As much as we loved the diversity of sights and experiences in Switzerland--from charming cities like Luzern to half-kilometer-long villages that haven't been touched by modern civilization--we've agreed that given the challenge of getting into and out of Switzerland, we aren't entirely sure we'll be back any time soon. Even though Salzburg, Austria is only 256 miles away from Interlaken (as the crow flies), it took over nine hours for us to get there by train. Interlaken, like so much of Switzerland, is nestled in wreaths of alps that make any attempt at direct transit impossible. We wound our way to Bern, where we changed trains to get to Zürich, where we changed trains to get to Münich, where we changed trains yet again to finally end up in Salzburg by the mid-afternoon.
It was pouring rain when we finally got to Hotel Mercure just north of the old city. After Bern, this was only our second "real" hotel of the trip, so I was beside myself when I found out we had an actual bathtub (a bathtub!). We dropped off our bags, prepared our umbrellas, and headed out into the onslaught of cold rain.
Our first stop was dinner at Köchelverzeichnis (after almost two weeks in German-speaking countries I still have no idea how to pronounce this). It was a small, intimate space lit only by candles, and we sat at window seats by an open window that looked like its glass had been set in the Middle Ages. The rain was falling, the alleyway beyond was small and winding with people on their way home from work, and we sipped Austrian wines (especially grüner veltliner) and ate one of the best antipasti platters of our lives while listening to Mozart's various köchelverzeichnis (sound familiar?). It was such a joy watching the restaurant owner, who was overjoyed to find out we were on our honeymoon, play these piano compositions on an air-piano while she cooked pasta dishes and prepared antipasti.
By the time we finished, the rain had stopped--so we put in our earbuds and wandered around the Old City, listening to Rick Steves's walking tour. We started on the Mozartsteg, a pedestrian bridge dedicated to one of Salzburg's most renowned past citizens, where Rick explained the meaning behind the city's name. It was the northern capital of the Roman Empire, and crucial to the empire for its salt (Salz) trade via the Danube (which splits into the Inn and then into the Salzach, and which flows across 10 countries; Europe's second-longest river actually starts in southern Germany before winding its way north of the alps to Salzburg and Vienna).
We passed through a ton of plazas (Mozartplatz, featuring a huge statue to the world-famous composer; Residenzplatz, of the former royal family; and the New Residenz, now converted from a royal palace into a central post office). We visited Salzburg Cathedral, originally built in the 1300s and rebuilt in the 1600s, before being almost entirely destroyed during WWII and built once again the 1950s. The baptismal font where Mozart was baptized still stands by the entrance. Just around the corner was Kapiteplatz, one of the major plazas for horses and traders in Salzburg's golden age, and through yet another set of tunnels is the original waterwheel of the city. This wooden wheel, built in the 1200s, used to power the funicular up to the Salzburg fortress (more about this fortress soon); it used the power of the nearby canals to route water power to five key vessels around the city, including washing the city streets every Thursday morning of the previous week's filth. This is one key reason why Salzburg is one of the only cities in Central and Western Europe to never have suffered from a plague.
From there, we strolled through St. Peter's Cemetery, most famous for shielding the Von Trapps from Nazi eyes after the Captain performed at Toscanini Hof, the huge outdoor theatre just across the street. (Note: This scene was actually filmed on a Fox lot, regardless of what Salzburg tour guides might tell you.) The cemetery itself originates from 696, and houses a beautiful Romanesque church that still shows bits of faded frescoes from the 1200s. Just across the square adjacent to the outdoor theatre is the Stiftskeller St. Peter restaurant, the oldest restaurant in Europe and questionably the oldest still-running restaurant in the entire world (est. 803). Christopher Columbus and Mozart were both served at this restaurant, which is now so overcome with tourists that we avoided it like...the plague (too soon?).
We crossed Universitätsplatz, the city's university square now dominated by market vendors and more frankfurters than I knew existed, and window-shopped along the Getreidgasse (one of Salzburg's main shopping streets). What we found funniest about this particular shopping venture is that each shop is required to maintain Salzburg's old aesthetic by being marked with a small, ornate, wrought iron sign with a symbol indicative of its wares for sale. A designer shoe shop might have a small iron shoe hanging above its door, and a restaurant specializing in sausages might have a small pig. McDonald's had a modest set of twin arches, and Starbucks had a steaming cup of coffee. Mozart's childhood home was even located along this street, now a museum so touristy that we continued on without stopping.
Our favorite aspect of this shopping street--as well as the large shopping avenue that runs parallel to it--was the extensive network of medieval tunnels connecting the two streets through winding passages, which are now lined with shops, restaurants, and cafés. We enjoyed these tunnels more than the tributary avenues themselves.
At this point, it started to rain again, so we ducked for cover in Alchimiste Belge--a smoky Belgian bar with an owner so perplexed by Ryan's request for a beer list that he laughed and said, "My friend, I'm the beer list." We got a second drink from the nearby Saitensprung on Steingasse (as in, a beer stein)--a street that has made pub-hopping in Salzburg a little too easy. The pedestrian-only alley offers bar after bar, from tapas pubs to underground wine cellars to hip, modern cocktail destinations. Saitensprung was Rick Steves's most strongly recommended of the lot, with its ancient cellar walls and stalactites of candle wax in every arched corner. This aesthetic, mixed with electronic dance music and a coordinated light show along the ceiling, created a very different atmosphere from what we expected. We had just settled down with cocktails when the owner himself, who moved from Athens, Greece to Austria some 23 years ago, came over to introduce himself. When a group of his old college friends stopped by half an hour later, he didn't hesitate to introduce us as "the honeymooners; the bearded one loves LeBron James." Aaand the men were off, talking all things Cleveland and basketball.
Our next day in Salzburg was much sunnier. Ryan was going through such a cold brew withdrawal that he begged for a Starbucks stop when we woke up. The Starbucks we chose, which faced Mozart's childhood home, had Roman cellars and wells underneath it--some partially preserved, some turned into tunnels toward their bathrooms. (Take a moment to appreciate this mental image. It was insane.)
We made the long, sweaty hike up Salzburg's largest hill to the Festhung Hohensalzburg, a fortress so foreboding that it scared off any and all armies interested in conquering the city over the past millennium. And indeed, the city has never--in its history--experienced a siege or takeover; it was conquered only once, and not by force. (They willingly surrendered to Napoleon's army.) Just the sight of this intimidating network of ramparts, turrets, and towers atop this incredibly steep hill was enough to scare away interested parties, including the Ottoman army in the 1600s. They just went down the street and conquered Vienna, instead.
This fortress offered incredible views of the city and the surrounding alps, as well as eerie torture tools that were never even used, and an aerophone--a mechanical organ known as the Salzburg Bull.
Side note about Salzburg and its surrounding alps: The Von Trapps didn't escape the Nazis by hiking over the Swiss alps. It would have taken them forever. They just hiked to the edge of their property and caught the next train to Italy.
We next took Heather's recommendation and had lunch at Zweltler's, a restaurant just off Universitätsplatz that served traditional Austrian food. Ryan was excited to get an actual stein of beer, and we split a series of traditional dishes that mostly included a lot of beef, soup variations, shredded pancakes, dumplings, and egg noodles.
(Keep in mind that these culinary trends are almost identical in Hungary, minus the obsession with paprika; these two countries were joined in the Austro-Hungarian empire under the Hapsburgs, which means many cultural aspects are similar. All that's changed is, you know, a century of unbelievable oppression via a shitty deal from the Warsaw Pact, unwanted Nazi occupation, unwanted Soviet occupation, losing a few wars, and unthinkable massacres at the hands of socialist dictatorships. But more on that later.)
We next went to the Hapsburg's Mirabell palace and gardens, all stemming from the early 1600s. My main motive in dragging poor Ryan across a very hot and humid Salzburg for these gardens was the promise that there was a labyrinth. There was, in fact, no real labyrinth. There were maybe five walls of nicely trimmed, 10-foot-high hedges, all with the end of said garden plainly in sight at all time. My hopes of feeling like Harry in the Triwizard Tournament were dashed.
We dove back into the Old City and ended up at Hotel Sacher, now renowned for its famous torte that stems back to 1832. We sat by the river, sipped chocolate-sprinkled cappuccinos, and ate our just-bitter-enough dark chocolate tortes.
Our time in Salzburg ended with a trip up its second-highest hill, not far from the fortress just to the south. Tucked into one side was Augustinerbräu's Kloster Mülln, our first "real" beer garden. Imagine a sprawling, tree-covered terrace with hundreds--hundreds--of people, all united in their love of beer, pretzels, and conversation. Here's a breakdown of what happens when you get to Augustiner's biergarten: You tell the cashier whether you want half a liter or a full liter, she gives you a paper receipt with your order, you grab your respective stein off the wall and wash it yourself with a communal spigot in the middle of the line, then hand your receipt and your stein over to the bartender at the end of the hall, who fills it with just one beer--they only have one type, that's it--and basically throws the stein back at you without a care in the world whether you survive the assault of ceramic and foamy liquid.
We sat in the heart of the beer garden, trying not to breathe in too much surrounding smoke, and shared a single pair of earbuds to listen to James Comey's hearing for over an hour. It was only out of necessity that we stopped, packed up, and grabbed our bags from our hotel to head out on an evening train to Vienna.
