We leave the apartment, distribute refuse in the various places the myriad categories of refuse must go, and rattle along several blocks to the metro we take out of town to the Sixte.

A young, pretty and extremely helpful woman at the Sixte patiently explains that, when we booked the small car from DC, we overlooked the Austrian law that forbids us to put luggage anywhere in the car but the boot, which means we need a bigger car than the Skoda Media. Quite a bit larger and about half again more expensive, we load our bags and leave the car in the lot, taking the metro two stops to Schonbrunn Castle and grounds.

Think Versailles but smaller and with vastly more furniture and exhibits in the lovely rooms. And rooms. And rooms.

Each one seeming to outdo the previous one by having more splendid walls — the “Million Room” sports painted Ottoman miniature scenes inside ormolu leaves on golden vines climbing rosewood walls —but it’s not to be outdone, really, by the two rooms where Maria Theresa held secret cabinet meetings surrounded by Chinese lacquered scenes embedded in the white and gold walls, or the rooms covered in hand-painted silk or the grand Marble Hall.

Whew … these people knew how to live rich lives and only needed 1,500 servants in the palace wings enclosing the central courtyard with two fountains to make it all happen.

We amble back to the central courtyard, skirt the front of the palace, meander through a side garden, and walk steadily past a monumental fountain and up a long slope to the Gloriette for a landscape view of the palace gardens, the palace itself, and the city stretching behind it to low hills in the far distance. A remarkable view.

Back to the metro and back to the Sixte, into the car and off on the A1 to Spitz, a hour and a half or so to the west on a lovely highway that we quickly miss to take twisting country roads by mistake, so we arrive in Spitz around five and take a screeching right turn into a Spar for needed groceries (tonic and limes).

We find the house we booked with remarkably little trouble; we unpack and contemplate where to eat dinner while snacking on Camembert, crackers, and the dregs of our Hendricks. Like the expert planners we have become, we decide to get in the car, head to Spitz and see what looks good on the way.

We drive toward Spitz along the Danube, which is not blue but is wide and full and fast moving and beautiful with vineyards etched into the sides of deeply forested low mountains, and take a sudden sharp turn across the highway into the front of Gasthof Prankl whose waitress is lovely and speaks perfect English and caters to our every question and need, delivering one of the best meals we’ve had so far in Austria.

Home and to bed.