Day One: Salzburg

On Sunday, October 24, I woke at 4, got myself all backpacked up (yup, one small backpack, about the size that you took to school as a kid), and jumped in the back of a very nice car. The taxi driver took me right to Stansted and I was rudely jolted into Ryan Air reality: only ONE bag is allowed on the plane. No purse, no coat...ONE bag. Argh. Poor bag got QUITE the workout.

Though the flight was late, I had a Starbucks in hand and was pleasantly surprised when we landed 20 minutes early. I slept the whole way there (about an hour and a half) and was just amazed when I saw this upon landing...



(are those the ALPS in the background? I think so.) Sigh.

The rain was thick, the clouds were low, but my spirits were super high as I embarked on what turned out to be the first of many journeys on my own. I jumped on a city bus, headed into town, and had the busdriver kindly direct me to my hostel. I know what you are thinking: hostel? That is so super gross. I would think so too, but this place was amazing. If you're in Salzburg, please check out the YoHo International Hostel. It was in the middle of everything and was just so pleasant to stay at.

I couldn't yet check in, as it was before noon, so I took a walking tour of what turned out to be my favourite city in the world. No kidding. Trumps TORONTO and you know how strongly I feel about THAT city.

I found so many little sights like this one...

and fell in love with the nooks and crannies along the way. Took this staircase up...

to overlook the city well into Kapuzinerberg, which overlooks the city. I hope I'm saying the right place...I've just looked it up on Google Maps, since I've long abandoned the city map I carried around for three days. Who has room for it with so little space? Anyway, here are a few views from atop the city...

Again, Alps in the background? I think I'm in heaven.

A new type of bench. I think this is actually a kneeler, as there was a religious monument in front of it. Nonetheless, I'm in love with this place.

At the bottom of the (huge) hill, I continued on my travels of the city...

...wound up crossing the river...

...without forgetting to look back from where I came...

...and stumbled upon yet another favourite theme: repetition. In front of the Salzburg Residenz, in Mozart's Square, many a horse-drawn carriage awaited guests.

I couldn't help myself...I wandered into the Salzburg Residence where Franz-Joseph and his wife Elizabeth (or Sissi, as she was known by admirers) lived for the duration of their lives. Well, maybe...you know how little I like history. They could have lived in Hofburg as well, but I forget. Anyway, here I am, snapping pics like it's my job of the place these royal humans called home. THE place. It was remarkable even for this non-history-lover.

This is the chair in which Franz-Joseph sat to have an audience with people. In the adjoining room, Mozart played his first concert for an audience. He was six years old. I can't make this stuff up.

Alas, I arrive in the great hall of some sort. What a tool...I had to take self portraits (much to the amusement of those fellow tourists around me who wondered why they couldn't just take the picture. Part of the fun, friends, part of the experience).

I've told this story to many of you in my life and hope that the video gets to actually play where you are. Let me set the stage...

Years ago, I dated this wonderful human being whose family had traveled to Austria in his youth. He had told me that they eagerly hiked up this huge mountain, but it was the walk down that really killed them. He told me they all had blisters from the rubbing that their shoes had on their feet as the descended the hill. Much to their surprise, it was not the climb up that wore them out (as expected), but rather, the trip down. Such is life, at times, right? So I think of this every single time I walk down a hill. Think of that family, trudging with three boys down an Austrian hill, as their feet blistered. Strange what sticks, isn't it?

Anyway, as an extension to the story, one night as the family went out to mass, I stayed home and was listening to Sting (who, as we know also sings Roxanne...A-Leash, Dave, just for you). I was young, so Sting was still pretty new to me. So new in fact, that hearing Fields of Gold was still pretty much an existential experience. I put it on repeat, as is my habit, much to the chagrin of many a roommate, and listened the whole time they were away. Imagine my surprise when, while looking up at this breathtaking view, a man begins to play Fields of Gold on an acoustic guitar. Could there be a clearer sign that it was this place I was supposed to be at this moment? Nope.

A still frame of what I saw while the song still played. Is this place amazing or what?

Then I took a nice stroll along the river. Took my time getting back to the hostel, where I dined on goulash and the unlimited salat bar (yup, that's how they spell it there). What a great day.

Always remembering to look forward...

...while never forgetting to glance back.