itself that has me under its spell. A mere
week after lifting its mandate on wearing
masks, Vienna is partying like it’s 2019. Top
restaurants are booked for weeks, shows sold
out well in advance (we blagged our way into
Fluc Wanne after the performance began).
Before arriving for my long, lost weekend, I
imagined the city as a cleaner, tamer, more
refi ned Berlin. And it is remarkably clean. The
architecture here — baroque domes, mansions
designed in Jugendstil style (the local take on
art nouveau), even the glassy terminal outside
the club — positively gleams. But it’s no less
anything than Berlin.
I haven’t even been in the city an hour
before I’m engaging in the bloodsport of
snagging a seat outside Palmenhaus, a
brasserie set in a sweeping glasshouse
bookended by two Habsburg palaces. Claiming
victory, I order a beer, pivot towards the late-
afternoon sun and cast a pitying glance at the
entrance, where eagle-eyed hopefuls huddle to
watch for an opening while tipsy patrons order
yet another Aperol spritz. By the time Stefan
arrives, some of them have given up and joined
the toned bodies lounging on the vast lawns
of Burggarten, just beyond us. By evening,
the park will ramp up into its own party. “The
government tried to ban outdoor drinks,” says
Stefan. “There was a huge protest.”
Of course, there’s no shortage of licensed
establishments, if nipping from a paper-
bagged Stiegl beer isn’t your thing. Stefan
and I drain our drinks, give up our table and
cross over the Ringstrasse, the monumental
boulevard commissioned by Emperor
Franz Joseph in the mid 19 th century
atop ancient fortifi cations. Just beyond is
MuseumsQuartier, where more people have
amassed on boat-shaped orange benches in
the piazza. Most of the nine stately museums
circling the quarter have cafes with majestic
views, where couples discuss Schiele’s
paintings over glasses of Pinot Gris.
But Stefan balks at the hard-edged
contemporary decor. We embark instead
on a walkathon around the 6 th, 7 th and 8 th
districts: arty, independent neighbourhoods
outside the Ringstrasse. Out here the roads are
narrower and quainter, if no less pretty. Quiet
Gumpendorferstrasse, heart of the 6th, is
lined with protruding terraces furnished with
midcentury cast-off s.
Beyond here is Naschtmarkt, where striped
awnings herald fi sh, cheese and menus
from the city’s Turkish, Israeli and Chinese
communities, though tonight the hordes seem
to prefer wine. Vienna’s outskirts, I learn, are
rife with vineyards specialising in Grüner
Veltliner and Gemischter Satz. According to
the posted menus, it’s rarely priced at more
than a few euros a glass. Naturally, we partake.
By midnight we’ve covered enough ground
and, interestingly, I’m starting to recognise
people. In typical Viennese fashion, we wind
up outside Wiener Würstelstand, Stefan’s
favourite sausage kiosk, set under a blossoming
cherry tree on the threshold of the 8th.
Ordering a pair of organic, hay-fed bratwursts,
we spot a couple from the previous bar sticking
toothpicks into a dish of Käsekrainer (cheese-
stuff ed sausage). Turns out they’ve come from
London on their honeymoon and, frankly, I
couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate.
Licking mustard off his fi ngers at our picnic
table, Stefan looks over at them, lit from above
by the 1970 s-era neon sign.
“It looks like a Dennis Hopper,” he says.
We agree he means Edward Hopper’s
Nighthawks. And he’s got a point. Just like
the American diner, the würstelstand is a
ubiquitous beacon luring the butterfl ies of this
modern city. It satisfi es a craving for nostalgia
and ritual, along with some tremendous diced-
onion sauce.
We may have gone about this the wrong way,
though, because the night isn’t over. Stefan
is urging me on to one last stop: his beloved
DonauTechno, behind an unmarked door near
MuseumsQuartier. But as we navigate the
magnifi cent, pillared room, shouting over the
beats, our onion-breath comes back to hauntWHY IS VIENNA’S
NIGHTLIFE UNIQUE?
Clubs aren’t just for clubbing
here. Places like RRR host
vinyl sales early in the
evening. People will pop to
the food trucks outside in
Brunnenmarkt, then come
back for a DJ set.WHAT’S CHANGED
SINCE YOU ARRIVED
FROM RUSSIA OVER
A DECADE AGO?
The scene has got bigger,
with more events, DJs,
crowds and diversity. The
sound systems are better
at places like Grelle Forelle,
and sound is all that matters
at a club. There are more
cocktail bars, too, including
one of my favourites, Franz
von Hahn, which opened
in an old brothel in the 2nd
district a few years ago.
franzvonhahn.comWHERE DO YOU LOVE
TO EAT OUT?
My favourite, Kojiro Sushi,
is only open until 6. 15 pm.
But Zweitbester, near my
DJ school in the 5th district,
is a great place for burgers
and fries. zweitbester.atQ&A with Masha
Dabelka, founder of
Turntablista, a DJ
school for womenPrevious pages: Clubbers at
Kramladen, a live music venue in
the west of ViennaClockwise from top left: Cheeseburger
with sides at Spelunke, a bar-restaurant
by the Danube Canal; musicians Alan
Bartus (right) and his father, Stefan
‘Pista’ Bartus, at Zwe jazz club; evening
drinks in Naschmarkt