Vienna’s Absurd Drinking TraditionsPosted: July 24, 2016
Length of Read: 5 minutes
A 16 minute journey from Vienna International Airport on the City Airport Train (CAT) takes you directly to Wein Mitte Station, and the Landstraße U-Bahn. Here, one can hop on either the U3 line, which runs across the Austrian capital’s 1st District from the North-West to the South-East, or the U4, which comes down from the North before curving to the South-West and in the direction of Schönbrunn Palace. The Viennese public transport system of subways, trams, and trains, primarily operates on an honesty system. This means that it’s not only one of the most convenient and easy-to-navigate commuter service in Europe, but also one of the cheapest (i.e. it is free).
Fours stops along the orange coloured U3 line, I exited at Erdberg Station to find Lara waiting for me in a lonesome little café outside the Vienna International Bus Terminal (VIB). One of the stars of my book, we’d shared previous adventures in both Riga and London, however this was the first time we’d be exploring a brand new destination together. There’s nothing like that feeling of warmth that rises up through you when meeting an old friend. It really does tickle the heart. Upon seeing one another, you invariably end up bursting into coat-hanger wide smiles, before trying to squeeze a year’s worth of happiness into one almighty bear hug. We only had one hour to get the keys for our apartment however, before a scheduled 9:30pm drinks session with a couple of very special local guides, so I grabbed her suitcase and we immediately hopped back onto the U-Bahn.
Serbian happens to be one of a mere eight languages that Lara speaks, my monolingual upbringing a pure embarrassment in comparison, and this was very handy considering our landlord for the long-weekend went by the name of Stonka. As the women ran through the rules and regulations attached to our visit, I tried my best to entertain the apartment owner’s young child, who was obediently heeling beside her mother’s leg like a puppy. Upon merely smiling at the little girl however, she burst into tears, like some monster had jumped out from being the front door and tried to eat her.
Stonka finished the tour of our abode and left us to unpack our stuff, the kid still looking shocked from the ordeal. After a quick change, we followed her right back out the door towards the Kettenbrückengasse U-Bahn Station. Here, four years after living together in Maastricht, The Netherlands, I was reunited with my Erasmus buddies Steffi and Lukas.
“You’ve not changed a bit Crobs,” beamed Steffi, as she rounded the corner. “Well… perhaps you’re a little bit skinner than before. Have you stopped going to the gym?”
“With no Julia around anymore, the motivation has kind of dwindled,” I laughed. Whilst in Maastricht, I’d developed such a severe crush on the German abs instructor that it led to me attending five classes per week just so I had an excuse to chat to her. Nothing ever came from these flirtatious gym sessions however, and after four months of chasing all I had to show for my vein efforts was a well-defined six-pack.
Lukas arrived, and we took a trip down memory lane whilst clinking glasses atop the skyline bar of the 25hr Hotel; a lit-up panorama of the cultured cityscape the backdrop to our nostalgic musings. He explained that we were currently in the city’s 7th District, of which there are 23 in total. The 1st District is the nucleus, and is where everything touristic is situated: from the Hofburg Imperial Palace and its spacious gardens; to the Opera; to the University, the City Hall, the Parliament Building, and the Sacher Hotel. A ring-road signifies the boundaries to this Old Town, with Districts 2-9 lining its circumference. Steffi joked that the gay scene was situated in the 5th District, which just so happened to be the same area in which Lara and myself were staying.
Wanting to make the most of my friends’ local knowledge, Lara and I asked Lukas and Steffi to take us to a ‘traditional’ Viennese bar. Twenty minutes later, we therefore found ourselves hunched around an antique table in a smoky haze; 70’s classics blaring out from the jukebox tucked in the corner. The décor of Café Bendl could be kindly described as ‘vintage’, and appeared to have not been updated since its doors first opened in 1884. As Lukas came back from the bar carrying a tray of shots, I felt like I’d not only gone back in time to my University days, but back to a place that time forgot. The type of place you would pop in to have ‘one more drink for the road’; the type of place you could get into a heated but amicable philosophical discussion; the type of place where you are admired for being unashamedly yourself, and ridiculed for trying to ‘fit in’. It was all we could ask for, and more.
“What on Earth have you got us?” I asked Lukas as he placed a glass in front of each of us, followed by a tray of sugar cubes and coffee beans.
“Ah, cocaine,” exclaimed Steffi. “Well, it’s not actually cocaine,” she continued, seeing the expressions of disbelief on our faces, “but that’s what these drinks roughly translate into English as, from the German word: koks. First, you take a sugar cube and dip it into the shot of red rum. Then you chew and swallow the sugar cube, followed by a handful of coffee beans. When you’re almost done, knock back the shot, and finish the remainder of what’s left in your mouth.”
“Sounds delightful,” I said, raising my glass for a toast. “Prost.”
“Prost,” chimed everyone at once, and we took the shots with grimaced faces.
Gulping at my pint like a goldfish in an attempt to chase away the taste, a beer mat then hit me square on the forehead. Looking to my right, I saw two guys and a girl giggling away in a corner booth. As I was distracted by this, another beer mat then hit me on the back of the head. I glanced in the opposite direction and a group of lads at the other side of the room were trying to hide their smirks at the bottom of their drinks. Had I become the subject of some local joke?
“We probably should have explained,” said Lukas, seeing the puzzled look on my face. “It’s tradition in Vienna to throw beer mats at other tables when in a bar or pub. A way of striking up a conversation if you will.”
I was about to call ‘bullshit’ on this when, in comedic timing, the octogenarian barmaid started to join in. I don’t know if I was more shocked by this act, or the fact that she’d abandoned her position behind the beer taps to sip tequila with some of her patrons. Apparently she’d been manning the bar for decades, and was quite a straight laced individual, but in this instance that façade was completely broken.
“Well, I wouldn’t be trying it in any other dive bar apart from here,” chipped in the German guy to my right, “unless you wish to be on the receiving end of a punch.” Ironically, he was in the midst of an Erasmus exchange program to Vienna with the Dutch girl and German guy who accompanied him. “It’s more a tradition set solely in this bar.”
Finding this the funniest thing in the world, Lara and I immediately joined in. Enrolling the help of the Erasmus lot, we entered into a full-blown battle with the lads at the other side of the room. Ducking and diving between sips of our drinks, like it were a game of dodgeball being played with ninja throwing stars, time ticked into the early hours of the morning. And for all my hours spent in the watering holes of the world, a better way of striking up conversations with strangers I’ve yet to come across.
Entering into the spirit of our surroundings, I soon found myself in a deep deliberation with Flora, the Dutch girl, over the meaning of travel and human beings’ over-arching desire to explore the unknown. Like most other bar conversations of such nature and magnitude though, our concise and coherent points were soon crushed like the sugar cubes before us into a slur of sounds. The topic naturally progressed to more intimate affairs, and upon finding out details of Flora’s liberal nature I couldn’t help but blush.
As the shadows of drunkards slid past the window, heading home from the haunts they had been occupying that Friday night, the drinks kept flowing in Café Bendl until sunlight started to crack through the black sky. Operating under a ‘last orders is when the last person wishes to leave’ rule, it wasn’t until we’d then tried some of the kitchen’s fluffy Kaiserschmarr’n pancakes, and realised that we may have had one-too-many koks, did Lara and I bid a fond farewell to Lukas and Steffi.
Agreeing to meet them for a hungover brunch, we strolled back towards the apartment, passing a shop called Men for Men as we turned onto our street. Steffi clearly hadn’t been joking about it being situated in the gay district after all.
“I can’t believe you spent half the night trying to chat up a lesbian,” scoffed Lara. “Quite fitting, I suppose.”