We arrived in Vienna. It’s cold. We checked into the Hotel Sacher—one of Vienna’s three grand hotels, and the most famous of them. If the guidebook is to be believed, Emperor Franz Joseph had lunch at the Sacher every day for 20 years—patriotically dining on boiled beef.
Despite how it presents itself, it’s not actually that expensive—five-star hotels in Moscow cost more. It’s a very amusing place. You really understand what “old Europe” means. Nineteenth-century splendor. The corridors are narrow, the reception desk is tiny—about 2 meters long. The entire lobby is covered with photos of Very Distinguished Guests. Paintings, antique furniture, sculptures, and so on. Everything is slightly shabby and worn, but you can be sure it was some Habsburg or other who did the wearing out. Never mind that the corner of the ashtray is chipped—it was dropped by some marchioness when she was informed that her estate had burned down. In the room I could barely find a convenient outlet for charging my phone, but the curtains (or are they drapes? I’m not sure what the proper word is) are about 3 centimeters thick. Overall, you get the distinct feeling that there might be mice living in the hotel, and in the room. But not just any mice—Very Respectable Mice. They won’t run along the walls looking for something to eat. No—a senior rodent in a nightcap will emerge from his hole holding a small bronze candlestick and begin complaining that you’ve turned the television up too loud. At breakfast they serve champagne, in full accordance with the famous line from Lyolik in *The Diamond Arm* (a classic Soviet comedy): “Aristocrats and degenerates drink champagne in the morning.” The lock on the bathroom door is the last word in locksmithing circa 1894. Two little bolts, one blocking the other. I spent fifteen minutes figuring out how they worked.
(Photo from the hotel’s website. Ha—I've got a French bulldog too; I could have brought him along and upheld the grand tradition.) I’m shocked that internet access costs 4 euros an hour. You can just picture the scene: a stiff, ramrod-straight gentleman in a monocle, the hotel manager, announcing at a meeting on “service improvements”: —Internet? Whatever for?! Our esteemed guests have no interest in these newfangled contraptions! Let us instead spend the money on more gold paint for the plaques, and acquire a few more charming crooked-legged shabby little tables and ottomans for our guests. All in all, it’s fun here. We’re off to look around Vienna now.
Places