Vienna, Austria
Ah, the shame of humiliation. Here I am, ladling museli into a bowl and about to grab a coffee in the executive lounge when an officious fraülein accosts us and demands our room number. "We're in room 1039", I reply, secure in the knowledge that as Hilton Honors members we are on the tenth - and executive - floor. “But you are not allowed in here!” she replies. “Your room is on ze tenth floor, but it does not give you access to zis lounge. You must leave now!” she exclaims, almost grabbing the bowl from my hands. “Breakfast for you iz downstairs in ze lobby and you must PAY!!”
Hmmmm. Of course, we could argue, but seeing as all eyes from the breakfast crowd are now upon us, and Coman and I both know we’ve done a secret-super-saver, internet-only hotel deal via Expedia rather than pay for the swanky lounge access, means we’re probably on thin ice. It seems my Hilton card had not in fact upgraded us or afforded us any extra privilege whatsoever, but our copious consumption of cheese and prosecco last night had been an error on the doorman’s behalf. Oops. So heads held high, Coman and I gracefully put down our ill-gotten cereals and then flounce out of the lounge and into the lift, praying we don’t bump into any of these fellow guests at any other point during our stay and see the contempt in their first-class eyes.
Down at reception we are told by a snooty receptionist that breakfast is €30 a head but if pre-booked the night before it is half-price. A firm bit of deception later, we manage to persuade him that we had indeed pre-booked but his colleague must have forgotten to note it down and, so we’re finally allowed access to the hallowed hall where mortals can eat, for the sum of €15 each.
It’s a good job we load up on food as we need the fuel to keep us warm, the weather having turned even more Arctic than yesterday. The snow is coming down in big wet flakes, driven by a cruel sharp wind by the time we leave the hotel, so we make our first stop the MAK museum, which is handily located just across the road from the Hilton.
Vienna’s equivalent to the V&A it’s a gloriously baroque building housing fantastic artifacts and furniture from Austria’s imperial past, including cabinets, clocks, chairs and even entire rooms recreated. In the modern wing, a more contemporary collection of the strange and wonderful is presented, challenging and confusing in equal measure. But it’s nothing compared to the challenging and confusing displays that greet us in the Mumok and Kunsthalle Wien museums, which we visit next. These two buildings reside in the Museums Quarter, a specially designed space close to the imperial Hofburg area of Vienna, which houses a collection of museums each with their own specialities.
Having viewed lots of 'classic’ art yesterday at the Belvedere, we’ve decided to focus on the modern today, but we’re pretty non-plussed by the huge empty rooms with just bottles of water or, quite literally, a pile of rubbish in, proposing to be art. The main display at the Mumok is entitled “and money and materials and crisis”, which Coman quickly proclaims to mean they had a crisis of money and couldn’t actually buy any materials to fill the space so have just thrown any old shit together and called it art.
It’s difficult to disagree, but persevering we find other floors which display works by Magritte, Warhol, Lichtenstein, Gilbert & George, Hockney and more, with intriguing sculptures and vast musical instruments, which seem more familiar and worth the hefty admission price.
In the Kunsthalle, which is a brilliant space, their exhibition is a nightmarish Salon de Angst, which is disconcerting and full of films, pictures, sound and art designed to unsettle and provoke. It even includes a huge projection of Thatcher ranting in her most right-wing, almost fascistic way, about the poor and what needs to be done about them. That’s the most disturbing bit of all.
We console ourselves with a hot chocolate in the museum café, which seems to have a policy of only employing extremely good-looking gay waiters. Perhaps they’re an exhibition in themselves…
By now it’s almost time for our walking tour of Vienna, so knocking back more painkillers we leave the Museums Quarter and wander through Marie Theresa Plaza, which is framed by two huge identical buildings – the Natural History and National Art museums – and walk through the park to Albertinaplatz where we meet Patrizia, our tour guide, and the assorted other German and English-speaking tourists who have booked to be shown around the main sights of the city.
The old town of Vienna is encircled by the Ringstrasse, a grand boulevard of fabulous buildings that stand where the old city walls used to be. The Ringstrasse was converted from defensive walls to baroque splendor on the orders of Emperor Franz Joesf I and all the main sights are either within the centre of the old city or on the Ringstrasse itself.
Patrizia begins with Albertinaplatz itself and the four statues erected after the Second World War to depict the horrors of fascism and the persecution of the Jews. From there we walk around the Hofburg Palace complex where we see how the castle grew and grew over each succeeding generation, visit the church where all the hearts of the Hapsburg rulers are kept in a crypt, see the Spanish Riding School stables and learn about Austria’s beloved Empress Sisi, who it turns out was a neurotic, anorexic, cocaine addict who was eventually murdered with a nail file by an anarchist.
We’re then taken to Heroes Square and the Imperial Palace, from whose balcony Hitler announced the annexation of Austria in 1938 before being taken through Vienna’s beautiful old shopping streets, past Mozart’s house and museum and ending up at St Stephen’s Cathedral, with its stunning Gothic interior. Patrizia tries her hardest to bring all this history to life but unfortunately she’s fighting a losing battle with the elements.
It’s absolutely, bone-chillingly, mind-meltingly cold, the freezing winds and snow biting into our very souls and however tight we pull our scarves and hats, or clasp our hands under our armpits for warmth, there’s no escaping the deep freeze. I’ve got five layers on and am still shivering. So when she thanks us all for being part of her group today, the words are barely out of her mouth before we’re heading for the nearest coffeeshop as fast as my crippled toe can carry us.
Café Diglas is beautiful, and not just because it’s gorgeously warm. An authentic Viennese coffee house, it has red velvet seating and a huge cake stand groaning with sugary treats. Having skipped lunch we dive straight into a cherry cheesecake, some hot chocolate with rum and a glass of warming sherry, all banishing the chill and easing my throbbing foot.
It’s dark by the time we leave, but we’re not ready to return to the hotel yet, wanting to see a bit more of the city than we were shown by Patrizia. The Christmas lights bedecking the shopping streets, like huge chandeliers, are really quite stunning and as we walk back to Heroes Square, we cross the park, aglow with festive lighting and arrive at the Rathaus; the city hall.
In front of this imposingly magical building is one of the largest Christmas markets in Vienna, with funfair rides for children, illuminated angels, love hearts and snowmen festooned in the trees and thousands of people sampling the food, bier, punch and glühwein stalls, all buying gifts, listening to music and generally being rather festive. The rum, sherry and, yes, another mug of hot wine, all combine to make us deliciously merry, which considering today is our actual anniversary, makes us glow with pleasure.
The pleasure is short-lived though as word comes through from work that I have an urgent press release that must be written. With the time difference I have precisely an hour to get back to the hotel, write a first draft and get it sent off for approval by the various people involved. Nothing like short notice demands, but I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do so we hop on a tram outside the grand, white neo-classical parliament and get back to the Hilton with just enough time to spare. Coman heads off for a sauna and steam while I grab my laptop and get to work.
When I’ve finished I ask the concierge where he can recommend for us to have a special anniversary dinner, preferably close to the hotel so I don’t have to hobble too far and he comes up trumps with his suggestion of Huth da St Moritz, a short walk across the Stadtpark. It’s a high-end Italian establishment, whose prices are as reasonable as the food is delicious. We tuck into a bottle of bubbles, a big plate of antipasti, beautiful steak and grilled chicken, toasting our anniversary and acknowledging our good fortune. We are very blessed.
But we are not perfect, as I am reminded by an excruciating walk home. I’ve worn my posh shoes for a posh dinner, but they lack the support of the boots and trainers I’ve been wearing for the rest of the trip and my heavily-bandaged toe feels like I’ve dropped a piano on it. Who knew yoga could be so bad for your health. Thankfully a final glass of merlot before bed dulls the pain and allows me to drift into slumbers of imperial fantasy.
