Vienna for The Slow Weekenders: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

Three thousand rose bushes around the Theseus temple, each with a sponsor's plaque, and the Ring's quietest benches; stay until the lamps.

The city's thermal baths at the end of the U1, warm outdoor pools under the sky and saunas in the garden; the evening ticket runs to ten.

A Beisl since 1858 by the Konzerthaus, Tafelspitz and a Blunzngröstl in a plain wooden room, the kitchen happy to serve late.

Breakfast in a 1923 coffeehouse of red velvet booths, the Diglas Frühstück with ham and a soft egg; the newspaper comes on a cane holder.

One room: the Bruegels, with a bench in front of the Hunters in the Snow; then the café under the cupola, which is the second room.

A late lunch under the palms of the 1901 glasshouse, a fish or a Schnitzel and a bottle of Wachau Riesling, the afternoon left entirely open.

The 1926 municipal bath of Red Vienna, art deco tiles under a glass roof, a long swim and the sauna; a Sunday morning spent horizontal.

Sunday lunch in the wine tavern in the house where Beethoven wrote the Ninth, a buffet by weight and the house Gemischter Satz in the courtyard.

A Japanese garden from Vienna's sister district in Tokyo, a pond and a tea house, closed in winter; ten minutes' walk from the Heuriger, then nothing.

The imperial confectioner since 1786, a Kaiserschmarrn or the house Sachertorte under the rococo ceiling, the waitresses still in black and white.

Open on Monday: Dürer's hare in rotation, the Habsburg state rooms and Monet's water lilies in the permanent collection; one hour, one floor.

Lunch opposite the opera in the café where Graham Greene wrote the Third Man, a goulash and a Melange, the airport train twenty minutes away.