I left Lisbon and headed east, arriving in Vienna via Germany. The shift in geography was immediate. Warm Atlantic air gave way to something cooler and more structured, and by the time I reached the city centre, the pace already felt different. I was met at the airport train drop off by my friend Bruno, not far from our stay at the Wombats Hostel near the Naschmarkt. Hunger set the tone for the evening, and dinner came first, easing the transition into a city that already felt layered and deliberate.
Late the next morning, we set out to explore. First impressions of Vienna were strong. The architecture carried a sense of order and confidence, grand without feeling overwhelming. Streets felt wide and intentional, buildings solid and ornate, and the city moved with a calm assurance that made it easy to settle into.
Our walk carried us into the MuseumsQuartier, one of the largest cultural districts in the world. Passing beneath the monumental Baroque archway that marks its entrance, the space opened into a wide central courtyard framed by imposing historic buildings. The former Imperial Stables now house institutions like the Leopold Museum, with its clean white façade, and the dark basalt exterior of mumok, the Museum of Modern Art. Classical architecture sat side by side with stark contemporary design, creating a contrast that felt intentional rather than jarring.
From there, the route continued toward the Graben, Vienna’s grand pedestrian boulevard. Ornate storefronts and historic façades lined the street, the atmosphere shifting into something more formal and refined with every step. Graben led directly to Stephansdom (St. Stephen’s Cathedral), its patterned tiled roof and towering Gothic presence dominating the square. The cathedral felt like a true centre point, not just geographically but emotionally, anchoring the city around it.
Later, we climbed the South Tower of St. Stephen’s Cathedral, winding up narrow stone staircases until Vienna spread out beneath us. Rooftops, spires, and distant streets unfolded in every direction, orderly and expansive.
The walk continued westward, passing the Burgtheater earlier in the afternoon. Lunch followed in the form of Viennese sausages, Würstel, eaten simply, before a short rest and more wandering through the surrounding streets.
Not far away, the Karlskirche (St. Charles Church) on Karlsplatz stood reflected in the pool before it, the soft afternoon light settling over the square. The symmetry of the scene slowed everything down, water, stone, and sky holding equal weight.
We stopped briefly at the Hochstrahlbrunnen in Schwarzenbergplatz, the wide basin and rising jets catching the afternoon light before continuing on. From there, we moved into the surrounding parklands of the Belvedere Gardens, built for Prince Eugene of Savoy, where formal paths, statues, and clipped hedges softened the edges of the city. Trees framed long sightlines back toward the palace, and the pace shifted again. People sat quietly along the water or moved slowly through the grounds, offering a pause between architectural intensity and the evening ahead.
Vienna carried a strong sense of personal nostalgia. I had mentioned to Bruno how much the Before Sunrise trilogy meant to me. Those films played a role in shaping my desire to travel years earlier, especially before leaving Australia in 2013. Watching Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy wander Vienna as Jesse and Céline had made the city feel alive long before I ever set foot there. Their conversations, the sense of chance and movement, and the intimacy of simply walking and talking tied closely to the idea of travel itself. Vienna was never just a backdrop in that film. It shaped the rhythm of their encounter and the feeling of connection that lingered long after the final scene.
That connection led us to Kleines Café, the spot where Jesse and Céline sit outside on the cobblestones sharing coffee in the film. We sat inside, but standing there was still striking. The exterior looked almost unchanged, the narrow street and small tables frozen in time. It felt surreal to be in a place that had lived in my imagination for so long, now quietly part of an ordinary Viennese afternoon.
We passed by the Burgtheater again later, where the last light of the day caught the building just right, turning its façade warm and soft. Vienna has a way of letting moments like that linger.
Early in the evening, we visited Alt & Neu Records, standing outside the storefront where Jesse and Céline pause during their walk in Before Sunrise. The scene is brief but memorable, the two of them lingering at the listening stations, slowly realising the connection forming between them. Being there felt quietly satisfying. The shop sat only a few blocks from our hostel, woven into the neighbourhood rather than marked as a destination. We planned to return after Bratislava to spend more time there and take photos in daylight.
Later that night, we met up with our friend Mattias, a local from Vienna, who took us to an incredible spot for schnitzel, followed by drinks in neighbourhood bars filled with old windows, worn tables, and red signage. The evening unfolded easily, moving from place to place without any need for planning.
The day ended quietly, full but unforced. Vienna felt confident, reflective, and deeply textured. Even early on, it carried the feeling of a city that rewards patience. This was only the beginning, with a day trip to Bratislava waiting next, only a short train ride away, and more of Vienna still to unfold afterward.
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