Considering I present as the perfect person, many of you will undoubtedly be astonished to discover I actually have one or two flaws. That is if one considers the necessity of colour-coordinating and categorising the clothing and pegs on the washing line as a “flaw” – otherwise, I have but a solitary fault: an obsession with The Sound of Music. When I say “obsession”, I don’t mean that I know all the words to "Do-Re-Mi" and know all the actions to "So Long, Farewell". Although, of course, I do, it goes much deeper than this. I’m talking asking for a “pink parasol” for my seventh Birthday because that’s what Marta wanted for her seventh Birthday. I’m talking walking around for the better part of two years in a sailor dress, because mum refused to chop up the curtains and make me an outfit from those. (Mind you, I was clearly a trend-setter as I recall the Nautical-look being pretty big in 2009/2010.)
In high school, when we could pick any topic under the sun for our Negotiated Study projects, I chose to do mine on The Sound of Music. Entitled “The Sound of Music: Fact or Fiction? An in-depth analysis exploring whether the film narrative differs demonstrably from the real story of the von Trapp Family” (catchy, no?), I extended the theme from content, right through to presentation. I didn’t just write it up on plain, white paper. Pa-lease! My grandiloquent “in-depth analysis” was presented as a “brown paper package tied up with string”, inside of which various items associated with the film were employed to exhibit my findings: a giant fake rose (complete with glue gun-administered “raindrops”) with differing plot devices neatly scribed on the petals; a pair of (synthetic) mittens from which one could pull out laminated pictures depicting the real von Trapps and their on-screen counterparts; the longer, more detailed passages were printed on paper which held an arresting, yet restrained edelweiss border. Yes, I was that student. The movie still resonates with me strongly - even today, as I briefly contemplated taking up residence in a convent. Although, admittedly, that was probably less to do with Maria, and more to do with the realisation I am essentially living like a nun, and may as well make it official.
Given this obsession, it will be no surprise that I LOVE Salzburg. Fortunately, Kaitlyn also has an appreciation of The Sound of Music, so I didn’t even have to fake an adoration of Mozart or a love of Baroque architecture to explain my fixation with the city. One of the best hostels I had stayed in prior to this trip was Jufa, in Salzburg. I can happily report that Jufa still offer the best hostel breakfast around: eggs – they have EGGS! I can also not-as-happily report that Jufa is still on the other side of the city to the train station. Although I knew exactly where we were going this time, it didn’t make the long trek (90% bus, 10% foot) with backpacks and shell any less arduous, or tantrum-free. “Is this hostel even in f@%$ing Salzburg?”; “Calm down! I’ll let you off the f@%$ing bus when it stops. If I move now, I’ll f@%$ing fall over and break my f@%$ing neck and I refuse to die before you, old woman. For f@%$s sake. F@%$ing Austrian Mozart-lovers.”
Upon arrival, it was immediately evident Jufa had undergone a serious makeover since my last visit, and it was very...orange. The foyer walls were orange, the couches carrot, the counter peach, the vase coral. Just...orange. It was still too early for check-in, so we dumped our stuff in the amber-hued luggage room, and headed into see some sights and eat some food. In reverse order. First stop – Getreidegasse. The Getreidegasse is probably most famous for being the location of the house in which Mozart was born. Whilst this is probably the main drawcard for most people, I simply think it’s the most beautiful street in the world. Each shop has a beautiful wrought iron guild sign (even McDonald’s), and it becomes a labyrinth of balustrades, vaulted passageways and courtyards. Something I had wanted to do since I was first charmed by it at age eleven, was to take a photo of each of the signs. Last time I was there, the times I was sober enough it was raining, the times it was clear enough, I wasn’t sober. I was determined to make it happen this time, and over the length of our stay, Kaitlyn patiently humoured me as I got the job done.
Important thing to know about Salzburg: Amaretto is only €4.00 for a 700mL bottle. We discovered this as we were on our way back to Jufa. I was feeling incredibly flat, and the trek with my shell that morning had left my shoulder feeling particularly tender, so all I really wanted was to have a shower. It turns out Jufa have the best showers in the business. They might not have a radio or a lights show, and the walls were apricot, but they were hot and hard. It might be better if I instead describe it as hot and with a high water-pressure. On the way back from the showers (which were located conveniently close to our dorm), we met two Australian guys who were just checking in. Like 50% of the people at Jufa, Aaron and Dan had come straight from Oktoberfest.
We had big plans for that night – big plans which involved lots of Amaretto and a “girl’s night out” (you can read between the lines). We had the “lots of Amaretto” covered straight off the bat. It may not be as fancy as an Amaretto Sour but, sitting on the floor of our dorm surrounded by the tangerine walls, our Amaretto mixed with Cappy (orange juice) was equally as tasty. We’d been sitting there drinking to some sweet tunes, when an elderly lady hobbled into the room. At first, I thought she was lost (although I could understand how, with the decor, she could have easily mixed the place up for a retirement home), but as she collected some possessions from under a bed, I realised she was actually staying there. When she shuffled back in and, freshly washed, hopped into bed (at 7.00pm), we decided it was time to take our party elsewhere. We channelled 16-year-olds and made strong “Amappy” concoctions in our Sprite bottles and took them with us up to the bar on the premise of “socialising” before we bounced.
We hadn’t been sitting in the pumpkin-coloured bar for too long when Aaron and Dan saw us and came over. With them was another Australian guy, whose name I can’t remember as I don’t make a habit of remembering the names of people I don’t like. He was completely vapid and beyond irritating. Despite the fact we had been very vocal about our impending “girl’s night out”, Australian Guy Whose Name I Can’t Remember invited himself to come along. We quickly departed under the guise of going to get more alcohol from the supermarket to bring back and pre-drink...and just never came back.
First-up, we visited an Irish pub I had been to previously. It wasn’t exactly cranking, but it was ignoramus-free and, therefore, a good place to knock back a few bevvies and quietly mourn the sixty wasted minutes listening to Australian Guy Whose Name I Can’t Remember we were never getting back. After this, we stumbled upon a bar which was almost heaving with life. Not particularly intelligent life, we later discovered, but we were liquored enough to be open to non-genius options. As we approached the bar itself, a decent-sized group of guys immediately left what they were doing to also make their way over to the bar. Very subtle. Without delay, one of the guys assumed the role of spokesperson, going through the motions of introduction for each and every one. At first it seemed odd, but we quickly realised that only this guy and one other from the entire group spoke any English. Oh, and they were German Army guys on some kind of week-long sabbatical, so you can imagine they weren’t going to let a little thing like lack-of-ability-to-communicate get in the way. Or a little thing such as lack-of-interest-from-the-other-person.
The two with the English-speaking ability latched themselves onto Kaitlyn, while I got stuck with two very affectionate Neanderthals who between them spoke about fifteen English words. I say “between them” – one of them spoke all fifteen, while the other hadn’t a clue. The second guy also didn’t seem to have a clue about personal space and manners, and no matter how many times I forcibly removed his straying appendages from my lower back, upper thigh and gluteus maximus, he didn’t seem to get the hint. He disappeared momentarily to chat to his friends, leaving me trying to explain that English is the de facto language of Australia (they were all very impressed with the quality of our spoken-English). He sauntered back over looking quite pleased with himself, reattached his hand to my upper thigh and said, ‘Excoose me. I em viiry beautiful.’ I completely lost it, my hysterical laughter instantly wiping the smirk right off his face – clearly, this was not the reaction he had been anticipating. Maybe he thought I had misheard him, because he tried it again. ‘I em viiry beautiful?’ I will concede that he was, in fact, not at all an unattractive specimen and this, coupled with his blatant vanity, made is possible he meant to say what he said. Through tears of laughter, I saw him reapproach the two guys with Kaitlyn, and he obviously relayed to them his line, because they too exploded into laughter. He came back over and tried again, ‘You are virry beautiful.’
‘Thank-you.’ On two counts, thanks for the compliment, and thanks for giving me my new abs. Definitely my favourite ever pick-up line.
We had so much culture to get through in a short space of time, so we started off early the next day. We left Jufa Granny snoring soundly away, filled ourselves up with eggs (EGGS!) and other tasty delights, and hit the city. First stop: Mirabell Gardens. Several scenes from The Sound of Music were filmed here, most notably the closing moments of “Do-Re-Mi”. Did I want to skip around the fountain? Yes. Did I? No. Did I want to march past the sculptures and touch them on their heads? Yes. Did I? No. Did I want to find six other people so we could perform a co-ordinated routine ascending and descending the steps? Yes. Did I? No. Did I want to bolt down the along the pergola and jump at the end clicking my feet together? Yes. Did I? Yes.
Food-wise, Salzburg is probably most famous for its Mozart chocolate. Personally, I think it should be apple strudel (or Jufa breakfast). As you can imagine, with my heritage I have eaten a lot of strudel (štrúdl) in my time. The best I have ever eaten was from a tiny little cafe off the Getreidegasse a few years ago. And I was determined to find it and take Kaitlyn there to try proper apple strudel. I found it, and we ate strudel, but I’m not entirely sure Kaitlyn will be eating it again in a hurry. I’m fairly sure she did enjoy it, only apparently there was “waaaaay too much” of it, and she felt sick. (My wog tapeworm may or may not have finished hers off as well.)
I knew of a sweet little spot which provides a great vantage point for panoramic pictures of Salzburg, so this was where we headed next. Problem? It’s up quite high. Actually, this means problems – plural: ‘I need to STOP. F@%$! How do your little legs walk so f@%$ing fast?! Can you carry me up this f@%$ing hill?’; ‘It’s really quite f@%$ing high, isn’t it?’ I got some great photos, but I am unsure as to how greatly Kaitlyn’s were hampered by her crawking. From the lookout, it was possible to walk along pathways around the hill and eventually end up at the Festung Hohensalzburg. As impressive as the 11th Century castle is, we considered the rope swing we discovered amongst the foliage even more exciting.
Although our days in Salzburg were resplendent with a multitude of memorable moments, some of my favourite things occurred after dark. On our second night, we ventured out with Aaron and Dan. Dan had been told by someone of a sweet rooftop bar in a hotel across the river. It was not unlike the Salzburgean version of Prague’s U-Prince. I’m not sure what I liked better – my Mozart cocktails, or the blanket the attentive staff draped across my lap as the temperature decreased.
On our final night we walked past an Irish pub which appeared to have at least half the city’s population crammed inside. With that many people, we figured the chances of there being some good-looking boys amongst them were quite high. And we were right as, immediately after entering, we spotted two genetically-blessed guys amongst the crowd. In a moment of fortune, a table right near them was vacated as we walked past, and we pounced as it was far preferable to enjoy cheap pints and vodkas while seated at a table. Especially a table with such a fine view. We quickly discovered a down-side to our arrangement – everyone except us was smoking. And this bar had poorer ventilation than my old cubby house; sitting in there was what I imagine sitting inside a flue would be like. Yet, despite our immense discomfort, we continued to sit there, just because there were some pretty men smiling at us and making constant eye-contact. I’m surprised they continued to do this, as I don’t imagine my wheezing was in way attractive. Or perhaps, in Austria, emphysema is a sought-after trait in the opposite sex.
Oh, Salzbug! So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye.
The two with the English-speaking ability latched themselves onto Kaitlyn, while I got stuck with two very affectionate Neanderthals who between them spoke about fifteen English words. I say “between them” – one of them spoke all fifteen, while the other hadn’t a clue. The second guy also didn’t seem to have a clue about personal space and manners, and no matter how many times I forcibly removed his straying appendages from my lower back, upper thigh and gluteus maximus, he didn’t seem to get the hint. He disappeared momentarily to chat to his friends, leaving me trying to explain that English is the de facto language of Australia (they were all very impressed with the quality of our spoken-English). He sauntered back over looking quite pleased with himself, reattached his hand to my upper thigh and said, ‘Excoose me. I em viiry beautiful.’ I completely lost it, my hysterical laughter instantly wiping the smirk right off his face – clearly, this was not the reaction he had been anticipating. Maybe he thought I had misheard him, because he tried it again. ‘I em viiry beautiful?’ I will concede that he was, in fact, not at all an unattractive specimen and this, coupled with his blatant vanity, made is possible he meant to say what he said. Through tears of laughter, I saw him reapproach the two guys with Kaitlyn, and he obviously relayed to them his line, because they too exploded into laughter. He came back over and tried again, ‘You are virry beautiful.’
‘Thank-you.’ On two counts, thanks for the compliment, and thanks for giving me my new abs. Definitely my favourite ever pick-up line.
We had so much culture to get through in a short space of time, so we started off early the next day. We left Jufa Granny snoring soundly away, filled ourselves up with eggs (EGGS!) and other tasty delights, and hit the city. First stop: Mirabell Gardens. Several scenes from The Sound of Music were filmed here, most notably the closing moments of “Do-Re-Mi”. Did I want to skip around the fountain? Yes. Did I? No. Did I want to march past the sculptures and touch them on their heads? Yes. Did I? No. Did I want to find six other people so we could perform a co-ordinated routine ascending and descending the steps? Yes. Did I? No. Did I want to bolt down the along the pergola and jump at the end clicking my feet together? Yes. Did I? Yes.
Food-wise, Salzburg is probably most famous for its Mozart chocolate. Personally, I think it should be apple strudel (or Jufa breakfast). As you can imagine, with my heritage I have eaten a lot of strudel (štrúdl) in my time. The best I have ever eaten was from a tiny little cafe off the Getreidegasse a few years ago. And I was determined to find it and take Kaitlyn there to try proper apple strudel. I found it, and we ate strudel, but I’m not entirely sure Kaitlyn will be eating it again in a hurry. I’m fairly sure she did enjoy it, only apparently there was “waaaaay too much” of it, and she felt sick. (My wog tapeworm may or may not have finished hers off as well.)
I knew of a sweet little spot which provides a great vantage point for panoramic pictures of Salzburg, so this was where we headed next. Problem? It’s up quite high. Actually, this means problems – plural: ‘I need to STOP. F@%$! How do your little legs walk so f@%$ing fast?! Can you carry me up this f@%$ing hill?’; ‘It’s really quite f@%$ing high, isn’t it?’ I got some great photos, but I am unsure as to how greatly Kaitlyn’s were hampered by her crawking. From the lookout, it was possible to walk along pathways around the hill and eventually end up at the Festung Hohensalzburg. As impressive as the 11th Century castle is, we considered the rope swing we discovered amongst the foliage even more exciting.
Although our days in Salzburg were resplendent with a multitude of memorable moments, some of my favourite things occurred after dark. On our second night, we ventured out with Aaron and Dan. Dan had been told by someone of a sweet rooftop bar in a hotel across the river. It was not unlike the Salzburgean version of Prague’s U-Prince. I’m not sure what I liked better – my Mozart cocktails, or the blanket the attentive staff draped across my lap as the temperature decreased.
On our final night we walked past an Irish pub which appeared to have at least half the city’s population crammed inside. With that many people, we figured the chances of there being some good-looking boys amongst them were quite high. And we were right as, immediately after entering, we spotted two genetically-blessed guys amongst the crowd. In a moment of fortune, a table right near them was vacated as we walked past, and we pounced as it was far preferable to enjoy cheap pints and vodkas while seated at a table. Especially a table with such a fine view. We quickly discovered a down-side to our arrangement – everyone except us was smoking. And this bar had poorer ventilation than my old cubby house; sitting in there was what I imagine sitting inside a flue would be like. Yet, despite our immense discomfort, we continued to sit there, just because there were some pretty men smiling at us and making constant eye-contact. I’m surprised they continued to do this, as I don’t imagine my wheezing was in way attractive. Or perhaps, in Austria, emphysema is a sought-after trait in the opposite sex.
Oh, Salzbug! So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye.
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