This city is hosting Eurovision for the third time - here's what to expect

Some people identify as sports fanatics or bracelet-swapping Swifties. Call me tragic, or a kitsch queen: I'm unashamedly a Eurofan attending my fifth Eurovision in Vienna.

While others decimate house deposits to see global icons for one night only, I relish Eurovision, visiting the host city for a whole week. Think burning pianos, human-sized blenders and enough sequinned leotards to out-shimmer the sun: the contest offers a brand of avant-garde camp that sparkles beyond the stage.

This year's Eurovision celebrates a milestone: the 70th anniversary of the contest, which was conceived to unite a splintered, post-World War II Europe through song. What began as a modest, monochrome event has evolved into the maximalist Olympics - a spectacle of singing, dancing, genre-blending and flamboyant attire. A contest where staging and lyrics swing like a pendulum between genius and absolute absurdity. It's not just about the song choice; the contest awards the whole, glittery shebang.

Speaking of the complete package, hosting Eurovision carries the unofficial mandate to put on the world's most eccentric city-wide party.

It's not Vienna's first dance. In 2026, the Austrian capital achieves a hat-trick as host, raising festive bunting across Baroque facades and much-cherished coffee houses, morphing the elegant home of Mozart sonatas into a non-stop discotheque. Even if you've arrived ticketless, you can dive into party mode without striding dancing shoes into the Eurovision arena, regardless of whether you're a diehard Eurofan or if you're just "Euro-curious".

Being a Eurovision host with the most means fine-tuning the city's rhythm. In the lead-up to the grand finale, fan zones and grassroots pop-ups take over historic streets, but none larger than Eurovision Village. This year, Vienna's Rathausplatz (City Hall Square) will transform into Eurovision's main public square. The best bit: it's free to enter.

The Viennese love a sausage sizzle, so expect their UNESCO-recognised Wurstelstand to spark saucy conversations in the village. These traditional hot dog kiosks are the go-to for a Eurovision "democracy sausage", where fans gather to debate who'll receive "Douze" (12) or the dreaded "Nul" (zero) points. Besides the hiss and smoke of grilled meats, a mix of street food vendors, bars, and Instagrammable photo-ops dot the square like confetti. It's the place to mingle with city residents, don flags as capes and flaunt your Eurovision outfit with the same vigour as a Coachella influencer.

Forget the Neo-Gothic spires of Vienna's Rathaus; at Eurovision Village, the "skyline" is the main stage. Each day offers a packed schedule of free performances by local entertainers and celebrities, as well as current and previous entrants extending their fame beyond a three-minute Eurovision song. Multiple giant TVs broadcast the contest live, so there's never a case of Euro-FOMO. While it may be second-best to feeling the fireworks live in the arena, the dedicated village is an inexpensive way to experience the contest, with food and drinks usually at astronomical prices. Paying $16 for a bottle of water at Basel's St Jakobshalle in 2025 is a purchase I'd rather forget.

But it's the official event that really gets the party started. In the world of Eurovision, red is beige with the Turquoise Carpet opening ceremony adding a touch of Hollywood glamour. Last year in Basel, it rolled out for an impressive 1.3 kilometres - the longest in the contest's history - and turned the city into one massive street party. Crowds gathered to see participants travel across Basel on vintage trams, followed by a parade of carnival and dance groups. I imagine vacuuming the carpet afterwards took longer than the contest itself.

Not so family-friendly is EuroClub. The official after-hours sweat box is dominated by a Eurovision-centric playlist and performances by Eurovision idols - sometimes impromptu - into the wee hours. No rest for the wicked, especially when there's 70 years' worth of bangers to dance to.

If the main event is out of your reach, there's still hope. Unlike major concerts or sporting events, Eurovision offers second and third chances to see all razzamatazz - pyrotechnics and wind machines included. Pro-Eurovision tip? Grab tickets to one of the many dress rehearsals or jury shows; they are a fraction of the cost compared to a televised show and are just as good. I can assure you that what you see on the telly is vastly different from what you see unfold in the arena. I've seen Kate Miller-Heidke atop a four-metre pogo-stick pole in the wings of the Eurovision stage in Tel Aviv in 2019, waiting for Switzerland's Luca Hanni to finish shimmying so she can hit high notes at daring heights. The graceful fumbles of presenters between takes. Crew members humouring the crowd between the "Formula 1 tyre change". With only 35 seconds on the clock, these invisible ninjas move with quick precision to change sets. It's impressive. And with Delta Goodrem hoping to score Australia's very first glass microphone, I have no doubt Vienna will "Eclipse" all Eurovision expectations.

Now, which jumpsuit to wear?