Last November, I’d purchased tickets to see the Foo Fighters. I had received pre-warning of the release of European dates, and had tabs open for three European cities to which we could fly direct.
First choice was Vienna, through a combination of date and being a new destination for three of the four travellers. Boom! Tickets, secured. VIP ones at that. Good seats and access to a lounge full of food and drink before and after the main act. Then came all the boring logistics of travel. Doggie hotel, flights, hotel, airport parking, airport transfer etc.
We landed in Austria and braced ourselves for European Entry and Exit System (EES). Despite being card-carrying European residents, our UK passports meant that we needed to be registered onto this new system which demands a photo and fingerprints. In minutes, we were through. Austrians are, I believe, of Celtic origin, but they certainly fit the Teutonic efficiency stereotype.
Our transport to the hotel was delayed, but turned out to be a charming Croat fellow, with whom we discussed a bit of football. A few days before flying, I had switched hotels - from the corporate concrete and glass box near the Stadium to an independent place just off Stefansplatz, smack bang in the centre of town.
Check-in complete, Debs and Allan, Mrs L and I took a cool drink at the burger restaurant adjacent to our hotel, before setting off for a meander around town punctuated by frequent “hydration breaks”. There’s nothing wrong with Austrian beer, or the ladies choice of refreshment which we later discovered has more than one name - “Vodka Wellness” (both v & w pronounced as a v) or more colourfully, a “Skinny Bitch”. For any mixologists, it’s a vodka with soda water and some lime juice. The Austrian names make the English “a vodka, lime and soda, please” sound a bit dull.
For the sake of brevity, the reader may assume that the default “awake” setting was this - cultural outreach fuelled by alcohol and bonhomie.
The following day, we took the U-bahn to the Ernst Happel Stadion, arriving about an hour after gate-opening time of four pm. Then, our first hiccup. Our VIP package did not include spirits, and in fact none were available for sale anywhere inside the stadium. As one of our number is only able to drink vodka, this was a blow. However, a manager on the hospitality side stepped in, ensuring the right eyes would be blind to a bottle of vodka being supplied by us, to the barman, for serving to one specific customer. Bravo, manager who shall not-be-named!
As we sourced vodka from an adjacent supermarket, ate and lubricated, the openers “Fat Dog” were entertaining the early arrivers down at the stage. I was on merch duty. Then, I wandered out to where our seats were, or at least to the bar adjacent to where our seats were, and took in second support band “Idles”. They’re tight, loud and furious. I like them.
Allan and I had decided to wear Scotland tops for the gig, which turned out to be a stroke of genius. The worldwide impact of the Tartan Army’s hi-jinx in the USA is that a Scotland shirt shouts “instant party - just add alcohol”. Everyone wanted to be our friend. Naturally, we obliged.
The Foo Fighters were due on at nine, and the lounge was closed in time for everyone to get to their seats. Our exclusive bar remained open.
What can I write about Foo Fighters? I’m a fan. I’d paid a fortune to get into the seat I occupied. I’d persuaded friends to do the same. During the opening track “All My Life”, I tried my loop earplugs, decided they were excellent and took them out. I wanted my ears to ring, and my chest to vibrate.
For me, the next three hours were joy. I sang at the top of my lungs, cheered and shouted as commanded, even danced. I kept the vocal cords healthy with frequent beer lubrication. I rejoiced in the old songs and loved the new songs. I was surrounded by fans in similar mood, ...AND our partners.
You could spot those who were there for someone else. They couldn’t help be moved by the energy that Dave Grohl and the band generate, but weren’t necessarily signing up to buy the next album. Their joy came from bathing in the reflected rapture from their loved ones. This realisation, helped perhaps by the beer, made me even more grateful to be there. Mrs L, Allan and Debbie had bought into the trip at least in part, for me. There may have been some hugging.
Post gig, we took the U-bahn back into town, along with the rest of the stadium, the trains fizzing with an energy that comes only from shared experience.
We still had a couple of days to spend in Vienna - and maybe I’ll write about them another time. The TL;DR?
Stunning architecture, eye-watering prices, friendly, (if quiet) service. Unsurprisingly, we found it easy enough to win over the hospitality staff, and were looked after superbly at the gig and in the three places that we adopted as HQ and Forward Operating Bases - but the city felt haughty, even distant when compared with places like Prague, Budapest, Berlin.
People like you support my writing. Sign up for my free newsletter. Become a paid member, and get access to all my writing, including anything I publish, and a Member's Slack.
