Vienna - 10.12.05
(Click the thumbnails for the big picture.)
Beginning of December and that always means a trip over to Vienna with the lads. I drove over with Martin Smith on the Friday. Smithy has come back to work in Munich after a long, long absence. We headed off in the afternoon and after contending with rain, snow and fog we finally made it across. A smidgeon uner five hours which is not fast by any stretch of the imagination but respectable nonetheless.
As always, business was called to order at the bar in Shooters under the Atlanta Hotel where we usually stay. In attendance on this particular jaunt were myself, Martin Smith (in from Munich), Colin Nelson (in from Stockholm), the Irreverand Kevin Purcell (in from the UK), Feargal Kearns (in from Dublin) and Mr. Martyn Latty (in from Karls Krona)
You might be wondering why Kev is dressed like Robbie Coltrane or perhaps the Vicar of Dibley. On the other hand you might not, which would probably make you the strange one for not being in the least bit surprised at the presence of a priest amongst a group of lads on the pish in Vienna. Although I suppose priests need a breakaway too...as proves to be the case later on. Anyway, the simple reason was that there was prior mention of going to to Vienna to worship the beer. Kev being a stalwart of these journeys was referred to as the archbishop or somesuch who would be conducting the service. Then he showed up on the Friday weearing the collar. You see, all very simple.
Proper Czech Budweiser Budvar, quality brew.
Over to Ronnie's to get things kicking!
Ronnie trying pious. Doesn't really pull it off in fairness.
Martyn Latty, karate priest.
Smithy, like a cigar from time to time...
...not so keen to enter the clergy though.
It's almost a look of pure resignation or somesuch.
From left to right, no, from top to bottom, er, forget it. Here's Ronnie, Fergal, Smithy, Purcell and Latty.
As if often the case in situations like these, a conversation is struck up with some complete strangers. Given Kev's choice of attire for the evening it was, to say the very least, strange that one of the chaps we spoke to was an actual priest. Works in the parish of South Lucan. Father, for any offence caused and for the myriad of questions thrown at you whilst in Zum Kuchl Dragoner, we humbly apologise.
The devastation caused to St. Stephen's Cathedral during bombing in World War II. These photos are on the side of a building in Stephansplatz.
Graben at lunchtime on a Saturday. Shopping nightmare!
Vroom, vroom.....brrrrrrrrrrrrrr....
Organ grinder and standing-still woman. Why do these people piss me off so much? Standing-still people that is, not organ grinders. Actually, you don't get a lot of organ grinders anymore. Probably something to do with the introduction of Walkmans or whatever them new fangled gizmos are called. Empty-tree players or somesuch. Can't be having with all that twiddle-twaddle myself.
A whole feckin' nativity of standing-still people.
If you ever wondered what happens to all the shit produced by the fiaker horses. No? You never did? Hmmm, ok, must have been only me then.
Why Vienna has so many fender-benders.
The American Bar as designed by Alfred Loos, Rebecca's grandfather.
Goethe and Mozart. Of course you know all about them. Grand so, we don't really have the space to go into it here. Suffice to say, Writer who farted a lot and fart who composed a lot. Nuff said.
Christmas markets at the Ratthaus. Didn't stay there very long as it was absolutely mobbed with people. Tried to get near our favourite little turbo-punch stand but no chance. Twas five deep at the quietest of them. So myself and Smithy nipped around the corner to Molly d'Arcy's pub and low and behold who do we find propping up the mahogoney only Kev and Fergal.
Well, Smithy bought a drink and then I bought a drink and then Smithy bought a drink and then we sat down and had a drink.
