Vienna, Austria
Our final day of Austrian fun is as perishingly cold as before, but this time the snow comes in blizzards, blowing gustily around us as we tick off the sights. But fortunately these blasts from Narnia take their time to arrive, allowing us to explore the jewel in Vienna's crown before the whiteness comes down.
Schloss Schönbrunn is the vast rococo palace outside the centre that was the summer retreat of the Hapsburgs and, while not quite as grand as Versailles, it definitely gives it a good run for its money. We arrive later than planned, by which point coachloads of tourists are being disgorged into the grounds, just as the ticket office’s self-service machines all break down. While I wrestle with the automated nightmare Coman joins a huge snaking queue for the desks, reaching them well ahead of the IT consultant appearing to deal with scores of frustrated tourists voicing their displeasure in a myriad of languages.
Leaving them to curse and swear at the hapless attendants (the Italians are particularly effective) I dive under the barriers to join Coman and proffer our credit cards thus securing entry to the palace, which operates on a strict time slot basis. We are informed that we have an hour and three-quarters before we can gain entry so must wander the gardens until then.
Ordinarily, in the height of summer, this would be a pleasure, the landscaped grounds being a thing of wonder, but in the bitter Viennese winter this seems a cruel prank to play. Nevertheless, the snowfall is yet to arrive with a vengeance, so we take in the tree-lined avenues, manicured lawns, grand fountains and hidden statues, before stopping at the Gloriette, a magnificent summer-house at the far ends of the grounds which used to be a ballroom and dining house for Marie Therese, but now hosts a café for tourists.
We warm up again before walking back to the main palace, past a zoo which charges a small fortune to enter, but where all the animals seem to be hibernating much to the disappointment of the hordes of school-children vainly trying to see pandas.
Once inside the palace, nothing quite prepares us for the sheer weight of tourists being funneled through the rooms of the palace. There are thousands of us shuffling along, audioguides clasped to ears, all trying to catch a peek of the fabulous rooms. Cameras are strictly forbidden but where there’s a will there’s a way and I snap happily away managing to grab moments when the crowds of fellow tourists part to allow a clear view here and there, without alerting the security guards. Well, I don’t fancy paying €30 for a guidebook…
By the time we leave, the snow is coming down hard with none of the gentle, soft beauty that would make it bearable, but with the cold wetness of urban flakes, seeping through your clothes and into your skin. It makes our walk through the Nachstmark, the famed street market of food and trinkets, a bit of an ordeal. We end up at Karlsplatz to see the gloriously domed Karlskirke, but give up and cross the street into the State Opera House’s café, solely for the chance to warm up, but they serve a goulash soup so we grab a bowl of it and it warms the very cockles of our souls.
While there we learn that the Vienna State Opera House was opened in 1869, which is the very year our house was built. You could fit a hundred of our house into this building and still have room to spare – it’s simply enormous. Deciding that we’ve seen pretty much all of the major sights by now, all that is left is to fulfill Coman’s desire for a slice of Sacher-torte, the famous Viennese chocolate cake.
Hotel Sacher itself has huge queues of tourists all trying for the same thing so we carry on towards the brand new Do & Co hotel that has been recommended to us beside St Stephen’s Cathedral. The bar on the 6th Floor is meant to be the place to be seen in Vienna, but it’s crowded, full of people smoking and – to be perfectly honest – not a patch on most of the chi chi hotel bars in London, so we traipse on in our quest finally alighting upon Café Griensteidl, the rebuilt haunt of 19th century writers and artists, where our chocolate fantasy comes true.
Sadly, the Sacher-torte it serves is kinda dry and boring, not a patch on the moist choccy-goodness I can whip up in our very own KitchenAid, so we call it a day and head back to the hotel for a siesta before our final meal of the trip – the Last Supper in Vienna.
It’s 9pm when we arrive at Motto, the coolest restaurant in town, which is in Pilgramgasse. It’s so hip we can’t bloody find it, wandering up and down the road, checking street numbers and seeing its name emblazoned on a building that is distinctly shutdown. Eventually I find their phone number and give them a call. Fortunately they tell us we are in the right place but that we need to turn around, walk to the corner and push against a non-descript iron door behind which Motto will be revealed.
It’s worth the wait. Whilst not grand or jaw-dropping, it’s definitely vibey and very trendy; the place where Vienna’s great and good come to see and be seen. Purple walls with clay hands thrusting out of them are juxtaposed with a ceiling boasting embossed babies and angels with feathers for wings.
The cocktails are potent, the food pretty good, the entire place buzzing and the clientele highly entertaining so it’s the perfect place to celebrate our anniversary again and say goodbye to Vienna. It’s been a blast – cold as hell, but a trip to remember.
