Waltz & Wonders: Vienna to Budapest
by Lilly Carey
For a first foray into Europe, Vienna was a great way to start. Impeccably clean, absurdly safe, and dressed head-to-toe in baroque and neoclassical splendor — the city felt like it had been ironed and pressed just for me.
My driver whisked me from the airport to Almanac Palais Vienna, a modernist hotel tucked inside a historic shell. The hallways were moody and narrow leading to my suite. The suite had a very intimate feel with the added amusement of a mirrored ceiling.
Downstairs, there was a spa fit for royalty and Donnersmarkt, an elegant bar-restaurant. I had time for a power nap before I hit the streets.
The hotel is ideally positioned, just opposite Stadtpark, which on a golden summer afternoon was pure visual poetry — sun-dappled paths, lovers on benches, the usual Strauss statue gleaming with photogenic fatigue. I wandered into the maze of narrow streets, browsed the boutiques along the Kohlmarkt, and took a peek inside the Hotel Imperial, which was just as imperial as you’d expect.
At some point, my phone gave up — a classic roaming mishap — but Vienna is very easy to navigate, even to the lost. I retraced my steps with the confidence of a woman who always finds her way home, eventually.
That evening, I was a guest of the Courchevel Tourism Board at City Palais Liechtenstein — not to be confused with the Garden Palais Liechtenstein, where I was initially dropped off. Fortunately, I wasn’t the only one — a few equally confused attendees and I banded together and made our way to the correct palace.
The City Palais was a rococo fever dream. Gilded, opulent, and absolutely unapologetic about it.
The following day’s meetings were held at the Ritz-Carlton Vienna — predictably polished — followed by lunch at Das Loft, perched atop the boldly brutalist SO/ Vienna. Vienna doesn’t do skyscrapers, which is why the view from here was extraordinary: the entire city spread out like a model train set.
Later, we were treated to a private Spanish Horse Training Show — beautiful and deeply soothing, I nearly nodded off mid-trot. Unless you’re really into horses, you might opt for a different option.
That night, things picked up. We dined at Palais Ferstel, hosted by Ritz-Carlton Yacht Collection and Lujo Hotels of Bodrum. The theme: beachy elegance meets nautical kitsch. We were welcomed by our “Captain” for the evening — a theatrical touch I didn’t entirely understand, but appreciated nonetheless. He won’t be steering my yacht anytime soon, but he could certainly work a room.
The next day brought more meetings, this time at the JW Marriott Vienna, which turned out to be surprisingly refined, all quiet grandeur and marble calm. We then went to Das Schreiberhaus, a local vineyard with schnitzel to die for and wines that demanded multiple toasts. The hillside setting didn’t hurt either.
The grand finale? A traditional Viennese Gala at Palais Coburg — pure cinematic decadence. Waltzing couples, opera singers, “table ladies”, and enough crystal to blind a man. After hours, we descended into the Casemates, the palace’s old fortifications now reborn as a subterranean nightclub.
The next morning I was in questionable shape, but Helen Tours had arranged a sleek Mercedes to the train station, and I was soon gliding toward Budapest in a silent, air-conditioned carriage, asleep before we hit the border.
There, one of my closest friends scooped me up and gave me the grand tour from behind the wheel. We checked into the Párisi Udvar Hotel Budapest, a former luxury shopping arcade turned into a stunning gothic-meets-Art Nouveau hotel that looked like it had been taken directly from a Harry Potter movie.
Our room was elegant, with a dramatic view of the bustling street below. We wandered to the Great Market Hall, then dined quietly by the Danube at Port de Budapest. One bottle of wine later, we were back in robes, decompressing and reliving old stories.
In the morning, breakfast was served in the hotel’s exquisite Párisi Passage — a domed atrium that looked like it was made for secret societies.
And just like that, I was back at the airport. A quick pass through security, a layover in Frankfurt, and then Chicago — jet-lagged and already plotting my return.