro for it, I could help laughing at him. He said that he had originally paid 12 Euro for and that he would except 20. I politely suggested that he was either having a lend of me or that he had been ripped off and offered him 2. No deal. I’ve come to the conclusion that flea markets are more about voyeurism than finding a good deal. You get to look through other people's stuff and maybe even own it. The Russian versions were far more exciting, as the stuff for sale were most often left over from Soviet times, and therefore had a shitty quality not found anywhere else. One thing I found in Russia that I have never seen before or since was a VHS cassette with two sides. Super bazaar stuff. I wish I had bought it and sent it back to Australia for later inspection, but judging on the amount of postcards I sent from Russia that have actually arrived in Australia, it probably would have never got there.
Afterwards I went hunting for the Couchsurfing BBQ, which had no clear start or finish time and was located somewhere near the Danube island. I spent about 2 hours trying to find the place, with the limited directions I had only leading to a nude sunbathing beach. Seriously though, if you were going to hold an event where the majority of people attending are from out of town, you’d give better directions, have a specific time and maybe even a map with pretty arrows pointing to where the fun is at. Accepting that I had failed to find the BBQ, I headed back to the Naschmarket, bought a super tasty falafel and had a nice chat with a local lass who has a really cute smile. Shit, I hope I didn’t have any parsley stuck in my teeth. I returned to the flat for a party nap before heading out with one of the Canadian dancers I met at the party the other night (which I’ll write about tomorrow). It was raining, so by the time I got to the empty MQ, I was saturated. We went to up to café Leopold, where a funk night was brewing and managed to get in before the cover charge started and scored some fairly sweet seats near the dance floor. A couple of Austrians joined our table and there was plenty of fun international chats had. The Canadian got my reference to Alanis Morissette's ironic understanding of the concept of irony and she told me her drama teacher came up the title for the TV show You Can’t Do That on Television. I was impressed. I got the feeling that she thought I was trying to pick her up, but I’ve always preferred hanging out with girls and talking with native English speakers is a rare commodity in these parts. After dancing until about 1, we ventured to a small bookshop / wine bar around the corner and on the way there, she said that I was straight laced because I didn’t take drugs. I said that she didn’t know me well enough and at the café amused myself by getting her to open up a copy of Terry World to gauge her reactions. Apparently, everyone these days has a sex tape floating around somewhere. Good god, I hope not.
The night did not go without incident though. A weird thing happened when I was talking to group of guys on the dance floor at cafe Leopold. We started doing the obligatory introductions of name and country and one guy rattled off that he was Israeli. For a second or so I didn’t know what to say as all the shit I’ve been hearing in the news flooded into my head, unfairly painting this guy with his government’s actions. I contained everything and just said “ah. Israel”, and moved onto the next person, avoiding any emotional, reactive monologue that may have spewed out without giving him a chance as an individual. What a fucked situation it is though. With one hand of America using UK airports to fly in extra weapons for the Israelis, while the other hand struggles to get food and blankets into Lebanon through less speedier routes. Why can’t people just get along in the world?
Ok, now that I have the comments thing sorted out I need to address a few things.
Jo: Music is such an emotional experience for some people because of its close ties with memory. “This song reminds me of that time”, or “this is our song”. Music affects us much in the ways smell does. Music’s ability to make us get up and move around like we’re having a fit is a powerful thing and shouldn’t be underestimated. There are primal things floating around out there on the dance floor and that stuff cuts deeper than the lawnmower I performed at ickiemickie the other night. And tell Craig he should start acting like the citizen he now is and agree with us that Crowded House is indeed an Australian band. They can keep Russell Crowe though. He’s trouble.
Mum: The song was Only Natural, but for the last couple of days every time I tried to remember what the song was, the lyrics “hey now.. hey now” kept floating into my head and clouding my memory. I didn’t get a job at FM4, but that doesn’t stop me trying to convince them I’m the next big thing in Austrian radio. FM4 is a lot like Triple J, but with a European flavour and ex-pat UK djs making up witty links between track-listed music.
Ellie: The Turkish engineering student I stayed with in Munich had access to a whole bunch of digitised TV. I had to be strong and only take the entire second season of Lost from him. I’ve looked a bit on the net about it, but aside from the zillion or so fan sites all with their own “inside knowledge” and theories, there isn’t much in the way of clues into what’s going to happen. I hope the producers know when to end it and that it doesn’t end up dragging on like The X-Files or Spooks. However, the official Lost website says that the relevance of the numbers will be revealed, so get your slide rules and abacuses out because it is sure to be a big one for trainspotting math nerds.
JCriquet: There really is no secret to getting a photopass. Most events will have a media or press link on their website and the details will be contained within. Get in about a month or so before the event and have a publication that is actually interested in maybe printing one or two photos or a review. Too hard? Make your own website and try your luck with getting one as an online freelancer. I know the Big Day Out can be a bit of a pain in the arse to get one for, but that’s because the Australian Music industry has had he same fatties running things for the last 20 years.
Now that my blogging duties are over for the day, I'm off to see the Schonbrunn palace.