Alternative partying OR Multicultural Graz: Part 1

Yesterday was probably one of the most bizarre Saturday evenings I have spent during the exchange year until now. We were at a ball organised by the Hungarian community in Graz. Asked later what I thought about it, I replied: "It was like being in a ridiculous dream from which I wake up and think WHERE did that dream come from". That pretty much sums it up.

As I have mentioned before, our flat has some strong ties to Hungary and yesterday a commotion was raised when the girls found out about a Hungarian party somewhere outside of town. Two people from our flat already had other plans, so it was up to the rest of us to go and explore. There was some considerable drama, however, before we could leave - the party was going to be fancy, so the girls reached for their evening gowns and mascara, but in the end not all of us could cope with this heavy dress code and so three of us left the apartment with absolutely no idea what was waiting for us.

The party was out of town, so we were picked up by the girls' Hungarian friends in a car. Now, a ball might sound grand to anybody, but in reality the party was being held in shabby Restaurant Franz next to a gas station. A faded beauty in a golden dress wobbled past us tipsily on the parking lot and we could hear the ominous sound of oom-pah oom-pah coming from the building - reassured, we walked in.

I had just managed to think to myself "at least nobody knows I'm here" (my flatmates don't count in these things) when I was greeted by a loud "Dani, what are YOU doing here??!!??". As it turned out, some of my middle-aged colleagues from Chor Pro Musica Graz had come to the party as well. The place was full of excited Hungarians in their 40s to 70s, some in national costume, all of them living it up on the dance floor accompanied by a playback band consisting of three drunk men, one of them with an alarmingly Dschinghis Khan-like moustache.

Petra hit it off straight away, and in the end Silvia and I decided to join the hullabaloo and start dancing (it took some swigs of really bad wine - 1,50€ a glass - before we could muster the courage). Since we were non-Hungarians, Silvia had come up with a cover-up plan in the car ("I'll just say I'm Finnish, too - isn't Hungarian somehow related?"). However, the way we improvised wild Hungarian folk dances was probably convincing enough.

As it happened, our first song lasted about half an hour and was something of a medley of your favourite Hungarian hit songs. Many people sang along in total ecstasy and some songs had a certain dancing pattern to them which we imitated with a backlog of about 10 seconds. There were so many people spinning about that we were both constantly bashing each other into unknown elbows, knees and heels, but both escaped relatively unharmed. Every time we thought the piece was over, the wild Mongol cranked up the bass on his music box, a new song started, and the crowd cheered at the top of their lungs.

Taking a break from the dances, we checked out the cds the band was selling of their music. It was titled something like "The World's Most Ever Favourite Songs" and a closer inspection of the track list revealed pieces like "Shake It" and "The Road to Hell". We didn't think it was worth spending 10 euro on and sat down to finish our really shitty wine.

About an hour later, Silvia was on her seventh cigarette and I was on my third round of Snake III when Petra and her friends finally appeared from the "ballroom" and said we could leave. It was certainly experience - now I know what to expect next time!

The morning after: strolling up to the Schlossberg.