i love the wien

Wien is what people in Vienna call Vienna. Makes sense. As my dad informed me after receiving an enthusiastic email about the wonders of Vienna, the delicious phallic baseball snack "wiener" was invented there. Well, I really do love Wien. Carolina and I headed out there early on Thursday morning aboard a train. Now, as much as I will try to make this entire post sound like we aren't stoners, I feel it's rather futile. That said, we aren't stoners. But we've been seeing all these posters around for Eastern Europe's first "hemp festival"and it's sponsored by the growshop around the block from us, and we thought, ya know, might as well check it out, seeing as its only a 3 hour train ride away. So we booked a hostel and headed out, forgoing a University planned trip to wine country in favor of Cultiva. We arrived at Westbanhof station around noon, bought some picnic food and coffee to delay until check in time at two, and then made our beds alongside our Australian roommates. The hostel we stayed at, Wombat's, was definitely nicer than some actual hotels I've stayed at. We bought some cheap(ish--nothing's cheap when you're dealing with euros) whiskey called Ranch Wood which was allegedly brewed in the heart of Kentucky. Then we hit up the bar at the hostel, which one would expect to be full of world travelers and, I dunno, interesting people? Instead we were treated to a gaggle of teenage mutant ninja drunkards playing pool and hitting on each other. Well, I guess you can't win them all. So, we just got really drunk, and took a video of a 17 year old with a long braid dancing, alone, to Sean Paul's "Get It On". Then we passed out.

On Friday, we stopped by the Belvedere museum. It's split into two levels--the upper level is filled with really boring medieval paintings of Jesus being crucified, etc, but the lower level was basically devoted to the "Secession" art movement in the early 1900s under the reign of Franz Josef, most famous of which is Gustav Klimt'sThe Kiss, which, along with all his other works, were incredibly beautiful. I'm really glad I got to see his paintings, I was impressed and inspired.

Then we tackled Vienna's impeccable public transportation system, which took us out of town to the "Pyramid" Expo center, where Cultiva was going down. We didn't know how easy it would actually be to get weed here, especially since kids at the hostel had told us Austria's laws weren't too lenient, so we bought some disgusting rum in beer-sized bottles to bring with us. Because we had no idea what to expect, and what could be worse than wandering totally sober amidst a bunch of stoners in an expo center?

But we were in for a... treat? Rather than a bunch of stoners, it was a bunch of businessmen stoners! It was more about growers, seed companies, vaporizers, grow boxes, and hemp products than anything else. We found the booth, or really more like balcony-patio, of Bushdoctor, the growshop around the block from us in Budapest. They also have two stores in Vienna and Berlin. We found our friend Andras, who is a really funny, tall, bespectacled dude. He has a pretty good English vocabulary, but he isn't very good at structuring sentences, and when he talks (which he does A LOT of) it sounds like he's using a thesaurus. So in order to understand what he's talking about, you have to pay close attention and keep re-orienting yourself to what he actually is trying to convey. It can be hard not to start laughing while he talks. He was really excited to see that we came, and suggested we go down to the bar. On the way there, we wandered around all the booths, and were treated to Andras's extensive knowledge of marijuana and the process of growing it. Also, all the Bushdoctor guys, who were outfitted in a weird safari type costume they were all quite proud of, were like celebrities there. Everyone kept coming up to them and shaking their hands and asking them questions. It was hilarious. Because as we found out later, Andras is like, fucking crazy.

Somewhere along the way, we lost him to a friend who made hemp clothing, and we sat down on some couches at a booth to rest our feet. Immediately, the woman and man who are working there--both dressed up and clean cut--offered us a beer. They were Irish, and their 64 year old father invented one of the first handheld vaporizers, which is just a weed (hahaha I meant to type week) out on the market. It's a crazy little invention, full of catalytic conversions and looking basically like a walkie-talkie. They were complaining that they didn't have anything, like lavender, etc., to demonstrate it with, so another Irish friend suggested he take us outside and use marijuana. We gladly accepted. Wow, that thing is crazy!!! If I spent my money on drug paraphernalia, I would totally buy one. If only to support the cute Irish siblings and their father.

We returned to the expo with a new sense of wonder, saw some cool shit, got a LOT of free shit (two grinders, six lighters, grow solution, a t-shirt, a beanie, endless rolling papers, a bottle of honey hemp liquor, keychains, stickers, and munchies), and ended up meeting two people (who I SWEAR I didn't even know existed before our Irish friends pointed them out like giggling groupies) who are quite important in the world of marijuana growth and distribution. One is Jorge Cervantes, who literally and figuratively wrote the book on growing marijuana, and who apparently was "the inspiration" for our Irish friends to start growing. He was very sweet and old and we smoked a spliff with him. We also got a photo opp with Howard Marks, Mr. Nice, who was responsible for about 80% of the marijuana in Europe in the 80s, and had ties to the CIA, IRA, mafia, etc etc. He was also very friendly. We got a bunch of free beer, met really cool people, acquired free goodies, got smoked out.... it was a smashing time. Went back to our hostel, had a picnic on the floor, and passed out.

The next two days were actually just as wonderful. On Saturday, we rented bikes along with a dude from Holland that we met at the hostel, and rode around. We saw the Palace and St. Stephen's Church, and all those tourist attraction buildings. Then we picked up a GIANT bottle of wine for only 2.50 euro and some picnic supplies, and headed to Stadtpark. The weather was, there is no better word, lovely. Thus, the park was packed with people, including a couple crazies worthy of San Francisco. We lay on the grass and taught Holland how to play King's Cup. He got drunk and napped on the grass while we befriended some German architecture students who did nothing but roll and then smoke cigarettes, and then start rolling another as soon as they finished. We definitely park-seshed it for hours, it was like being back in GGP. The rest of the night involved some bold bike trips and map reading to an Irish bar called Charlie P's, where we bought some homegrown from one of our charming Irish friends from Cultiva, and then an "international" bar called Shebeen where we basically sat catatonic, slurping our Stiegl beer (delicious), waiting to bike home to our boring german roommates and uncomfortable hostel beds.

On Sunday, we woke up and and walked for (I do not exaggerate) two hours before finding any sort of food that was in English, open, or didn't make us want to vom. The city really shuts down on Sundays, it's bizarre and inconvenient for the hungry. We ended up getting some $12 pasta because we were so relieved to even see a restaurant that was open. Then, we walked to the Hundertwasser Haus, which was seriously the coolest building I've ever seen. Maybe I'm just goofy, but why can't every building in the world be as awesome as that? It was designed/built in the 80s (I think) by Friedensreich Hundertwasser for free, because he didn't want anything ugly being built there instead. And apparently it's a low income housing block. While we were there, bright red ivy was crawling all over the roof, and the neon leaves started raining down around us when the wind blew. So wonderful.

Our next trip, and adventure with public transportation, took us to Zentralfriedhof Cemetary, where legendary composers such as Ludwig Van Beethoven and Franz Schubert are buried. Now, you might not think that a trip to a cemetery would be wholly uplifting, but while I was there I felt, with only a stab of irony, that I was in heaven. It is a MASSIVE place, with a total of about 3.3 million dead peeps chillin under its fresh green grass. The leaves of all the trees were changing colors, and we were there in those afternoon golden hours where everything looks beautiful. Some of the gravestones were more like tiny, intricate churches than anything else. You could get lost in there. And not even be scared. As long as it was during the day. We found the dark, scary section where nothing was cared for. Ivy had taken over completely then died, leaving heavy brown tangles across all the rows and headstones, which were flanked by walls of dark, low hanging trees. In this spooky, sad section, we smoked a joint and dedicated it to the forgotten we sat amongst. Tired from walking miles for food and more miles in the maze of graves, we headed back to the hostel to check out, and take the train home.

I would like to say this is where the excitement ends, but our luck would not allow this to happen. After passing out in a first class cabin of the train (which we had not bought tickets for), we were suddenly awakened by a loud, flailing, happy, gangly Bushdoctor known as Andras. Apparently, he hadn't even seen us through the window--we just happened to be in the first booth whose door he flung open. He went on to chug my honey hemp liquor, talk passionately about the Netherland's government, peel and stuff a whole kiwi into his mouth, and generally spaz the fuck out before (and I don't know why this hasn't packed much punch when I've related it to others, so let me capitalize it to stress the seriousness of the situation) ROLLING, LIGHTING, AND SMOKING A JOINT ON THE TRAIN. So not cool. I mean, maybe on Muni in San Francisco, CA. But on a train, in a country with zero-tolerance drug laws, in a first class booth that we didn't pay for, and with a window that refused to open? NOT COOL. Carolina and I flipped the fuck out (which doesn't mean we declined the joint when it was passed to us). I think he freaked out then too, because he started throwing all his shit (that he had spent the past hour unpacking and flingling around the cabin) back into his pack, then stood up, told us his stop was coming up, and then declared that he was "fucked up". This really only gave us a great sense of relief. I think he only seemed like Spazzy McCrack #1 because of the alcohol and the language barrier. But it sure gave us a scare. We were left un-busted, and managed to lie there in terror with the lights off until we arrived in Budapest.

Vienna is a beautiful, open, light city, with a lot of friendly, interesting, generally helpful people. If you get the chance, please go there. We had an absolute blast.