We’ve been in Vienna a mere three hours when I think I spy our hotel on the wall of the city’s most popular art gallery. Excitedly we scrutinise the print (dated 1911) for clues, before Mr Smith gently points out that our current address, Hotel Motto – though similarly and strikingly wedge-shaped – is, with its balconies and colonnades, clearly from a much earlier era than the stark Alfred Loos-designed structure in front of us.
Still, it’s indicative of the stay’s notableness that neither of us would have been particularly surprised to see it up there – from the chic Chinoiserie-print staff uniforms (which I later learn are by Austrian designer Lena Hoschek) to the large Franz West mask sculpture in the marble stairwell (apparently a sarcastic commentary on the Viennese tendency to gawp – and it’s hard not to when confronted by such an enormous pink face), it just feels, well, arty.
Even the modest gym seems to have been stocked with design in mind; instead of hulking great plastic machines there’s a sleek wooden treadmill, static bike and water rower; a beautifully tiled sauna and steam room; and a bowl of green apples so obscenely perfect I’m scared to take one in case they turn out to be an installation.
The art theme continues upstairs, assuming you appreciate the sight of yourselves in the nude – rather than a bathroom, our Deluxe room boasts a large shower panelled in smoky mirrored glass which startles me on first use. (Thankfully, for us anyway, the loo is more discreet). Though not huge, the room has high ceilings and generously sized windows looking onto the busy pedestrianised Mariahilfer Strasse, offering excellent gawping opportunities, but letting in relatively little noise after the shops shut for the evening.
Indeed, helped by the elegant cocktails at Chez Bernard bar on the seventh floor, I enjoyed the trippiest series of dreams during our stay – well, it was either the alcohol or the ghosts that haunt the tapestry-panelled walls to blame. With a history dating back to the 17th century, this building was briefly home to Johann Strauss, housed the Golden Cross Inn and French military during the Allied occupation, and – in a previous incarnation as the Hotel Kummer – was the setting for John Irving’s 1981 novel, The Hotel New Hampshire.
Looking out from the roof terrace, which is open as a bar in warmer months, and as a self-service hangout for the rest of the year, the city’s history is hard to avoid. One of Vienna’s four Brutalist-leaning concrete flak towers is less than a five-minute walk away. Too big to safely demolish, it now houses the Haus des Meeres, with aquarium tanks and modest zoo enclosures (think rare Bavarian pine voles rather than lions) set over 11 stories, plus a bonus collection of wartime memorabilia, albeit with captions in German.
With no offence intended to the magnificently ugly Australian lungfish, most of our other outings from the hotel are more aesthetically pleasing – we tick off the soaring Gothic arches of the Stephanskirche, and both the Leopold and Albertina galleries. The latter’s Schieles and Klimts prove more to my taste than the glittering, but largely empty, state rooms of the Hofburg, former residence of the royal Habsburgs dynasty – though perhaps my distaste is due to memories of A-level history their name stirs up.
Most importantly – as well as gazing open-mouthed at the architecture of a capital that lost a fifth of its buildings to war bombs – we make time for edible art in the form of the viennoiserie-crafting practised in the city’s grand cafés. Mr Smith is sceptical about the precisely layered cakes, objecting that anything that looks so perfect is sure to be style over substance. But, ultimately, he finds himself won over by the Dobos torte, a Hungarian confection with stripes of sponge and chocolate buttercream, glazed with caramel, at the celebrated Demel salon, while I lose my heart to Café Landtmann’s chestnut-and-cherry torte.
Such places may feel like tourist traps, but boast their fair share of locals on shopping breaks, poring over that day’s Der Standard newspapers from the mahogany racks by the door. They’re also handy places for a late dinner on a rainy Sunday evening after a showing of iconic Vienna-set movie The Third Man at the Burg Kino, one of the oldest cinemas still in operation, still with deliciously low velvet seats to prove it.
Of course, we then have to ride the Ferris wheel the film made famous, yet even the view from the top can’t beat that from the mid-century Rondell Café am Cobenzl; perched in vineyards high above the city, it serves hearty food with an all-Austrian wine list. It was recently refurbished by the Motto group, and breads and pastries come from the bakery below the hotel, which produces a strong contender for the best French-style croissants in town alongside kipferl, the chunkier local take.
Hotel Motto guests, rejoice – both feature on the breakfast menu back at Chez Bernard (book ahead, particularly at weekends, as the views and food make this a hot venue for locals as well as guests), but you’ll follow your sweet tooth back for lunch and dinner too, to see the loveliest Viennese art of all – for what mere Klimt or Monet could live up to the beauty of a plump plum dumpling or hefty slice of speculoos cake?
Find out more about Hotel Motto or explore our complete collection of hotels in Vienna.
Felicity Cloake will travel an awfully long way for a good meal. A freelance journalist and award-winning food writer and columnist for The Guardian and the New Statesman – as well as the author of four recipe books – her idea of holiday bliss is being cooked for – preferably while she relaxes with an ice-cold martini and a selection of deliciously salty snacks. Felicity also enjoys working up an appetite for dinner in the great outdoors, both on two legs or two wheels, and occasionally checks in with an equally greedy dog in tow.
