"I drew a Slovenian flag on my face because I like the Slovenian song so much," explains Ana in front of the Wiener Stadthalle a mere half an hour before the start of the second semi-final. "I had some trouble with drawing the Slovenian coat of arms, since it's so small and thus really hard to draw. But I did my best. My hand was shaking, but I hope you can recognize it!" "Of course," I reply, deciding not to mention that the coat of arms, which represents Mount Triglav, the sea, the rivers as well as three golden six-pointed stars, is actually in the top left corner of the flag, and not the bottom right corner, where she had placed it. Standing next to Ana, who is Italian, are three more girls.
Some look rather young. "How old are you?" I ask. Ana answers: "30, 25 and 14." "Oh, 14 years old. And parents let you come to Vienna alone? Have they at least given you any orders about what you're not allowed to be doing?" I continue in a parental tone. "Not to party until 4 am," responds the 14-year-old Catherine, giving me a suspiciously familiar grin. "But if Slovenia gets 12 points today, she can go out with us," nods Ana, who quickly jumps to the rescue.
Tickets all sold out
In that moment the U6 train arrives to the Burggasse Stadthalle metro station, bringing a new group of spectators to the Wien Stadthalle, where the 60th Eurovision Song Contest (ESC) takes place. "Do you want a ticket?" asks a young man, accompanied by a cuddly lady. "How much?" I ask in a business-like manner. "200 euros for both, but I could sell it for 150 to you." I hesitate, since I'd only need one ticket – despite having accreditation, journalists do not have free entry to the arena, and tickets have sold out several days ago. I go for: "That's an interesting offer; I'll think about it." The ticket to the event, like accreditations, also gives its owner a free pass for the metro.
Slovenia, Slovenia, Slovenia ... has a good song
Among the cheerful crowd some seem to be in varying stages of intoxication, while some would fit better at a Mardi Gras festival. But the message of a lady who is headed towards the security check-up at the entrance to the hall, is clear and said in a serious tone: "I'm wearing golden sneakers, because I'm cheering for the Israeli song 'Golden Boy'," she explains. By her side stands Amis, with small red antennae of a lady bug on her head, and dressed in various kinds of glitter from head to toe. When I tell her I'm from Slovenia, she says: "I know your song, you have that air violin ... and the song sounds good."
Meeting Oliver from Cologne is no different. We've already been chatting for a while when he pulls white sheets of stickers with 'Here for You' on them from his jacket; some stickers are already missing. "Seriously?!" I gasp. "Why?" "Because this is my favourite song," affirms Oliver, who has silver glitter on his face. "I wanted to be glamorous, since this is a huge event for us. I love the atmosphere, I like watching the countries gather in such a sweet, wonderful way. If this isn't a good reason to celebrate, I don't know what is." When I inquire where he lives, he tells me he's from Cologne. "But my parents are from Bosnia and Herzegovina, and my aunt lives in Maribor. I don't speak Slovenian, however, only Serbo-Croatian." "Pa što niste rekli prije, možemo pričati i tako [Why didn't you say so earlier, we can also talk in Serbo-Croatian]," I suggest. This sentence has already saved me a number of times during my stay in Vienna, when my German vocabulary fell short. "Da, da, možemo [Yes, yes, we can]," he continues with a rigid German accent. "I love Slovenia, and my greatest wish is to come to Ljubljana for the Eurovision in 2016." He adds that he plans to go partying to the Euro Caffe with a friend after the show. "Since we don't have accreditation, we can't go to the Euro Club," he notes with disappointment.
Eurovision veteran
When a group of English grabs my attention, Kalen from London shares with me that he had to take vacation days to come to Vienna, although his boss supports his Eurovision trip, and then I turn to a man who has a Czech flag on his back, donned like Superman's cloak. "I've been following the Eurovision since 1976," he brags. "Wow," I smile. "Yes, it'll be 40 years next year since I started watching it. The first time I watched it live was back in 1996, and I've been attending ever since," says 51-year-old Thomas. "Well, and you have the same name as Conchita," I allude to last year's Eurovision winner from Austria, who is the alter ego of 26-year-old Thomas Neuwirth. I try to confuse him by asking where the Eurovision took place in 1976. "The Hague, in the Netherlands," comes the answer immediately. "And who won?" I challenge him further. "Great Britain, with 'Save Your Kisses for Me," replies Thomas, who is also a member of the Austrian Eurovision Fan Club Austria (OGAE) Austria) and was part of the Austrian delegation last year. There's no messing around with avid fans of the ESC. After all, they had been convinced from the beginning that Slovenia would make it to the finals.
Katja Štok, MMC; translated by K. Z.
