North African Moro beats Italian Cipriani in the day's head-to-head match up

Back from the glamour of presenting at industry conferences in lovely locations. Back to the routine. Which includes another corporate reorg and a last-minute project with crazy deadlines and unrealistic demands on the team's time. Stressing over finances as I shell out £150 to replace the tail light I cracked when I backed into a bollard three weeks ago, and a breathtaking £72.50 to fill up the car's petrol tank. Stressing that the algae is back in my pond, even though two weeks ago I emptied the whole thing, re-filled with clean water and re-stocked with goldfish. At least the new fish are still alive. And the weather was decent enough last weekend to allow me a bit of pottering in my flower beds and the debut of the hammock I bought in Curacao. In other words, average life, but not much worth writing about.

Thus it's a relief to have a double restaurant day, with a lunch meeting at Moro and a dinner meeting at Cipriani. Both well known London restaurants, both unsampled as yet by the Ferrara palate. Finally, something better than rising petrol prices to write about.

Chefs Sam and Sam Clark bring the taste of North Africa to North London

In a head-to-head contest, Moro wins hands down on the taste of the food and the value for money. Cipriani has a slight edge on service and atmosphere, though the clientele was a bit dodgy. I'd happily return to either if someone else paid; only to Moro if on my own account.

Moro's is a well-known story in London. Similarly named married couple Sam and Sam Clark spent years touring around Spain and North Africa in a camper van, throwing themselves into local cuisines and cooking like natives. They came home, combined that with their experience working at a few famous London spots and gave birth to Moro. It's in Exmouth Market, a shabby chic pedestrianised strip about half a mile north of Holborn; a no man's land for tourists, but heaving on weekdays with young and hip city workers.

Their Moorish fusion cuisine offers taste sensations but is not for the delicate palate. I consumed far more garlic and onion than is wise at a business meeting, and did wish I had a toothbrush in my bag for the afternoon. But at the time, every bite was heavenly. I started with broad beans and couscous in a thick sauce of yogurt, cumin, fresh coriander. And lots of garlic. I could have happily had a double portion of that and called it a meal. But a fabulous main course was to follow. Wood roasted sea bass, cooked to a perfection I can never manage at home, served with lentils and one of the most unusual, piquant salads I've ever tasted. New onions, sun dried tomatoes, green tomatoes, black olives and pomegranate seeds in a sharp but not overpowering dressing.

It's rare that I go for famous chef's cookbooks, figuring the restaurant food is far too complicated to attempt at home. My first instinct after wrapping up the meal here was to head to the bookstore and buy the wisdom of the Clarks to try at home. Sadly, I had to get back to the office for a conference call.

My only real criticism was that this is probably not the best venue for a serious business meeting. It's a casual, boisterous environment, jam-packed at lunch and very noisy. We had a lot of serious conversation to pursue and this was perhaps a bit too loud for perfection. As long as your colleagues aren't too stuffy and willing to speak up, then this isn't an insurmountable problem.

Cipriani is less about the food, and more about celebrity. A good indication: they don't have a web site that comes up in their first page of Google hits, but there are three different links to various celebrity sightings at the restaurant. We only saw an odd assortment of brash businessmen and overly dressed, overly trendy women who screamed "new money". It is strangely tacky given its location just off Berkeley Square in the heart of old money Mayfair.

The best thing about the place is the decor. It's a marvelously art deco room, meant to evoke the golden age of the trans-Atlantic steamers. If you're in any doubt, there's actually a porthole near the maitre d's desk with a video of the ocean slipping by. They also get high marks on the service; a virtual swarm of white coated waiters, mostly Italian, is circling constantly to anticipate every need.

The menu is good. Large and authentically Italian. Had I not already had a big lunch, and if I weren't fighting to keep Weight Watchers a success despite all this dining out, I would have started with the pasta with the cuttlefish flavoured with its own ink (a classic Venetian dish you don't see too much outside of Italy) and followed up with some veal. And then indulged in their cream cake covered with a towering meringue. I was very good, however, opting for cod covered with a mound of beautifully cherry tomatoes tossed in olive oil and herbs. And a bowl of fresh berries for dessert. I have to commend their produce. The tomatoes clearly came, recently, from somewhere where they'd naturally ripened under a hot sun. And the berries were sweet enough not to need any sugary enhancements to their natural flavours.

The food was very exactly as it should have been; top quality Italian. But tasting mine, and looking at my colleagues' plates, I saw nothing to justify the £30 entry point on the mains and the starters in the high teens to low 20s. These very steep prices put you in the same range as Locanda Locatelli, my favourite Italian restaurant in London, where Georgio Locatelli reinterprets Italian classics to create inspirational dishes. If I were planning to spend that kind of cash, I'd skip this place and head for Georgio's. Cipriani was pleasant, but no better than I'd expect from any authentic Italian place that presents a broad, traditional menu. Clearly, you're paying for that wonderful decor, fabulous service and the chance that you might be at the table next to Gwyneth Paltrow or Tom Ford. We, on the other hand, were seated near a screaming baby, so the aura of the famous wasn't working for us.

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.

Midwesterner gives New York grudging respect and tips a few fine places

An English friend is visiting New York later this year and, not unreasonably given my accent, has asked me for tips on what she should see. The reality is that most middle-class Londoners have probably spent far more time in the Big Apple, and appreciate it far more, than me.

As regular readers of this blog will know, I carry a classic Midwestern chip on my shoulder when it comes to the American coasts, and especially to New York City. Why must an entire country be lumped in with one big city, which neither reflects nor understands much of the world beyond its borders? And, as the famous New Yorker magazine cover suggests, doesn't really care?

The truth is, I don't much like New York. Nor, with the exception of a small handful with whom I share DNA or significant life experiences, do I like New Yorkers. I resent its dominance, find its people rude and avaricious and its canyons of high rises soulless. The magic simply passes me by.

Admittedly, ignorance plays a role here. I had only made one brief, childhood visit to NYC before my first business trip there in the late '90s. I have since returned three times, almost always on business. So my total time as a tourist in this magnet for Europeans is probably less than five days.

With all the vitriol out of the way, I'll admit that over the years I've gained a grudging respect for the city. While it will never be a favourite, I have found elements of the town that I like a great deal. I appreciate the polyglot mix of people, cuisines and traditions. I acknowledge that it is a worthy repository of high culture, and it's filled with good architecture.

So, for what it's worth, and in order to fulfill my friend's request, here are a slightly resentful and uninformed Missourian's picks for visiting New York:

The New York Public Library headquarters building is my single favourite sight in the city. On Fifth Avenue between 40th and 42nd street, it is an architectural beauty, a cultural landmark and a quiet place to take a pause from sightseeing or shopping. It was designed as a Renaissance palazzo; but larger and grander than anything Lorenzo di Medici would recognise. I love the fact that early 20th century New Yorkers chose a palace as the architectural idiom in which they stored their books. I have spent hours happily rambling around this remarkable building, checking out special exhibitions and marvelling at the procession of grand rooms. And you can also check your email here, if you're in need of a connection with the modern world.

New York is one of the finest places in the world to see a lot of art deco in one place. I like to just walk around midtown with my eyes open and raised high to take in the variety and detail. The Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building are deservedly famous from this era, but I like to point people to the Fred French Building, at Fifth and 45th. Art deco had a wonderful way of mixing old styles with modernism, and here you see the style drawing from the highly unusual source of ancient Persia. The building, both outside and in its lobby, is a colourful riot of Babylonian winged bulls, Persian warriors and decorative elements from palaces we're unlikely to see in person unless we do a stint in the army. Not only do I love the uniqueness, but these days I find it particularly heart warming to remind people that great cultures came out of the land around the Tigris and Euphrates long before modern political strife.

Continuing up Fifth Avenue you reach the point which, for me, serves as the emotional heart of the City: Rockefeller Center and Saks Fifth Avenue. The former is another art deco masterpiece, well worth a lengthy wander even without the famous skating rink and the upscale shops. But it's Saks across the street that's my NYC Mecca. Thanks to the grandmother after whom I'm named, I grew up associating Saks with classic, sophisticated elegance. (Which was everything a lady should be. My family didn't do trendy.) The mother store sets the tone for the whole empire; you half expect to bump into Audrey Hepburn shopping for a new little black dress. I simply love wandering and drinking in the atmosphere. Note, I haven't mentioned the word "shopping" yet. While I'll invest in special items at Saks, I'm more likely to do my major spending at Macy's flagship store. Though increasingly tattered and a far cry from elegance, the selections are broader and the sales usually excellent.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art is without question one of the finest museums in the world, and nobody should escape a first visit to New York without a pilgrimage here. There's a very showy Egyptian section, complete with a reconstructed temple in its own glass-roofed wing with Nile-evoking water feature. But my favourite bit is the traditional European art, and what it says about 19th and early 20th century New Yorkers. The Met is a spiritual sister to the British Museum: both are treasure troves of Empire, collections of goodies from around the world assembled thanks to the huge wealth of the imperial power and the relative hard times of those selling off their patrimony. At the British Museum, you see the treasures of Greece, Egypt, the Near East and Asia carted home by the rulers of the 18th century world. A century or so later, European empires were waning and American commercial power was buying art, sculpture and whole rooms from castles (whatever you do, don't miss Federigo da Montefeltro's study) and country houses to ship to the new world. It makes you wonder if, in another few centuries, there will be a fantastic museum in China exhibiting the best of America and other Western powers.

Despite the Met's wonders, my favourite museum is the much smaller Frick Collection, at Fifth and East 70th. A delightful collection of European decorative and visual arts, displayed within the grand townhouse of the wealthy industrialist who gathered and then donated this treasure trove. If you want to get a taste of the gilded age, this is it.

Moving beyond shopping and culture, I've never had a bad meal in New York. Nor have I been there enough to make firm recommendations. I will, however, point out a few culinary experiences any visitor should seek out. Ask the locals to recommend a good Jewish deli and indulge in a hot pastrami on rye, slathered with mustard and accompanied by the requisite dill pickle and slaw. New York pizza is justly famous and widely available, though you should look for places that have been around for a while and still have Italians in the kitchen. Staying with the Italian influence, no visit is complete for me without indulging in cannoli, a southern Italian dessert almost unknown in Europe north of Naples. (Though I've finally started seeing them on some trendy Italian menus in London.) The best outside of Italy are to be found here. Unique to New York, I believe, is the black and white cookie; actually a round disk of cake half iced with vanilla, and half with chocolate. And of course, the ultimate New York dessert is cheesecake. I've never had any in Europe that holds a candle to the real thing here.

I'll make an exception and mention one specific restaurant, as much for the experience as for the food. Carmine's unique angle is family style southern Italian. Everything comes out in giant platters to share. It is pointless to go here without at least four people, and things really get going with eight. This is as close as I've ever come in public to re-creating the feeling of an Italian family kitchen, the table groaning beneath abundance, jugs of wine emptying briskly, and the whole act of sharing food evoking love, fellowship and contentment. Eating is about so much more than sustenance. An awareness, of course, that every Italian-American family breeds into its children from their first strand of spaghetti. Carmine's does a great job of bringing this to the general public. There are two branches, one in the theater district and one on the Upper West Side. See www.carminesnyc.com for details.

If I had one day to myself in New York, these are the places you'd be most likely to find me. If I had two days, I might even wander more than a few blocks off Fifth Avenue. But that story is still to be written...

(For more on New York, check out the blog entry from my last visit in November '07)

Brown's Hotel serves up traditional Britain with a modern twist

I had drinks and dinner this week at Brown's Hotel after a long absence.

When I worked at a PR agency I entertained clients here regularly. I appreciated that most Americans want to dip their toes into the traditional elegance they associate with Britain. High tea at Brown's always accomplished that, fusing history, tasty treats and tourist delight with a quiet, dignified place in which to have long conversations.

I hadn't crossed the threshold of Brown's since. I had no reason to avoid it, nor had I any particular motivation to go. On Wednesday I was invited to join two other marketing executives for a delightful evening of industry insight, entertaining stories and a bit of gossip. The venue still serves up exactly what it used to: Fine service, traditional food with some modern twists and a great place to talk.

We started the evening in the Donovan Bar, an elegant space with marvellously attentive waiters. It's nice to find someplace that's both fashionable and quiet; this is a great place to catch up with people without having to shout over pounding music. (Yes, I'm sounding old. But I wanted to talk, not dance.) There's muted live music some evenings, and extremely comfortable chairs and banquettes that encourage you to settle in for hours. We didn't linger too long, however, as dinner called from The Grill.

The dining room is a good reflection of the menu: Traditional high Victorian room with all its architecture in place, accented by modern art and furniture that enhanced, rather than brashly clashed with, the history. The tables are well-spaced, so you can have a proper conversation without feeling part of the next table, and the overall noise level in the room stays at a gentle hum.

The menu is classic "best of British", with lots of roasts, grills, local and seasonal ingredients. Though simple and traditional, light touches brought the dishes into the 21st century. Two of us, for example, opted for the scallops. Six whole scallops, served on a circle of their half shells, braised in butter and the highly trendy, seasonal wild garlic. Simple, but beautiful. Tom Aikens could learn a few things here.

The a la carte vegetables were obviously fresh, and cooked just enough to bring out their flavour. My one criticism: They could have used less butter and let more of the natural taste sing through. My starter of mixed greens, beetroot and goat's cheese was also excellent. We shared a platter of well aged and well selected cheese to end the meal. Which, of course, demanded a lovely little glass of tawny port.

All this fine food, wine and conversation proved a counterpoint to a nerve-wracking week, and will undoubtedly stand as its best highlight when I get to Friday evening. Although the delivery of my new refrigerator will give it some competition. But that's another story...

London on the cheap: Suggestions for cost-conscious visitors

London remains one of the top overseas destinations for Americans. It's also one of the world's most expensive cities, challenging whatever the exchange rates. Even more prosperous travellers are looking for ways to cut their costs while still enjoying a European vacation.

My earliest trips here were as an impoverished student, followed by years as an only slightly less impoverished young professional. So, as the economy chills and times get tight, let's go "back to the future" with Ellen's tips for enjoying London on the cheap.

Plan ahead. This is obvious, but worth stating. The further out you're able to book, the cheaper your hotel and airfare costs will be. This also includes researching what you want to see. Individual guidebooks can cost you a fortune when you add up all those small expenditures. Download basic information from the web on your key sights before you go and bring your home made guidebook along with you, throwing away the pages after your visits.

Go "cheap and cheerful" on the hotels, while staying in the centre of town. In recent years discount hotel chains have spread through the UK. They're clean, basic and a big step up from the low-end B&Bs that used to be the only cheap option. I'd recommend Travelodge (particularly their Drury Lane location) and the Premier Inn at Waterloo. Either of these may still cost you £90 a night, but that's a third of your average London hotel and they're both right in the heart of the tourist district. Resist the temptation to book someplace that's cheap because it's on the outskirts. Public transportation is expensive, especially at rush hour, and you can easily spend an hour or more getting to the centre of town from just 15 or 20 miles out. Unless you specifically want to see things outside of London, or must deal with a car, this is a false economy

If staying long, consider an apartment. This is becoming a more popular option, especially for families. You'll have a kitchen, allowing you to save money on dining out. Again, remember that it's a false economy to go too far from the centre of town. I don't have any particular recommendations, but the internet is full of options.
Have a picnic mentality. Travel with zip lock bags, a couple of food storage containers, a pocket knife with corkscrew, some plastic cutlery and a refillable bottle for water. Find the local grocery store to buy basic supplies for breakfast (if not supplied by your hotel) and other light meals. Fruit vendors on main streets in commuter areas usually offer great deals. Remember that it is unspeakably tacky to steal items from the breakfast buffet for your lunch. You should still do it, of course. Just be subtle and don't let anyone see you. Remember, you're upholding your national reputation.
Visit nice restaurants for lunch. If you want the delight of one of London's fine restaurants, go at lunch. There is usually a set price menu that offers a drastic reduction on the evening (average about £25 for two courses) and there will be less pressure on you to order a bottle of wine. Ask for tap water rather than paying a fortune for bottled. This is becoming a more common request in London, in part thanks to a campaign in the Evening Standard, so you no longer get the withering look waiters used to deliver. Many restaurants also have pre-theatre set menus in the early evening at about the same prices.

Avoid public transportation at rush hour. The price drops after 9:30 on the Tube, and drops even further after 11:30 on some train lines. Never, ever travel during morning rush hour, and try to avoid the Tube between 5 and 7 pm. Unless you enjoy being squeezed body to body with a group of complete strangers who are bad tempered and have briefcases that inevitably jab into tender parts of your body, all experienced with appallingly bad ventilation. Trust me, it's not London's finest attribute. Also note that buses are marginally less expensive than the Tube.

Walk. If covering six or eight miles on foot in the course of a day matches your fitness level, you may not even need public transport. And you get the benefit of a lot of free sightseeing. London is a beautiful city, filled with magnificent parks and a vast variety of great architecture. Look around and enjoy. My favourite sightseeing walks are: the South Bank from County Hall to Tower Bridge; Buckingham Palace to St. Paul's via The Mall, The Strand and Fleet Street; a zig-zagging wander through the streets of Mayfair between Piccadilly and Oxford Street, particularly at dusk when you can look in windows. For just £6 you can go on a structured walk with a qualified guide. London Walks is the best company; see http://www.walks.com/. They have discounts for senior citizens and multiple walks.

Consider a Great British Heritage Pass. This is a better deal if you're travelling around the country, but can still be good for London if you are planning on a lot of sightseeing. The pass covers all National Trust and English Heritage properties, plus some privately operated sites. A 4-day pass is £29. Getting into St. Paul's costs an adult £10, and the Tower of London is £16.50. You see how quickly you could break even. The web site lists all the properties (http://www.britishheritagepass.com/), and most properties have their own sites with prices listed, so it's easy for you to plan a bit and see whether this is a good option for you.

Use the TKTS booth. If you want to experience London theatre, your best bet is to either book ahead (everything is available over the internet) or go to the TKTS booth in Leicester Square. As with the sister operation in New York, TKTS is a clearing house for unsold or returned tickets. You never know what's available, but what's there is at least half price. Do not be fooled by all the small shops around the square saying they're half price vendors; the official booth is a free-standing building in the park at the square's centre. Also note that theatres with subsidies from the government have to offer cheap tickets to the public. These, of course, are the first ones to go. But if you plan ahead by internet, and don't mind seats at the top of the building, you can get into the National Theatre for £8, English National Opera for £10 and the Royal Opera House for £5.

Don't buy souvenirs. Yes, it's what you do on holiday. There are people at home you should gift with something. Don't do it. Between the exchange rate and our taxes, just about everything is cheaper in the States. This includes most classic British brands like Burberry, Wedgwood, Clarks, etc. Bring chocolate back to the folks at home. It's relatively cheap, tasty and unique; there are lots of brands unkown to Americans. Tunnock's biscuits are always a winner on my trips home.

Exploit museums and churches. To my mind, Tony Blair's single greatest contribution while in office was to make all the major museums in the country free. London's museums are amongst the best in the world, and you can wander their magnificent miles of galleries for nothing. (In comparison, it costs you $20 to get into the Met in New York, and 9 euro for the Louvre.) Most of the main museums (Victoria and Albert, British Museum, National Gallery, etc.) have evening openings once a week. This is a great way to extend your day, or to not feel guilty about taking sightseeing time out for a great lunch. London's church architecture, particularly in The City, is both fascinating and a model for much of the rest of the world. While St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey have admission fees, just about everyplace else is free. Check out, for example, St. Bartholomew at Smithfield, London's only Romanesque church outside of The Tower and a hidden gem most natives don't even know about. It's used regularly as a film set, most recently in "The Other Boleyn Girl".

One final thought: while free museums and churches form the backbone of a cheap cultural tour of London, if you have money to spare, please donate some to them. These are remarkable institutions, all in need of massive budgets to keep themselves and their collections in good shape. If anyone deserves your discretionary holiday income, it's them.