“There’s really not much to see there, son”, still rings in my mental ears. When we would travel past Salzburg, as a kid, I kept asking Dad if we could visit the big white castle on the hill. “Maybe someday” turned into “We’ll see”, that slid comfortably into “there’s simply not time before we move back to the States.” So, today, I was going to rectify that childhood situation.
But, before leaving for the day there was breakfast to be had. I tried something new, that I saw the natives eating. What you do is ladle your usual bowl of cereal and then prior to adding milk, spoon on a couple of full dollops of yogurt. The thick, milky, full cream, flakey concoction is actually delicious. This may be the beginning of a new breakfast trend. (However, the sour twinge on the end of the full cream, practically straight from the cow, milk takes some getting used to.)
Ok, quiz time, again. Can you guess what this embroidered thing on my table was? Don’t worry, it took me a couple of days to figure it out too…
It is actually a cloth envelope of sorts for keeping the clean serviettes. So that’s where they were the last few days.
This was an especially timely find, as this morning I was treated to a childhood favorite, a soft egg. You simply chop off the top and spoon out the warm gooey deliciousness inside.
It is also a really good option to spoon out the egg onto a split crisp brotchen.
The morning crew of tourist is very friendly. When someone enters the small dining area, then everyone replies “Guten Morgen” or down here in the south “Moygen”. Today, I’m wearing a needed long-sleeve shirt purchased on Saturday. The dining room comedian says in German, “Ah so, today he is a German.” I can feel his inflection over my shoulder. His group of four middle-age women, sitting at his table, politely laugh at his joke. The man of a husband and wife couple sitting on the other side of me mutters just loud enough so that she can hear him, “Foolish laughing hens”. I left both groups safely in the illusion that there was no clue on my part as to what was said. What do you think? Am I particularly German today?
(Ya, Ich weiss nicht aucht.)
So, I wandered down the hill to the bus stop and took the quick twenty-minute ride to Salzburg from Berchtesgaden. The arrival bus pad had a perfect view up the hill to the castle, but before heading up I was on a mission to find “all things Mozart”.
Walking from the parked bus, I headed into the old town of Salzburg. The buildings are relatively tall, creating narrow alley ways about as wide as a double horse carriage.
Looking into one of the shops, it was amazing to see thousands of painted blown eggs waiting for customers to take them home.
This shop received the neatly blown eggs from a local noodle factory, then distributes the plain white eggs to local artists who paint designs. It is literally a cottage industry involving hundreds of artists and this large storefront, for resale of the finished product.
The day is cold and a high fog hangs overhead, making the narrow streets into shaded wind tunnels.
Salzburg gets its name from its oldest commodity, salt. In the ancient world, salt and drying were the only preservatives, so it was extremely valuable. This was so true that the Roman Empire took the effort to cross the Alps to secure Salzburg’s saline supply. Otherwise, it would be difficult for a legionnaire to be literally “worth his salt”. The phrase comes from the fact that many of the soldiers were paid in the more valuable currency of salt rather than Roman coinage.
Another thing, besides salt, that the city is known for are the gardens.
Unfortunately, I have arrive just at the change of season, so most early annuals have been pulled and the rich black soil turned.
The fountain is an remaining exception.
This blooming vine seems to fight the present chill, but once a hard frost comes it will be gone as well.
Salzburg was the birthplace and childhood home of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. The first historic site found today was his second family home, occupied after returning from performances in Italy. His father had written to his mother that Mozart was no longer a little child and that the family of four needed to have a bigger home in which to live, specifically that had more than a single shared sleeping chamber. Mozart’s mother secured a lease of the former Dancing Masters Quarters, on the other side of the river. As a court musician, Amadeus’ father had performed in the large dancing hall on several occasions and approved of the location.
About a third of the building was bombed during World War II but has been restored to the original design by the Mozarteum, an organization defined by the purpose of keeping the Mozart legacy alive in Salzburg. Unfortunately, the growing limitation of “no photography” applied inside, but there were very few period pieces and all the music was photographed, not original. This begs the question of “Why limit photography, if there is precious little that is authentic or proprietary?”
(The pink house was his childhood home.)
The Mozarteum maintains a performance hall around the corner and down the street. As opposed to the NY Philharmonic series, “Mostly Mozart”, that really isn’t and would be more aptly named “We’ll play a little Mozart because we have to and will really play what ever else we feel like”, the Mozarteum is the dominant home for his works.
In the time needed to tour the Mozart family home the sky has cleared to a light blue. This cool pallet serves as a great background for the city rooflines. I especially liked the repeating gables.
Heading up the street led to the cemetery of St. Sebastian, where Mozart's father Leopold and his wife Constantia are buried.
Visiting this location pointed to the fact that his final resting place is actually in Vienna.
Walking back toward the river to find the birthplace of Wolfgang Amadeus the street was alive with activity. Fresh autumn fruits were on display.
The warm, yeast heavy, aroma of a bakery wafted out into the street.
Distracted by the delicious smell, I looked up to quickly snap a picture of a young driver. This was one of my favorite toys, owned by other kids, growing up in Germany. It is like a “peddle-powered” go-cart for elementary types.
The old town and river were bright and glaring as I crossed the bridge.
The water is a dull, clear, green color due to the glacial sediment carried down from the mountains.
The birthplace of Mozart was a repeat performance of his childhood home with many photographs and very few actual artifacts. Oh well, I guess it is the thought that counts even when it comes to locational history. His mother gave birth to seven children in this third story, four room, flat. Only Amadeus and his older sister survived to reach adulthood.
So, one final task in Salzburg proper remained, the big white longed for castle on the top of the hill. To get there I wandered through the center of the old town, by the square...
... and past a crystal glass instrumentalist.
A couple of gentlemen added way too much testosterone to a simple game of street chess.
In the spirit of doing all things absent from the past, I “caved in” to the delicious smell of freshly baked pretzels with ham and cheese baked to a crispy, crunchy, crust. The pretzel had the texture somewhere between a true pretzel and a croissant. Either way, it was awesome!
So to amend for my splurge, I decided to walk up the very steep hill instead of paying $14 USD for a ride up the funicular railway.
The entrance gate was impressive.
A sharp left turn provided another couple hundred yards of steep incline.
Guess what? Once at the gate, it cost $14 bucks to get in anyway. With only a half hour before the bus was due to leave I suddenly gained perfect agreement with Dad. “Yep, there’s not much to see up here anyway.” I had to keep from laughing out loud, while enjoying the city views, on the quick gravity inspired descent.
Taking a shortcut to the bus pad, I ran across this cheerful lady and her Nun friend. They were happy to share their Autumn harvest for a photo...
... while posing under a now appropriately bare tree.
Waiting for the bus, the white castle on the hill had lost its luster and was no longer a source of childhood longing.
What I found was that Dad had, by far, made the right choice in taking me to Schloss Helbrunn. Many of you may recognize this as the shooting location for The Sound of Music film.
The kings summer palace served as both backdrop and soundstage for the Van Trapp family home.
It is also home to the Wasser Spiel, or water play.
Over five hundred years ago, the king had a trick garden of water sprinklers built for cooling summer entertainment. The guests would be seated at the table for lunch and then afterward would be treated to a good hosing down by waterspouts under their seats, combined with being showered from the sides. Everyone’s seat was rigged, with the exception of the king of course. These school kids were the voluntary examples of the tour.
One particular "water play" drew the kids in by distracting them with watching a crown elevated by the pressure of water, only to feel their own personal dowsing from hidden water spouts.
The garden grounds were filled with many forms of animal and plant life. The ducks appreciated the cool ponds, ...
... shared with carpe. The theme to Jaws played in my mind, watching the carpe approach the swimming ducks, bumping up against their swimming feet. The fish were approximately the same size as the ducks.
The ducks were relatively unimpressed and simply kicked back a little harder.
(That's not the duck's shadow underneath but a fish making contact with the duck's webbed feet.)
Do you recognize this building? (Don’t worry, the Austrians and Germans had no idea what it is either.)
Do you suddenly feel like you are sixteen going on seventeen? This is the glass house from the musical scene with Lisel and her post boy suitor from The Sound of Music.
The gardens were filled with incredible late blooming flowers, but don’t worry, I’ll only share a few of the best with you now.
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