INSIDER TIPS
In summer, the Viennese head to
Sunken City, a cluster of beach bars
on Danube Island. donauinsel.atEvery day at sunset, the energy
company Verbund sets off
Yellow Fog, a fluorescent smoke
installation by artist Olafur
Eliasson, from a grate outside its
Am Hof square HQ. verbund.comJazz lover? Gather with students
from Vienna’s music university,
MUK, at First Floor, which has a
massive aquarium, and Jazzland
beneath Vienna’s oldest church.
firstfloorbar.at jazzland.atAustrian venues still prefer paper
tender to plastic. Bring cash to
clubs, markets and cafes so you
don’t get caught out.walking alongside me, showing me the way.
How’s that for service?
When we return, my wine is waiting and
the Slovakian bassist, also called Stefan, is
perched at our tiny table. I compliment him
on the show, and he beams. It turns out that
the pianist is his son, Alan, a graduate of
Vienna’s music university. I watch them when
they start back up and the audience resumes
its head-banging. They appear to be checking
in lovingly with each other, mid-jam. It’s
beautiful to watch, and so we do, long past
my bedtime.
Yet we’re not ready for the night to end.
Back along the canal, the skyline is taking
on a modern, faintly industrial look. Stefan
points to a beautiful, cylindrical blue tower
topped with a golden globe. It’s actually an
incinerator. Surely a gorgeous industrial-waste
facility is only possible in Vienna. Behind it,
the Gürtel highway snakes out to a cluster of
live venues. Should we hail a cab?
Not necessary. In the incinerator’s
foreground sits one of Vienna’s most fabled
dance clubs, Das Werk. “Biggest DJs in
Europe,” Stefan rhapsodises. “Most kick-ass
sound system in Vienna.” And before I know it,
we’re there, sailing past the bouncers to peer
over the mezzanine at the heads, arms and feet
jutting through the dry ice.
“We can sleep tomorrow!” I shout in his ear,
skipping down to dive into the throng.
The next night, though, is another musical
vortex; another parade of cool trainers;
another ear-ringing walk back to my hotel.
After it all, I’m about to collapse into
bed when I hear throbbing pop music from
the bistro on the hotel’s top floor. I can’t
resist tiptoeing up the marble staircase to
investigate. The revellers appear to be in
costume: platinum wigs, cowboy hats and...
trench coats? I flag down one of the guests.
“It’s a flasher party!” he shouts, leading a
parade of revellers dressed in Burberry knock-
offs — with not much underneath, I can attest
— up to the roof terrace.
There’s no way I’m not going to follow. Sleep
can wait.