Puntigamer is the local beer. At 5.1%, it tries to distinguish itself from Heineken with a slightly darker shade and beautiful blue insignia that is readily found around the town of Graz. Gösser and Murauer are the other two local favorites; only Murauer has any flavor or body to it. The pilsner version has some hops and flavor. But there is a growing market of craft beers–Forstners for example–that vigilantly fighting against the Reinheitgebot. I had one beer infused with chili that was excellent. The general beer market here is a decade behind North America, in regard to the scenario of walking into a bar and getting exclusively good, flavorful beers on draft. After the first week of trying the local beers here, I realized why Austria is really known for its white wine.
After the interview, Werner Sprung stated that Styria is known for a wine called schilcher, which is best drank with meat in the hills. I first thought the invitation was empty but when he suggested that we drive 40 minutes outside the city, I realized he was serious. Iris excused herself with an ailment, which left me to journey with Werner and his daughter Eva, to a buschenshank near his home in Lannach. Making small talk I learned that Eva studied sociology; similarly Werner's wife worked for the state dispersing social welfare benefits. I wondered how different these factions fighting over the Speicherkanal really were.
Our Buschenshank had a large wine corkscrew sculpture in the driveway. The vineyards were dormant for the winter. Fog held the hills in ransom from the sun. 20 meters away was another Buschenshank. Beyond that was another. The institution was once a farmer’s house that people could visit and eat from whatever was being grown there at that time. It was the original farm to table, or rather person to farm, model of eating. Today, they are mini-hotels where mostly Austrian tourists come to “getaway from it all” and eat food, drink, and buschenshank-crawl to the neighboring building. In the vicinity I counted more than a dozen. The traditional food is a variety meats – salami, sausage, pate – with cheeses and horseradish. Bread. No chlorophyll. Werner ordered me a large board and a half for himself. Eva had only glühwein and schilcher. Our entire bill was around 20 €.
For the following weeks, I related this experience to people I met in Berlin, or Germans in Graz, and each was horrified by my experience. I didn’t get it. They would ask me how I was let in, whether there were women there, or if I saw Nazi flags. I was totally confused and suspecting this was some sort of Germany stereotype of Austria. It wasn’t until my final week in Graz that Iris corrected my experience and distinguished the two words. Whenever I mentioned my trip, my brutal pronunciation of ‘Buschenshank’ was misunderstood as ‘Burschenschaft’ and a conversation about Neo-nazi influence or genealogy of certain fraternities would evolve.
Pre-Christian iconography holds steadfast in Central Europe with the winter tradition of Krampus and Perchten. Krampus is a monster with goat horns that terrorizes children, acting as an anti-Saint Nicholas. Instead of giving gifts he scares young children who have been bad, or warns them of their folly. In the crowd along Herrengasse, Krampus rams toward the metal barricades and then poses for the smartphone pictures. He gives the kids on dad's shoulders a hi-five, then runs to the other side of the parade wall. The parade is supposed to occur every year on December 6, but cities has a weekend for this reason. I was told by Werner that actually Perchten was not celebrated in Graz until more recently. The culture continues to evolve; I saw the devils posing for selfies with the children they were assigned to terrorize.