wild, wild wels.

so you think this looks like the average austrian town where flowers blossom, lederhosen musicians play polka and mozart composed another one of his famous pieces.

you are wrong. wolfgang amadeus has never been to wels (or at least he did nothing of public interest there) and behind the glittering facade wels actually is the hell's kitchen of austria. especially in the night the natives come out and perform strange ritual acts and as always the surviving of the fittest plays a great role in these games:

surrounding themselves with up to ten participants in a local pub of their choice the "welsians" try to drink as much beer (and according side-orders) as possible till closing time. and then comes the fun part and real challenge: the pack choses a leader (e.g. by throwing dices) who will drive the whole party to the next open discotheque where the females wait for the survivors. it has something in common with lemmings ...

another opportunity for the young male to demonstrate his breeding power are big jamborees where oral communications are set aside to make place for the language of fists and other means of raw power. the simple equation behind it: more drinks = bigger fists = master-of-the-universe-feeling.


[fortunately these are just exceptions, it's still save and nice to travel to wels, even in the darkest night, no vests required.]