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.