So, as it was my first time there, I was able to confirm first-hand that this fabled city does in fact exist! To commemorate the discovery of Vienna I will thus write my own little chronicle, though I gather Columbus had more original anecdotes to report when he similarly discovered America.

No-frills hotel choice Motel One Staatsoper was quite acceptable, and the location by the Opera truly ideal. The rooms were nicely decorated and spotless, and had good sheets and towels, though I must admit I could have done with a few more frills like: a room safe, a luggage rack, and most especially a shower bonnet. As it also turns out, I had reserved a King room weeks in advance requesting a high floor and street view, but upon arrival was told Sorry Madam these were not available in my room category (in a 400-room hotel off-season). I, the Madam in question, got bitchy when I saw that my Travel Companions Mr. L and Mr. P, who had reserved a Queen room, got both (also, my “king-sized” bed was two twins put together so I really just used one side). When I further saw their little BALCONY I swore I would complain but as I’d already fully unpacked (seeing as there was no luggage rack) ultimately didn’t. Well, as consolation at least I had the bigger bathroom!

There was, however, the small matter that my floor was haunted…

Every single time we entered one of the elevators from the lobby at the same place to the right of reception, I pushed Floor 1. But sometimes after exiting I was level with my room, and sometimes I had to go up a little flight of steps (spooky!). Also, on the wall there was a sign pointing to the left for rooms 101-197, but to the right for 140-174, which are included in 101-97 (!!!). And then again, I was in 175 but you could still reach my room if you turned right! Monsieurs L and P just made fun of me considering that it was a square-shaped building structured around an inner courtyard, which does not explain the different levels on the same floor? Could have been that different original buildings were subsequently joined together, but when you know you know: it’s the Evil. PLUS, while P&L’s room looked out onto the lovely Elisabethstraße, mine looked into the said mysterious blue-hued courtyard (surrounded by windows definitely showing dark silhouettes), full of all these convex mirror balls* undoubtedly intended to hypnotize guests. (I guess it doesn’t help that I was reading Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House in bed.)

* I saw similar spheres elsewhere, like at the Cafe Museum around the corner, where we had breakfast. But when I asked people about them no one seemed to know what I was talking about. They are not to be located on the internet by any search term I can come up with. Even Rick Steeves is silent on this topic! Sleuth that I am, I have connected them to Josef Zotti, who around 1930 redesigned the Cafe–originally designed by Adolf Loos in 1899.

Wandering Around

Mr. P, Mr. L, and I did visit some tourist sites, but there was a lot of aimless wandering around, mostly in the rain due–as my taxi driver stressed–to global warming, as normally by this time of year (mid-November) Vienna would be snow-covered. Building-gawking, people-watching, window-shopping. A little bit of real shopping too, but while the Gentlemen bought an actual Art Object I just bought chocolate and stockings (did you know Wolfords are made in Austria?).

On my own I wandered into St. Stephen Cathedral again, with the anti-Nazi O5 carving by the entrance. Caught lots of lovely streetscapes, even an Austrian rainbow! And at the Monument against War and Fascism–at this particular moment of turmoil in Ukraine, Israel, and beyond, it was appropriately sobering to remember that the beautiful city I was nonchalantly gallivanting about was once ravaged by war:

Museums and Other Sites

We started out with a combined ticket to visit Schönbrun Palace, Emperor Franz Joseph and Elizabeth (Sisi)’s summer residence (the first of many palace-museums relating to Austria’s long imperial history) and the Hofburg Imperial Apartments, the Hapsburg’s residence for six centuries. These sadly did not allow photos inside (although I suspect a certain Gentleman did whatever he wanted with his camera phone). I only got a picture of us outside, and not in the Versaillesque gardens because it was cold and pouring rain. The Hofburg however included Sisi’s private apartments, which I found riveting from the story of her betrothal to the many details about her 1898 assassination (I spent an inordinate amount of time reading her French-language autopsy report and marveling at how much damage a small file that only poked a tiny little hole in her dress could make. It’s the story of an Empress but it sounds like the poor woman was anorexic and depressive at the very least, and then she needed to be treated with cocaine for her menopause (which in itself doesn’t sound so bad), but finally what her agoraphobia dreaded actually happened. Anyway, to lift our spirits later we made it to Rathausplatz Christkindlmarkt, “The Big One” among Christmas markets. It was one of the only two already open which is fine by me as I’m not a Christmas Market type of tourist. At least I got the idea.

Belvedere

Done with the imperial museums, moved on to Vienna’s first-rate art museums. On my last morning, already on my own, I had to choose between the Kunsthistorisches Museum and the Belvedere and went to the latter, so missed Raphael and Brugel and Arcimboldo (really can’t believe I did!). But what a joy the Belvedere was! Even the sun came out to play briefly so I was able to enjoy the fabulous gardens.

It is, yes, another imperial palace–and a grand one indeed–but was repurposed as the Imperial Picture Gallery already in 1776. I didn’t have time for the whole museum, but just viewing the Klimts, Schieles, Munchs, and more at the wing dedicated to the Vienna Secession Movement was incomparable. As an added treat Gustav Klimt’s Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer, normally in a private collection (in 2006 the state had to return it to her heir, who then sold it to Oprah Winfrey who later made a killing reselling it) is temporarily on view. Here are some highlights I loved… but there were too many wonders!

Albertina

The previous day we had enjoyed the Albertina Museum, yet another imperial palace with state rooms you can view: this time belonging to Duke Albert of Saxe-Teschen and his wife Maria Christina, the only one of Empress Maria Thiresia’s daughters–another was Marie Antoinette–allowed to marry for love, as for some reason we were told EVERYWHERE. But Saxe-Teschen was also a dedicated collector and this building too has housed art since 1776. It is currently well-known for excellent special or temporary exhibitions and we enjoyed (truly enjoyed!) two. I did not think I would particularly care about Monet to Picasso (felt SO been-there-done-that) but there were very unusual paintings by artists I thought I knew quite well, and some others I’d never heard of. Of course the exhibit did a wonderful job of relating Austrian art to its greater European context. There was also an exhibit somewhat misleadingly called Michelangelo and Beyond, as it was about how the tradition of representing the body had evolved from his foundations across history, and the “beyond” included the likes of Raffaello, Dürer, Rembrandt, and Rubens. Yet again the Austrian perspective, leading to Klimt and Schiele, was flawlessly integrated (Schiele’s agonizing relationship with the body especially is fascinating). Here are a few highlights although for some reason the only one from the Michelangelo exhibit is the August von Pettenkofen (I think I was too engrossed in the works to think of photos!)

Freud

An eerie mood threaded itself into my Vienna visit (Sisi’s assassination; Schiele’s death during the 1918 flu epidemic (get your vaccines everyone!); Klimt’s glamorous models unsuspectingly around the corner from the Holocaust; Gerstl, Sedlacek, Delvaux; the haunted hotel!), to which I finally surrendered on my solo visit to the Sigmund Freud Museum. Bergasse 19, his family home and professional practice from 1891 until the 1938 annexation of Austria into Nazi Germany forced him into exile (he died in England a year later): having learned the address and mentioning it seems significant. I had never thought of Freud as tied so strongly to a specific place (a city, yes, but not a house); it is, discreetly, a site of memory, and definitely an uncanny place–both home and not home, strange and familiar. Only two rooms, the office foyer and the waiting room, are pretty much as they were when he lived there. The rest of the rooms, unfurnished, have been filled with glass cases showing some personal objects given to the museum by his daughter Anna, as well as samples of his publications and lots and lots of informational text about his biography and work (I was very grateful for the folding seats on offer so that one can take one’s own sweet time reading through all of it). On the walls are photographs of how the rooms originally looked, heightening the contrast between that and today’s not-quite-emptiness. You can sit in his glassed-in gallery, looking out at his trees (well, the ones that are still there), and be intrigued at the odd layout of the apartment (his sister in law had to walk through his and his wife’s bedroom to reach her own; a servant slept on the floor in a little hallway; there is a hidden corner where his daughter would help him tend to his oral cancer between patients–some of his exhibited letters tell of his anguishing lifelong relationship with tobacco). I especially enjoyed a 20-minute (!) audio where a voice representing Freud’s reads his interpretation of three of his own dreams from The Interpretation of Dreams–it was so humanizing to hear that, as a voice it actually made him sound fragile. And so interesting to glimpse his relationship with his wife and six children, which I knew little about. The home movies showing him throughout his later years (especially once he has already left Austria) are also absorbing.

Eating and Drinking!

Other than wandering around and high-cultural endeavors, there was naturally the ingesting and imbibing part. I wouldn’t say Vienna’s cuisine is its most attractive aspect; in fact, there were plates of food before me here and there that I wished I’d never laid eyes upon (or tasted), like this unfortunate something-looking sausage from the Schönbrunn cafeteria.

Also, the Viennese eat a lot of schnitzel. I had great and fairly inexpensive schnitzel at Gasthaus Reinthaler, a wonderful little place recommended by one of Mr. L’s local friends. And Monsieurs L and P had great and fairly expensive schnitzel at Zuden 3 Hacken, a wonderful little place recommended by another one of Mr. L’s local friends. But here, alas, I did not have schnitzel, for we were in the midst of the November Goose Festival. I think I ordered the wrong goose, though, because I didn’t get a beautiful roast bird but rather goose filling inside these two potato balls, on a huge bed of red cabbage.

But it was good anyway, and possibly predestined given my previous experience with balls/spheres in Vienna. I also ate (by chance) at a place recommended by no one that I happened upon while making time to meet Mrs. P and L, the Buchecker, where they served a lot of offals and such, which is also apparently a very Vienna thing.

I didn’t quite muster the courage for cream heart with vegetables (where is my friend Ms. Song when you need her!) so I attempted to order a ham-and-cheese toast but was informed that since I’d said I needed to eat rather quickly that wouldn’t do. So they served me… schnitzel! It’s a good thing I like schnitzel.

A chapter must be set apart for chocolate and cake. The Viennese also eat a lot of cake! I wish I’d been able to keep up with the national sweet tooth as so many looked simply delicious. But again I couldn’t muster my friend Ms. Song’s unfailing “let’s try everything!” enthusiasm, so I feel like I missed out on a lot of the cake experience (must go back!). I did have hot chocolate at the famous Demel’s (where Sisi herself ran up her candy bills), and cake with the Gentlemen at Cafe Mozart (I ordered the chocolate-pistaccio Mozart torte, as well as a tiny Sacher Torte they kindly sold as a petit-four, since it’s iconic but not my favorite pastry; the pink one is a Punsch Schnitte, rum punch cake). People I know also had apfelstrudel at different establishments, but it always seemed to vanish before a photo could be taken.

I wish I did not have to consign that there was a lot of day drinking, evening drinking, blue-drinking, red-drinking, always friendly-drinking, at various posh places like the Hotel Bristol and the Hotel Sacher’s Blaue Bar. Pride of place must be given to the Cafe Savoy, where Mr. L reminisced most nostalgically about his 80s youth in Vienna, and to the legendary American Bar designed by Adolf Loos, where the marble and onyx ambiance was as intoxicating as my champagne.

And that was that! Four days, ninety-six hours… So many things I didn’t get to do, especially musical Vienna (could not get tickets to the Opera for Mozart’s Magic Flute, or even for a tour, and did not do the Mozart or Strauss apartments or a concert at the Musikverein). I didn’t visit the Secession building to see the Beethoven Frieze. Didn’t get to Kunsthistorisches! Didn’t eat enough cake! I just went back to the airport and headed “home” to Barcelona. But those are good reasons for going back, now that I know Vienna indeed exists.