Dear Traveler,

 

Vienna is an old city. A place of high ceilings, long shadows, and wide avenues. It’s where music drifts like smoke through grand halls and whispers across quiet gardens. But if you’re coming here to know me, I’ll tell you about a woman who claimed me in her own restless way.

 

Her name was Elisabeth—Sisi to those who knew her. She was Empress, but the crown never sat right on her head. She preferred the wind in her hair, the feeling of earth underfoot, and the soft cadence of a melody to the heavy steps of state. She didn’t want to be a symbol. She wanted to be free.

 

Start at the Hofburg Palace. Stand in the grand rooms where chandeliers hang like frozen rain. This was her cage, gilded and cold. Imagine Sisi standing there, straight-backed and silent, her long hair falling loose over her shoulders. She was a rebel disguised as a beauty. While others bowed and curtsied, she thought of the mountains, the forests, and the music outside these walls.

 

But there was one escape she had—one thing no one could take. Music. Violins, pianos, and the faint murmur of Strauss drifting from salons. She would sneak away to listen to Mozart’s Requiem or the waltzes that flowed like secret rivers beneath the stiffness of court life.

 

After visiting the palace, walk a few blocks to Café Central. This was a place of thinkers, writers, and musicians. A café of old souls. You can still sit at a small marble-topped table, order a melange, and imagine the hum of conversation around you. Sigmund Freud used to come here, his brow furrowed over a cup of coffee, but Sisi didn’t come to be seen. She came for the music. A place like this could soothe the restless beat of her heart. Sit back, close your eyes, and let the music seep in—soft piano notes still drift through, remnants of a time when Vienna’s cafés were as much a haven as a stage.

 

But if you want to understand her soul, you have to go to where Mozart once played. Head to The Golden Hall of the Musikverein. There’s something about that place—the rich red walls, the glittering chandeliers—that feels both grand and intimate. This is where Mozart’s music was made immortal, where the walls remember every note. Sisi would have known this feeling well, caught between the grandeur of her title and the intimacy of her private pain. Sit in the hall for a while and listen. Feel the music swirl around you, filling the space like an unbroken promise. Sisi’s spirit, like Mozart’s, is still there—in every chord, every rest.

 

Afterward, I want you to step outside. Walk to the Volksgarten, past the rosebushes and quiet fountains. It’s peaceful now, but imagine Sisi striding through, always a little too fast, a little too far ahead of everyone else. She liked to walk until her thoughts ran out. Until there was nothing left but the rhythm of her steps and the music of the wind in the trees.

 

When the walls of Vienna closed in too tightly, she fled to Schönbrunn Palace, where the gardens stretched out like a promise. You’ll see the maze and the flowers. Maybe, if you listen hard enough, you’ll hear the faint echo of her voice, singing to herself as she wandered the long, straight paths. Schönbrunn was a place to breathe, to be almost free.

 

End your journey at the Kaisergruft, the Imperial Crypt. Here, under heavy stone, is where she rests. It’s quiet down there, the air thick and still. Sisi didn’t belong in life, and death didn’t suit her much either. But there’s a small mercy in her tomb—a carved image of wings, symbols of the freedom she craved. Look at them and think of her, the Empress who loved freedom more than her throne.

 

After you’ve seen all this, find a quiet corner at Café Central. Order a slice of their famous Apfelstrudel. Listen for the strains of a violin in the distance. Close your eyes and let it wash over you. This city is full of music and memories. And somewhere in the space between, you’ll find her.

 

Because Sisi was never really gone. She’s in the music, in the wind, in every restless soul that passes through Vienna.

 

Welcome to my city.

 

 

yours

Vienna