When will you realise? Vienna waits for you

 If you're only allowed one adjective for Vienna, it must be elegant.

Other European capitals are edgy, cosmopolitan, exciting, even more beautiful. But nothing is quite like Vienna on the elegance scale. You can watch it on television every year as formally-attired Viennese turn out for New Years' concerts and balls. See it in their love of grandiose architecture and formal coffee houses. Hear it as Mozart and Strauss still offer a soundtrack for the city. Touch it in stiff white tablecloths and tightly clipped park greenery. Live it if you ever have to assemble a guest list to a business event (the
Viennese demand the use of, and respect for, every title they've earned.) Though it's been more than a century since her heyday, Vienna is still a grand dame of the late 19th century; affluent, rigorously intellectual, traditional to a fault yet adventurous enough to let Klimt paint her portrait. And seemingly completely unaware that the Austro-Hungarian empire has been consigned to history.

Mr. B and I both knew the city already, me from a flurry of business conferences I attended in the late '00s when the entry of a group of Eastern European countries into the EU en masse meant Vienna seemed to be the centre of everything for a while. I hadn't been back since, but little in the centre has changed beyond continuing cleaning and restoration projects. The grande dame is looking better than ever. 

Having done the basics, we ignored most of the cruise ship's organised activities to head off on our own. Here's what Vienna lovers get up to on a repeat visit.

Arms and Armour

Vienna's Imperial Amoury is, in my experience, the best collection of Western arms and armour in the world. Because my husband hadn't seen it, our plan was to spend a big chunk of a day here. Then circumstance smiled upon us. The Armoury's curators have plucked the most beautiful examples from the collection, augmented them with some unique loans and created Iron Men: Fashion in Steel, running in the main Kuntshistorisches Museum until 26 June 2022.

The show concentrates on those years, roughly aligned with the Renaissance, when armour was losing its efficacy on the battlefield but gaining ground as a symbol of authority for leaders on parade. Though there are plenty of examples of outrageous fashion from earlier eras, most notably ridiculously pointed metal shoe tips that must have been like walking in swim flippers, 

the displays really get going from 1500. Freed from most defensive requirements, armour's artistic qualities came to the fore and much in this show can be considered enormous slabs of body jewellery. 

Some of the more spectacular examples include a suit where a special process turned the steel blue-black, then makers embellished the borders with gold; detachable armour sleeves meant to look like the billowing, puffy fashion of the age; a "repousse" example where scores of writhing figures and foliage were punched out from the inside to make 3-D scenes, and enameled examples bold with colour. 

There are helmets so outrageous I refused to believe they could have been worn in a joust until I saw the 14th c illustrations that proved it. 

The exhibition is rounded out with accessories, design sketches, contemporary illustrations, reliquaries, and even toys, but the main draw here is case after case of spectacular suits of armour and their matching helmets. 

If you happen to be in Vienna before 26 June do check out this fantastic show, otherwise head to the Armoury to seek out these pieces in the larger collection.

Art ... and one of the best Cafes in Vienna

The exhibition meant I didn't even have to cajole my husband into the art museum. We were already there. As you might expect, the Habsburgs accumulated an astonishing art collection, much of it hanging on the walls here. And they housed it in one of the most spectacular buildings to call itself a museum anywhere in the world. The central hall and magnificent staircase have turned up in historical films as a proxy for royal palaces. Frankly, it's more opulent than many real palaces. You don't even need to go into the galleries to be impressed. 

When you do, you'll find at least one of pretty much every great master, with a concentration on Northern European art. They have more works by Bruegel here than anywhere else in the world. If you have time for only one painting, head for his Tower of Babel and ponder this timeless metaphor for the pointlessness and danger of human ambition. 

But there's more than paintings here; my favourite part of the museum is the Kunstkammer ... 20 rooms of treasures collected by Habsburg rulers from the late Middle Ages to the Baroque. Essentially a vast assortment of decorative tchotchkes and pointless oddities people tend to collect as they travel the world, but on steroids. 

Rock crystal dragons. Gold encrusted drinking horns. Jewelled game boards. Gilded and lacquered robotic sailing ships designed to roll across dining tables firing tiny cannon. Scores of figurines created in every precious material known to mankind. Most famous of all, Cellini's golden salt cellar. 

It's like a garage sale of the impossibly rich with good taste. I could spend days in here; every cabinet contains quirky, extraordinary wonders.

And if you need sustenance, you can slip out to the museum cafe, paved in coloured marbles and housed beneath a towering, ridiculously lavish dome. No shortcuts here, we're in Vienna. The waiters have the same bow ties and starched aprons of the more famous cafes, the menu features the same gorgeous cakes. But the surroundings are incomparable. If you don't want to bother with art, come here, sip a Cafe Mozart and pretend you rule an empire.

Horses ... and another famous cafe

Our one excursion with Viking was a behind-the-scenes tour through the Lippizaner's stables. Honestly, I was underwhelmed with the value offered for the money on this excursion (approx €90 per person), but if you're not in Vienna on a day where the famous white stallions perform, this is a way to see the horses and get inside the arena. You start in that famous performance space, where you learn about this history of the horses and why they're still doing what they do, and private access does give you the ability to get some fine photos...

Then you head across the street to the stables to learn more about how the horses are bred, selected and trained. The stables are impressive, with an interior courtyard surrounded by colonnaded upper stories that wouldn't embarrass a human palace. Strictly no touching allowed, but you can get nose to nose with some of the most pampered high performance horses on the planet. They are exquisite. (But for the total equine experience, the Lippizaner stables, performance and flamenco show in Cordoba trounces Vienna.)

Part of the price tag on this excursion was afternoon tea at Cafe Central, one of Vienna's most famous cafes guaranteed to have a long queue outside it at most times. The bonus of jumping the queue is delightful, getting seated in the back room set aside for groups not so much so. Mind you, this room was nothing to sneeze at, with a soaring atrium and a formal split staircase ascending to higher floors all in a late 19th century gothic revival, 

but it was a bit grey and gloomy compared to the light filled white and gold arches of the front room, where a pianist serenaded diners. The Sacher Torte, coffee, service and bathrooms were the same, however, and at that point in the afternoon such comforts probably trumped the effort of waiting in a queue.

An astonishing library

Given my love of a lazy day curled up with a good book, it's no surprise that my ideas of heaven include a magnificent library. (There's a dining room and a beach, too, of course.) I've already mentioned the wonders of Melk on this trip, and there's a host of English country house libraries that are candidates for my vision of paradise. Add the State Hall of the Austrian National Library to the list, claimed (by the Austrians) to be the biggest Baroque library in the world. If, like me, you are made happy by simply being surrounded by books, this place is an enormous hit of dopamine.

Architecturally, it's like a cross-shaped cathedral, with two long naves coming off a domed centre point with extending apses on either side. There are two enormous stories of books, with a balcony running around the space between. All those leather tomes are embraced in warm, gleaming wood, accented by marble columns and plenty of gold gilt. Above, the requisite Baroque deities frolic across tromp l'oeil scenes celebrating the Habsburgs and the joys of learning. All that's missing is properly comfortable furniture to sink into while enjoying your book. 

Visitors are treated to a rotating exhibition of the library's treasures in these exquisite surroundings. (People my age will note that this all feels a bit like visiting the treasures of the British Library once felt, when they were housed in Georgian splendour at the British Museum, before they moved out to the modernist brick bunker in Euston.) The current exhibition is The Emperor's Animals, a beguiling set of watercolours cataloging all the magnificent beasts that either lived in the Habsburg's menagerie, or whose images were captured in the wild for Habsburg delight.

Music ... and a proper Viennese dinner

Had we booked a little earlier, our night in Vienna would have seen us swept away by the magic of Tristan and Isolde at the Vienna State Opera. It was sold out by the time we booked the cruise, unfortunately. Viking, undoubtably like every cruise on the river, offered the inevitable Strauss and Mozart concert. Which would have been fine, and which got rave reviews from our fellow guests. But we were looking for something different, hopefully with a broader programme and a smaller audience.

I'm not sure if we fully succeeded, but we were happy with our night out in the red salon of the Palais Schönborn Batthyány, where a sextet provided the music while a soprano and tenor dropped in and out for some classic arias and a bit of dancing. The conductor and lead violinist was a stern woman who seemed capable of organising armies as well as musicians, and the delivery was flawless except for an overly-loud piano and soprano, both of whom hadn't quite gotten the hang on modulating their power for such a small audience (there were about 120 of us). They were both excellent, however, so the excess volume could be forgiven.

In addition to the expected Mozart and Strauss (the singers delivered a sexy Là Ci Darem La Mano and an amusing excerpt from Fledermaus) we were treated to one of Brahms' Hungarian Dances, a bit of Haydn and Bach and some erroneous but pleasant Vivaldi.  The drawing room was exquisite, most notable for its wood-panelled window apses decorated with gilded floral curlicues and modern art on the red damask walls.

The concert came with dining vouchers at Cafe Landtmann, a traditional, multi-roomed place across from the Burgtheatre and tucked in the university district. While not as fancy or well known as Demel or Cafe Central, it has a long history with intellectuals and an impressive Weiner Schnitzel. I'd like to come back here and linger rather dashing off to a concert.

Vienna, after all, is a place best enjoyed at a leisurely pace. It's something Billy Joel told the world in 1977 in Vienna, one of the lesser known tracks on the perfect album that is The Stranger.

Slow down you crazy child
Take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while
It's alright, you can afford to lose a day or two
When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?

It was a sentiment that the 13-year-old me couldn't really grasp. These days, I both understand and yearn after it. I need more Vienna in my life. 

The unplanned bits bring greatest joy to my Viennese day

The mission: pack as much sightseeing as possible into the day between rising and leaving the hotel at 4:30pm. By the end of the day I'd logged more than 10 miles on my pedometer, been inside five museums, one palace and a cathedral, seen a world famous show and caught a bit of R&R at a reknown cafe. Not bad for eight hours.

With so little time to spare in a cultural capital, even your sluggish correspondent can get out of bed early. Thus I was dressed, checked out, fed breakfast and on my way by 8:20. Having two days to get the lay of the land, I now realised that heading out the back of the hotel, up and over the train tracks and from there through the embassy district cut a good 10 minutes off the walk to the city centre. It's also a pleasant stroll through a quiet few blocks filled with 19th century versions of Florentine palazzos. Everything is elegant and tasteful. With the exception of the brutalist concrete block of the German embassy. I wonder, when you try and fail to take over a country, does that country then get to mandate that you must occupy a building of unique hideousness? A satisfying architectural punishment, but given the excrescence that is the US embassy in London, one must assume that these misfortunes happen to both winners and losers.

Far more beautiful is the Russian Orthodox cathedral next to that embassy. Gold onion domes, elaborate tile work and exotic shaped windows bring a taste from the East. As does the massive memorial to fallen Russian soldiers from World War II at the bottom of the hill that slopes into town. Both serve to remind you that the Russians and the Austrians share a long history.

The early start meant that I had the city almost entirely to myself. Though they'd be heaving with crowds a few hours later, at 8:45 the streets around the Hofburg were empty stage sets awaiting their players. And it's here that I stumbled across one of my two unexpected highlights of the day. Just two other tourists and I happened to be passing when the grooms from the Spanish Riding School threw open the gates and led their magnificent Lipizzan charges across the road from stable to school. Most horses are beautiful. These are sublime. We all grow up with the cultural icon of the noble white steed, of course, and these are the prototype. Stick a horn on their forehead and you have the perfect unicorn. It was magical to happen upon these mythic creatures, close enough to touch, clip clopping placidly through the quiet morning.

It was partly the Lipizzaners that got me off to my early start in any case. There were still tickets available for the day's performance, one of which I was able to secure when the box office opened at 9. That task rapidly completed, I popped across the courtyard to the Hofburg State Apartments and became one of the first tourists there.

Before reaching the State Apartments you're routed through two museums, both part of your admission fee. If I'd had dawdling time, I could have lost an hour in the china and silver museum. Displayed in the old kitchens, room after room of cutlery, plates, serving dishes and decorative geegaws leave no doubt as to the lavishness of the Habsburg court. At full stretch, the court kitchens could feed 5,000, and the people at the top of that pyramid were dining off some of the most beautiful tables ever laid. Next it's on to the Sisi Museum. Sisi, aka the Empress Elizabeth, is mostly famous for being a tragic beauty; the last empress of the Austro-Hungarian empire who had to endure her only son's suicide before she was assassinated. In addition to that, she was a progressive and educated woman who studied multiple languages, insisted on modern plumbing and the newly-invented linoleum for her bathroom and horrified the court by installing a gym in her rooms and working out to maintain her figure. I dashed through these displays but, again, they were probably worth more time if I'd had it.

With just an hour before my next date, I wanted to spend time on the main attraction. The State Apartments here are mostly from the time of Sisi and her husband, the Emperor Franz Joseph. This was the main residence of the imperial family in the winter, and a very functional place. You don't get a lot of lavish decoration or priceless art here, but you do get a sense of the character of the last Habsburgs. The rooms are actually a bit sparse, especially after the Baroque magnificence of the Belvedere palace. The decor is all consistent here: generously sized rooms, massive windows on one side looking into courtyards, walls hung with red damask, ceilings and door frames stark white except for a sinuous floral motif in gilt plaster that edges the ceilings. Franz Joseph's rooms are surprisingly simple. His bedroom contains the folding iron bed he preferred and an undecorated wash stand that looks decidedly middle class. Elizabeth's rooms are a bit more lavish, but still restrained. You get the feeling the Habsburgs and Queen Victoria's lot wouldn't have been very successful if trying to decorate a house together.

I'd purchased standing room tickets for the Lipizzaners (22 euro). The doors opened at 10:15 for an 11:00 performance, and I had a hunch I should get there early. Good thing, too. At 10:10 I was already about 40 people back in the queue. They opened the doors promptly, and by 10:25 all the best standing room spots were gone. The arena is one of the last of what was once quite common in the 17th century; an indoor riding space for practice and performance beneath grand architecture. There are four seats between each pair of columns. These must be booked in advance. The seats in the royal box, shown at the back of this photo, would have the best view but were 70 euros, a price beyond my equine appreciation.

Each window alcove has a three-level platform with leaning rails. After those are full, people can stand in the aisle between the seats and the standing balconies, but that's clearly less comfortable that a defined space with a rail to lean against. Thus it's worth getting there early. The Lipizzaner's performance lasts an hour and 20 minutes and should impress even the most hard hearted. Beyond their ethereal beauty, these horses are clearly very smart and dazzle with their ability to perform complicated moves, seemingly without guidance. Sadly, no photos are allowed during the performance, but there's a gift shop filled with videos and photos for the ardent.

At mid-day with my two primary objectives achieved, I was free to wander. I'd seen photos of the impressive hall of the National Library and thought I'd drift over to check it out. Counter intuitively, the entry for that room is not through the Library building's main portal, but through an entirely different entrance in the same square where I'd just queued for the horses. I was about to turn around when I noticed what was through this entrance: a trio of museums under one ticket, including arms and armour, Ephesus and musical instruments.

It was Ephesus that caught my eye. This town in modern Turkey was the capital of the Roman Asia province and home to the great temple of Diana that was one of the seven ancient wonders of the world. What goodies had Austrian archaeologists brought home? The question was enough to get me shelling out another entry fee.

The answer was a small but lovely selection of sculpture and decorative elements from major buildings. The Ephesus Museum's masterpiece is the so-called "Parthian Frieze", a life-sized set of scenes from the life of Emperor Lucius Verrus, carved in high relief. Scholars think this was probably from a building similar to the great altar of Zeus at Pergamon (see my blog entry from 22.07.07), but Ephesus was in far worse shape, thus the puzzle of the ruins harder to put back together. A fascinating model of the whole city puts the fragments you're seeing in perspective. There are some particularly good bronzes, including an exquisitely beautiful, larger than life nude athlete that reminds us of the origin of the phrase "he's built like a Greek god".

This was good, but it's not my second highlight of the day. That was the arms and armour collection, which is the single finest example I have ever encountered. And this is saying a lot. I was obsessed with knights in shining armour as a kid (OK, not much changes) and was always dragging my parents to the relevant sections of art museums. I have seen a lot of armoury exhibits. The Wallace Collection in London had been my favourite. But this musuem is jaw dropping, not just in its quantity but in the spectacular decorative quality of the pieces on display.

There's armour encrusted with gold to mimic lace. Armour covered with strapwork designs and enameled in various colours. Sets encrusted with detailed scenes in low relief of the labours of Hercules. A whole mini-collection of Renaissance suits based on conceptions of what ancient Roman versions would look like. Amazingly preserved tapestry-covered armour in a variety of colours. Case after case of weapons almost too beautiful to use. Arrows with a unique design on each shaft. Hunting rifles with exquisite depictions of the prey on their stocks. Ceremonial pikes with ornate engraving meant to mimic the costumes of the guards. The detail on piece after piece is exquisite; this is more like looking at jewelry than weapons. Admission to all of these museums comes with an audio guide which gives all sorts of helpful commentary. I spent an hour here and someday may go back for a full day.

It was now about 2:30 and though the mind could have kept going, the body needed to sit down. It was time for the Hotel Sacher.

A visit to Vienna is tough to balance with Weight Watchers. Spatzle, weiner schnitzel, sausage, apple strudel, lashings of whipped cream on everything. This is not a town that does low fat. And then there's the famous Sacher Torte. The hotel Sacher claims to have both the original and the best and, dear reader, I thought it was my responsibility to check out this claim for you. While I did not allow myself a comprehensive test, I did have a piece at my own hotel earlier in the week, and have had a slice from the competitor's offering at Demel on a former trip, so I felt I had a benchmark to work from. I am happy to support Sacher's claim. This was a fine cake, and indeed was marginally better than the others I'd tried.

Just what is real Sacher Torte? It's a two-layer chocolate cake, light and a bit dry but not crumbly. It's always served with whipped cream to a complement the dry texture. There's an apricot filling between the two layers, sharp but not excessive, so thinly spread that it's barely there. This is all encased in a coat of chocolate. Is it the best chocolate cake I've ever had? No, that honour goes Star Canyon's "Heaven and Hell Cake", the single best thing about Dallas, Texas. But Sacher Torte is sophisticated, balanced and delicate while still managing to deliver the full impact of a chocolate dessert. For that it certainly deserves its place in the dessert pantheon. Consume it with a cup of Viennese coffee (topped with more whipped cream, of course), sitting on the sidewalk outside of the Hotel Sacher, looking up at the ornate bulk of the Vienna Opera House, and you're having a very fine day.

The afternoon was melting away like that whipped cream, but there was one more sightseeing possibility on my walk back to the hotel. The Karlskirche is Vienna's most famous Baroque building. This alternative to the city's Gothic cathedral was built in the early 18th century in what were then fields outside the city walls. It's as if various bits of Rome have been picked up, combined and rearranged in a Viennese square. From the outside, it's most notable for its green dome sitting atop an unusually high drum, and two massive and highly decorative columns modeled on the Column of Trajan. Inside, it's surprisingly small. There's an oval main space beneath the dome, with a large apse off the front for the altar, another large apse at the back for the choir loft and three apses on each side for side altars. The main altar is reminiscent of St. Peters and all those other great Baroque catholic churches: a fantasy in gold with angels and saints tumbling towards a heaven cleverly represented by a round window flooding the church with light.

Light, in fact, is the unique factor of the Karlskirche. Baroque can be a bit gloomy; too often the architectural details crowd out the light. Here massive windows (there's the purpose of that strangely high drum) combine with light marbles, white accents and gloriously pastel frescoes to pick everything up. The pastel brightness of those frescoes is due to a multi-year restoration programme. The scaffolding is still up, and your 6 euro admission fee gets you a ride on the lift ascending 10 stories to a platform at the base of the dome. Another 6 stories of stairs will take you all the way to the cupola. I, who normally don't have issues with heights, was a bit distrubed by this one. Especially as you can feel the whole infrastructure of the scaffolding swaying and shaking ever so gently. I took a few snaps, admired the frescoes up close, then returned to solid ground. The journey to the cupola will have to wait.

And thus ended a packed day of sightseeing in Vienna. The fates (and British Airways) treated me to another on time flight, and I had collapsed into my own bed by 10pm. Culture is great, but I now I need a rest.

Baroque happy hour at Belvedere Palace ushers in the weekend

Rome is generally considered to be the best city in the world for Baroque art and architecture, and it deserves its reputation. Vienna, however, must certainly be in the running for the No. 2 slot. I've always found that a bit surprising. The bombastic, exuberant, emotionally draining style seems at home with the Southern Europeans. You'd think the stereotypically colder, more rational Northerners would have resisted this wild artistic foray, skipping straight from the cool rationalism of the Renaissance to the cooler control of Neo-Classicism. If anyone tried to promote that idea, they certainly didn't get through to the Viennese. And most specifically, to Prince Eugene of Savoy.
Eugene built his Belvedere Palace on a hill just outside of Vienna. It is textbook Baroque in every grand element. Larger than life, sensuous sculpture. Excessive use of marble and gold leaf. Exuberant frescoes drawing visitors to heavenly scenes. Ornate gardens with blockbuster views. Conveniently, the Belvedere is only a five-minute walk from the conference hotel (more on the hotel below), thus was the perfect option for a bit of post-conference culture.
My appreciation for the Baroque may stem from the fact that it's the most successful PR campaign of all time. Created as a way to lure Catholics back from the reformation (who wants austere interiors and men preaching at you for hours when you can have incense, music and great art?), it quickly spread beyond religion. In secular contexts, it mirrors the power of the church while screaming money. Baroque is lavish, lavish is expensive, expensive is powerful. Why convince anyone with logic, when you can overwhelm their senses to capture hearts?

The palace complex actually has two main buildings. The Lower Belvedere is a long, single-story palace at the foot of the hill where Eugene lived. Stretching up the hill from there are magnificent gardens filled with dramatic statues, long gravel paths and ornate parterres, all leading your eye to the Upper Belvedere. This much larger palace was meant as a grand entertainment space, enhanced by the vision of Vienna spread below you. (Bel vedere in Italian translates to "beautiful view".) A single 12.50 euro ticket gets you into both palaces and the orangery, each of which is used as a display space for different collections. Unless they're particularly interested in Baroque architecture, however, most people will be satisfied spending 9.50 to get into the Upper Belvedere to see its main attraction, Klimt's The Kiss, and to walk around the gardens for free.

Eugene built the whole complex near the end of a phenomenally successful, and profitable, military career. He was, most notably, the general responsible for keeping Vienna from falling to the Turks and, by so doing, is probably one of the most important people in European history you've never heard of. You won't forget him once you see his house.

You enter the Upper Belvedere through a white marble hall, arched ceiling supported by writhing giants. Stucco decoration on walls and ceiling is abundant with spears, helmets and armour; imagery that continues throughout the house. The decor leaves you in no question about the man's profession. From there, it's up a lavish white marble staircase where more giants ... this time oversized putti rather than the menacing men below ... hold up grand lanterns. The landscape around the Upper Belvedere actually slopes up, meaning that the landing of this impressive stair is also the main entry from the upper garden. Continue upstairs and you emerge into the marble hall, its riot of colour a real shock after the white approach.

This is an almost religious space, rising two very grand stories to a ceiling that's almost a dome. The walls are covered with pink marble, the ceiling frescoed with the apotheosis of Eugene. This, by the way, is a must for every self-respecting Baroque home owner: a grand scene of you being welcomed into heaven by the Christian panoply, the Greco-Roman gods or a confusing mixture of both. Eugene opted for the pagans. The views of Vienna from here are even more staggering than those from the garden, now 20 feet below. Other rooms still preserved from Eugene's time include a painted hall in which every element, architectural or figurative, is fresco; a jewel box of a corner pavilion dripping in gold leaf; another corner pavilion painted in the Italian "grotesque" style; and a lavish chapel in similar style to the marble hall.

The remainder of the rooms have been stripped back to simple cubes, and it's there that you find the art collection. The focus on the upper floors is European art from the early 19th century. (Basically, picking up where the Kuntshistoriches leaves off.) The vast majority of tourists will shuffle immediately to the Klimt room, where The Kiss takes centre stage. It is indeed a lovely thing, conjuring perfectly the passionate love that keeps a couple separate from, and oblivious to, the dangers of the world. But we've all seen it so much that its impact is perhaps a bit dulled. I found myself much more drawn to his less familiar Judith and Holofernes in the same room. The sexual satisfaction Judith gains from holding her enemy's severed head is both obvious, and deeply disturbing.

The other blockbuster here, which everyone seemed to miss on their way to The Kiss, is Jaques Louis David's portrait of Napoleon at the St. Bernard pass. This is one of the most famous portraits ever painted of the French emperor, capturing him when he was still a virile and ambitious general with a glorious career before him. There's also a Renoir of a blond nude bathing, which you'll recognise, and a Van Gogh which you won't, but is worthy of worship.

The rest of the rooms are pleasant, but without many recognisable masterpieces. There is an abundance of early 19th century portraiture and a wonderful room of Romantic landscapes that really deserve a bit of Beethoven piped in to bring the artistic movements together.

Down the hill in the Lower Belvedere are four rooms still wearing their Baroque trappings. The main entry hall is another marble, fresco and plaster tour de force, matching the marble hall in the palace above, which is clearly visible through the massive windows. Off to one side is a larger than life statue of the triumphant Eugene. At one side of the building, overlooking the privy or "private" garden, is what's left of Eugene's private quarters. His bedroom is entirely gold leaf and mirrors, and must have been a bit like sleeping inside a piece of jewelry. There's a dignified marble hall in greys and whites, displaying a collection of classical statuary, that leads out to his garden. On the opposite corner is another room frescoed in the Italian grotesque style, now a large gift shop where you can get tee shirts, scarves, cups and anything else you can imagine in Klimt-inspired patterns. The rest of the Lower Blevedere has been stripped back to unadorned rooms and is given over to modern art. There's currently a major Kokoshka retrospective; a lot of harsh and unlovely things that didn't cause me to break my stride as I moved through the galleries looking for anything of interest.

The Lower Belvedere with Prince Eugene's private apartments in the foreground, the Upper Belvedere at the top of the hill

The Orangery, just across the privy garden, has also been stripped back to a bare core for modern art. On display at the moment is an interesting selection of modern sculpture. This I liked much better, as it matched the spirit of the place. Though massive and abstract, the marble sculptures bore a wonderful resemblance to giant Baroque pearls.

They locked the door behind me at 6 and I found myself alone in Vienna with the evening before me. Fortunately the weather was absolutely lovely, so I set off for a long stroll around the city centre. I whiled away the hours sitting on the steps of various fountains or statues, listening to a great range of street musicians. As dark fell I had a meal of peasant simplicity to counter the evening's culture: cheese sausage, brown mustard and a slab of brown bread from a street vendor for the princely sum of 3.50 euro. Fantastic.

About the hotel: I'm staying at the Renaissance Imperial Riding School, which used to be the Penta and is still known by most taxi drivers under this name. I was very excited when I first saw the name, imagining that this was going to be right in the centre, somewhere near where you see the Lipizzan stallions. Wrong riding school. This one is about a mile out of town. The main building was a riding school set up for the military by Franz Joseph. It's a coral pink building with white gothic accents; not the most militaristic of styles, but who's going to argue with the Emperor. Thus the lobby and the public spaces are nice. Lots of marble and sweeping, vaulted ceilings. The hotel rooms themselves are in a long, modern wing that juts from the historic core. Pleasant, classic corporate rooms. Attentive staff, good room service, excellent space for meetings. An ugly, modern section of town lies in front of the hotel. At the back, however, is a gracious section of town containing many of the foreign embassies. This includes the beautiful Russian Orthodox cathedral, just getting a major renovation. At about a mile and a half from the Hofburg, however, probably too far for convenience if it were entirely a leisure trip.

Terminal 5 almost gets it right, and I get to Vienna on time

I started my day with a pleasant flight that pushed back from the gate precisely on time and actually arrived in Vienna 20 minutes early. These days, that's such a shock it's worth noting in the lead paragraph.

The timeliness may be attributable to the fact that the departure was from Heathrow's new Terminal 5. I believe one of the promises, before they blew their first few weeks in a PR disaster of cancelled flights and lost luggage, was that the new terminal would give them the logistical space they needed to run on time. Still worried by the spectre of those 25,000+ lost bags being sent to Milan to be sorted (yup, it's the Italians you automatically think of when it comes to tackling difficult operational challenges), I made sure I only had carry on bags. Thus I whisked through check in, greeted by unusually cheerful and helpful staff, and headed off to security.

This was a little less efficient. For some mysterious reason the security station next to the functioning check in desks was closed, so we had to walk all the way to the other end of the terminal. It is a very big building. Once there, we were greeted with a jolly group of workers handing out plastic bags, advising on security issues and organising us into ever more complex queue configurations as the crowd tailed back. All because some genius had scheduled copious staff everywhere but at the actual security scanning stations, where only one was open to take the daily 6am rush. Even so, within 30 minutes of arriving at the airport I had cleared into the lounge.

And what a lounge it is.

Terminal 5 is basically the nicest shopping mall in Britain, with some departure gates tucked on. Every luxury brand is here. Harrods has two locations, the larger a full department store in miniature. Dining options are rife, lounge areas are comfortable and expansive. All spread out over two floors beneath a gasp-inducingly large sweep of roof and a three-story wall of glass overlooking the runways. It was clean, efficient, filled with light and would have been terribly civilised if it hadn't still been an hour and a half before I normally get out of bed. Once on board the plane, lots of coffee, contact lens insertion and some quiet time with the FT completed my transformation to human.

I'm here in Vienna speaking at a conference on branding in the telecommunications industry. My strategies on "marketing in the grey zone" between advertising and PR are generally considered pretty innovative and go down well with audiences. But you don't read this blog for mundane work stuff. So let's forward to the end of day one of the conference. 5:30. Sun shining. Kuntshistoriches (Art History) Museum open 'til 9 on Thursdays. Ergo I ditch my fascinating colleagues from telcos around the world, lace up my walking shoes and head out for culture.

How time flies. I was last here on my "grand tour" the summer after graduating from Northwestern. Twenty two years ago. I remembered it as one of the world's great art museums, and if anything the impressions of my youth were too modest. This place is a wonder.

Whole rooms full of Bruegel, Rembrandt, Velazquez and Rubens When the writhing flesh of all those fat Rubens babies, and even more generous Rubens women, gets too much, you're just steps from Vermeer's painting of the artist's studio: a masterpiece of calm. When the rooms of Italian baroque masters all start feeling a bit artificial, you stumble on the Caravaggios with a gasp and are reminded how drama is really done. Someone with a keen yet subtle sense of contrast laid out these galleries.

If I only had five minutes here, I'd head for the Bruegel room. Most of the masterpieces you've seen from this father and son duo are here, from the Peasant Wedding to the fascinating Tower of Babel. Five minutes would be a criminal visit however, not only because there's so much to see, but because you've just shelled out 10 euro to do so. So you keep wandering, looping through European art history and bumping into one image after another that have become iconic in the history of art. Raphael's achingly beautiful Madonna of the Meadows. Correggio's disturbing Jupiter and Io, where she's in the middle of making love to the dark cloud. Caravaggio's menacing David with the Head of Goliath. Bosch's Christ Carrying the Cross, a showcase of all that is most venal in mankind, providing a striking contrast to the innocent god. Rubens' adoring portrait of his second wife, naked save for The Fur. Less famous, but perhaps my personal favourite, is Jan Steen's Beware of Luxury, a warning of what happens when people let rules and propriety slide. I find the spaniel standing on the table helping himself to dinner particularly evocative.
Just as impressive is the building itself. I clearly have a Victorian soul, because I've never been able to warm to clean, plain display spaces that let the art hang there in splendid isolation. No, give me the now deeply unfashionable practice of displaying art in magnificent rooms meant to complement what's on display within them. Here, the old masters hang in lofty rooms with ceilings encrusted with lavish plasterwork and gold leaf. The entry foyer, processional stair and upstairs lobby are marble fantasies fit to rival any palace (and, indeed, have stood in for Versailles in films). The Egyptian galleries spread beneath polychromed skies and walls encrusted with pharaonic imagery. And the Greco-Roman collection is in rooms that couldn't have been bettered by the most enormously rich, newest monied Roman upstart building a new villa with desire to impress and no perception of subtlety. Sensory overload, yes, but bloody marvellous.

And that, in a phrase, pretty much sums up Vienna. I have from 4pm tomorrow and most of the day Saturday to see how much I can pack in. We'll see how much my body and my brain can pack in.