Grinzing is what Vienna does instead of a seaside town: a village of wine taverns at the foot of its own vineyards, fifteen minutes by tram from the Ring. The 38 ends in the middle of it. Don't head straight uphill — the old centre is one street over, and it's the point.
Walk Cobenzlgasse first, the low whitewashed wine-growers' houses with vines over the doors, then turn up Himmelstrasse past the courtyards of the Heurigen (the seasonal taverns pouring this year's wine). A pine bough hung over a gate means a grower is open and serving — that's the only sign there is. Above the last house the lane becomes a track through the vines; keep going until the rows fall away and the city lays itself out behind you, hazy and complete.
Come down the Beethovengang, the shaded stream path the composer walked, the Schreiberbach running beside you the whole way. It returns you to the village. The honest note: the wine is best in autumn, when the new vintage and the cloudy Sturm are on — but the walk and the view hold up any clear afternoon.
