Germany (and a little Iceland) 2025
- Tim Madison
- Sep 30
- 51 min read
Updated: 3 minutes ago
Seattle to Iceland – September 29, 2025
We’re off and running again. Or floating. Or driving. Or flying. Or railroading. How about all of the above? Bags are packed with underwear, socks, coats, and pills the doctors say we need. Don’t forget the charge cables, mm-kay? CK has all the connections lined up, all the reservations in order except for maybe one, a Deutsche Bahn train dropped us off their schedule somewhere, otherwise our travel menu is in. CK keeps a ream of printed material in her luggage, evidence of all our reservations and tickets. She doesn’t trust the phone. She is amazing. We’re going to Germany with a brief stop in Iceland. This is a short-ish trip for us, September 29- October 12. The chief reason we’re going (same reason as last year) is to visit our “FAM” in Leipzig. We’ll spend a few days with them before we lurch away to investigate another corner of Europe. All this travel would have done more to build our supply of wisdom when we were young. Alas, we had neither money nor time for it in those days. In our current state of disturbingly advanced maturity, we simply get to punch another notch out of the bucket list along with the best part: enjoying the company of our friends.
We are departing the USA on an Iceland Air jet at a moment of peculiar civil and political weirdness and I’m understating this in a most cowardly manner. The government is about to run out of money to pay its bills and meet its payroll. Lord Combover is giving billions away to Argentina for no particular reason except to support a fellow demagogue and student of ineptitude. Said same fatuous, untitled self-styled aristocrat is unnaturally busy threatening Portland, Oregon, with violence because nothing says respect for the Constitution like military occupation of an American city. This may be a great time to be somewhere overseas. Also, Iceland looks terribly inviting as a haven of sanity and civilized behavior. Perhaps we should research their immigration policy? We’ll be out of the cauldron of domestic current events for almost two weeks. Not sure what we’ll be coming back to, honestly.
By 9 a.m. Monday, we're swept away from Lopez Island on a Washington State Ferry, its car deck jammed to the max. Only 7 other cars were able to fit in behind ours, far more traffic than I would guess here at the end of Island Tourist Season. A light but steady rain acts like a fog, reducing visibility to about a mile. It's a dreary 12 mile chug across the Salish Sea, but we're cozy enough in our car. A terrifying cruise down I-5 to Seattle follows. SeaTac airport is our immediate goal. We'll be hours too early for our 7 p.m. flight. The strategy is to navigate I-5 mid-day, avoiding the chaotic potential of anything resembling rush hour. Which is a curious term to give to a group dynamic that produces only maddening delays, snail-like progress, and crushed plans. This time, I-5 serves the purpose of conveying us (and our plans) undamaged to the airport. If it seems that I'm suggesting that traveling on our only highway can be a dreadful experience, it's because I am totally suggesting it. Not only dreadful because of slowdowns but dangerous when traffic is moving at speed. It feels safer to be at 30K altitude and 500 knots in an Airbus than drive 70 mph surrounded by other speeding vehicles piloted by strangers in various states of attention and mental stability.
At the airport, it's always hurry-up-and-wait. More so today. We have some time to kill before we go inside the aluminum pipe where our perception of space-time is warped in a bewildering way at great expense. This time is frittered away in a most unproductive manner, sipping tea, people watching, and doom scrolling the news on that electronic appendage we all have permanently attached to our souls.
At last, our boarding moment is announced. Tickets scanned, passports inspected, down the jet way and ... halt. The plane isn't ready. We stand in the ramp for 30 minutes before they tell us to retreat and find a seat in the waiting area. This is the first delay we've experienced with Iceland Air. It turns out to be only an hour's worth of bother. Just a reminder that perfection isn't a thing, I suppose. We have no connecting flight in Iceland until Thursday, so we're chill. Soon we're in our seats and in the air, I make a quick inventory of the movies on offer. Most are of no interest, four I've seen, one with De Niro, which would be worthy if I wanted depictions of vicious brutality to compliment the gory reality of current events. There's a silly Minecraft movie with Jason Momoa I might plunder. It's about a cubic world that Picasso should have invented if he had only fallen in love with Groucho Marx.
This flight is a red-eye as all Seattle-Iceland flights are. We'll be in the Keflavik terminal at 6 a.m. From there we hop a Flybus to Reykjavik, a 45 minute squinch in a seat designed for the 19-year-old me. Halfway there, we need to change buses. If the weather sucks it can be annoying. And this will likely be the case. We have often interrupted this trip to town by booking in to the Blue Lagoon for an exotic credit card burn. This is nice except for that day, a couple of years ago, when we had 25 mph blow and sideways rain. You haven’t lived until you’ve been slapped in the face with wind whipped, silicon infused spa water. It just isn't the blissfully spiritual transformation they show in the ads. After viewing the weather forecast, we voted to pass on this opportunity to do the Lagoon. Additional consideration must be given to the brand new volcano which has sent several tongues of hot lava toward that spa, causing it to close multiple times in the past two years.
After 6 hours and 45 minutes in the air we are on the ground in Iceland. The bus to town was just how we like it, uneventful, except for the light, blustering rain. Our hotel is The Apotek, CK’s second choice since the Central Hotel was booked solid. Our room is quite small but we’ve had smaller. The shower and toilet seem to have gotten all the remodel attention here. That space is nearly as large as the sleeping area, all surfaces covered with gleaming white tile. There aren’t any cheap glass doors in the shower, just a tile enclosure with a nice rain panel above. Bonus: heated towel racks!
At 2 pm, Iceland time, we should be trying to stay awake. If we could just avoid sleeping for the next 8 hours we could dismiss our jet-lag just like that. But this just isn’t possible. Our ancient brains must switch off for a while. Naps take us to our dinner reservation at the Food Cellar at 5:45 p.m. We can walk there. The very nice server seats us and tries to sell us drinks. I can only manage water, CK tries an alcohol-free white wine. “Not bad”, she says. I’m only just alert enough to know that I should order fish in Iceland. If not fish, then lamb. I had fish-of-the-day which was prepared perfectly, a cod together with a hunk of Wolf Fish. It was white and almost a perfect clone of Halibut. CK has scallops and beef, all quite well prepared and carefully presented. They do a nice job here in Reykjavik.
CK takes me along for her apres-le-diner constitutional along the dark, rainy Reykjavik streets. The weather is kinda blustery and foul. The walk is a brief one.
Our day is finally spinning down to a point where we can attempt a night’s sleep. We’ve been in a varied state of waking and dozing for about 30 hours. Hopefully, we’ll be in better physical and mental shape tomorrow. We’ll have a full day here to mess about.
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Reykjavik, Iceland - October 1
Breakfast at the Apotek Hotel is $40 US per person. That alone is enough to jolt us fully awake after a night in a room smack in the middle of the city’s bar district. Icelandic party animals are serious about their lifestyle. 2 a.m. means nothing. Neither does 3, 4, or 5 a.m. Like a pack of vampires, they slither away about sun-up but not before letting the entire zone know how much fun they’re having and how much liquor it takes to have it. At the breakfast there are a few other bleary eyed US tourists having a bite while trying not to mentally calculate how much each bite costs. We really should just stroll down to our favorite coffee shop, The Laundromat, rather than eat here. It would be 50% less! It’s just a block away! Gah. Then there’s Starbuck’s. They just recently opened a store in town and the residents aren’t having it. There are 90+ local coffee joints in this area and all of them serve better Joe and have better vibes than said multi-international corporation. Starbuck’s may find itself quite empty handed in this culture. Perhaps they deserve it.
Our primary move today is to check out the Sky Lagoon. Having passed on the Blue Lagoon yesterday, we must satisfy our curiosity about this other Icelandic Spa. It is located 15 minutes from the city center by taxi. Our driver is an Icelander, a middle-aged chap with a heavy Norse accent. He says he’s a lucky guy and everyone he meets gets generous helpings of luck from him. I’m in.
This spa is perched on the shoreline, but we drive through a heavy industrial zone to get there. Funny spot to find a spa but here we are. We can only get bits of information about it from our online snooping. We’re told to expect a 7 step “ritual”. We don’t need to do it but it’s there if we want to play along. It goes like this: 1: Lagoon 2: Cold Plunge 3: Dry Sauna 4: Skin Scrub 5: Steam Room 6: Cold Mist 7: Elixir – a dram of refreshment made of tea and juice from the Crowberry.
The entire facility is fairly new, or looks like it. Design is ultra Nordic, sparse, clean angular lines, no clutter, mostly natural light sources. The changing room is tidy at hospital level, designed to please aesthetically and practically. There are other people here but we all seem to have our own space. There are no bottlenecks of humanity like we encounter at the Blue Lagoon. From there we emerge from what looks like a rock cliff into the lagoon, a 4 foot deep pool of maybe 95F degree water (they say 100F but I think not). The lagoon wanders between basalt outcroppings and opens to a larger area edged by an infinity pool design. Beyond this is an expansive view of a bay and a bit of the ocean beyond. It’s an excellent place to view distant storm cells on the right day. Basking in the hot water and chatting with your partner is the activity.
People watching is unavoidable. There are plenty of folks here but it doesn’t seem crowded. There are plenty of benches in the water to lounge on, something the Blue Lagoon has very little of. When ready, we enter a sod-house door where we find a very modern facility offering the next ‘ritual steps’ as described above. The saunas are very well done, much better than Blue Lagoon. The Cold Mist room is much more pleasant than I imagined, mostly I think, because we go in there directly after a hot and dense steam room, also super well done which is how I feel after 10 minutes. Next is the little dram of Crowberry refreshment in a shot glass which is sweet and tart like cranberry juice. From there we go back to the Lagoon. We must hit the poolside bar to celebrate our bravery for enduring the ‘ritual’. CK has a Blueberry Mocktail while I go for the Crowberry Martini. I ask the bartender, an eastern European lady by her accent, if their Lost & Found room has a lot of things in it. “Nobody has ever asked me that!” (CK tries to pretend she doesn’t know me.) Then she goes on to describe the amazing amount of stuff it contains and what happens when they need to get rid of it. After sipping our drinks we need to investigate a waterfall feature over in one corner of the lagoon. I find that this cataract is launching nice warm fat chunks of water. Standing under it feels like a swarm of buffed up Leprechauns punching me out.
We spend more than two hours bathing here. I don’t think my fingernails have ever been this clean. Back in our street clothes we take a bit of tea and soup in their café before checking out. My conclusion is that this spa is superior to the Blue Lagoon. There are far fewer people, no movement choke points like Blue Lagoon, more shelter from inclement weather, a little bit warmer water, superior views, far superior saunas, and far better access from town.
There’s a taxi stand there for us. Our driver is Nassim, a young fellow from Afghanistan. During our 15 minute ride we learn that, like many others, he is trying to find a better life beyond the broken society he comes from. We need a ride to the airport tomorrow, so we make a deal. He’ll drive us for 20% off the going rate.
CK declares it is time to take a stroll around town and keep an eye out for dining opportunities as we have no reservation. I’m not worried because the tourist season is far off its peak right now. We haven’t seen any venue that was full of customers. We can pretty much walk in anywhere. There’s an on and off drizzle. It’s annoying but also refreshing. It isn’t bad enough to require an umbrella or even my heavy jacket. Our wander takes us up past the clothing and jewelry shops to the Hallgrimskirkja, the main church in town. A bronze of Leifur Eiriksson stands in its plaza, a gift from the US back in 1930. The spire rises 244 feet. A hefty organ stands in the loft with over 5,000 pipes. The décor is amazingly, achingly blank, a reflection of the stoic character of the Norse culture, I suppose. This is the second time we’ve been inside. The first was maybe 6 years ago? I’d have to check the blog to be sure, but I included interior photos in that earlier post.
Our stroll back to town allows me to stumble across something I’ve walked past several times without knowing it: The Punk Museum. This is a space dedicated to symbolic violent rejection of social norms and unnecessary crudeness. However, in the case of Punk Culture, crudeness is necessary or it wouldn’t be Punk, would it? This thing is parked underground in what used to be a public toilet. Is that not poetically apropos? I’m stoked to get in there despite the hideous ‘music’ blaring on the speaker mounted on the steps. I’m thinking “this is a feast of images for the blog” until I get to the door. The sign says that this is 2,000 krona entry fee, about $16 US. I might have paid it but I know that CK would just wait on the sidewalk in the rain while I got my money’s worth. She would not go in there with me even if it were free. I get a few snaps and we move on.
Here's a little video link if you want the sound effects: https://youtu.be/mjNisQM7g-g
Our final quest today is to find some food. We’re telling ourselves that we don’t need anything fancy like last night, just some good old fashioned grub will do. Back in the restaurant district we peak into an English Pub. Nah. It’s too much of a hangout and the kitchen may be suspect. The Markt is a place we dined in twice but it is too fancy for today. Also we suspect that I picked up a norovirus there on the last visit. That was messy. I spy a curious building sporting a name I cannot pronounce: Bryggjuhusid. As we stroll in for a peek, we are pounced by two charming, good looking guys who go to work engaging us. We join in and before you know it we are seated and they are explaining the works to us. One guy’s name translates to Crow, the other is Happy. Their actual names are unpronounceable Old Norse contraptions. I ask for a gin & tonic but give them license to surprise me with the barkeep’s invention just as long as the gin is herbal, not reeking of juniper. What they delivered looked like a Christmas tree in a glass. It was scrumptious, made with Roku, a Japanese gin. I wasn’t happy with the photo of it, so that’s left out, sadly. CK orders lamb chops but I’m going a little native tonight. I’ve never tasted wild goose and they offer it in the form of burger and fries. It arrives inside a brioche as you may expect, but loaded with a mayo and blackberry jam dressing with a delicious onion character. It is yumster and the goose is amazing but there’s too much dressing. Eating this thing in a civilized way is not going to be possible. I’ll be needing shop rags and lots of them. I’ve changed oil filters on my truck and come away with cleaner hands. Super messy but incredible. Bonus! I find a piece of birdshot in the burger before I break my tooth on it. When Happy comes to check on us I show him my prize. “You found the lucky pellet! You get a free dessert!” Which is a kind of chocolate pudding. Also quite nice. So, we recommend this joint and it’s worth going back to for us because there are other items on the menu we’d like to plunder. We may have to wait a whole year, though. We aren’t scheduling a stop here next Spring.
That’s all for today. Tomorrow may be a challenge to find blogworthy stuff because it is a travel day. Lots of hurry-up-and-wait followed by being folded up in small spaces for hours. We have to be in Leipzig, Germany at Joshua and Katherina’s house by 6:30 p.m. I’ll think of something. I hope.
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Iceland to Leipzig, Germany - October 2
We’re up long before 5:15 a.m., our appointment to meet Nassim, our taxi pilot, on the street in front of the Apotek. We’re on our way to Leipzig. This leg of the trip will take place in the dark of night under partial consciousness. Of course, we hope that Nassim is fully alert and ready for action. We’re still trying to remember if we collected all our charge cables. Nassim isn’t chatty even though CK tries repeatedly to engage him. He’s friendly, but just doesn’t have enough English for a confident conversation. Our command of Dari (Afghan Persian) is less than zero, so points to him for being a polyglot. The ride to the airport is 45 minutes.
At Keflavik Airport, all is in order. People are bustling in all directions. Reykjavik is a happening place and getting busier. We’ve watched it grow just in the few years we’ve been using Iceland Air. There are expansion projects all around the terminal. But the one thing they don’t have here are jetways, you know, the enclosed ramp that takes you from the terminal to the jet’s doorway. Instead, we are loaded on buses that drive out to the aircraft. We then walk across some tarmac and climb stairs to the cabin. Only once, a few years ago, did we get caught in a gale while doing this. That was a damp and cold experience. But not today. All is well. The plane gets away on time and our confidence is boosted. This illusion melts away when a tray of food is plopped on our little personal tables. Here we find an arrangement of items invented by an Icelandic Chef who dreams of being the first culinary artist in history to earn a Michelin star for his airline food. It looks like we’re invited to make a sandwich from parts on the tray: a bun, overly processed cold cuts, tomato, lettuce, butter, and a very runny version of guacamole. A few inches to the north lies a crepe creatively folded together with some kind of mushroom sauce. None of this has any flavor and clearly was never intended to. It would probably be labeled Modern Icelandic Fusion if one was inclined to be generous with definitions. The thing to remember is that we get to have a cultural experience. This is the essence of travel, after all. Now, my tongue seems to be stuck in my cheek and I can’t get it out.
The airport in Berlin has jetways. And having checked in to Europe through Iceland, we don’t have to creep through passport control here in Germany. Yay!
We’ve arranged for a driver from Berlin Brandenberg Airport to Leipzig. This is a 2 hour trip. We spend the extra dough for this because we’re old. It’s about €300 more than the train option which would require a taxi to the Berlin Hauptbahnhof, a wait of 90 minutes or more for the train, then ride the train for 2 hours. We reserved the car several days ago. Our plane is on time. We expect the driver to be waiting at the arrival gate. Nope. No driver. We both make a brief search of the area, investigating all the other drivers holding up signs, some of which are strangely illegible in any language. No driver. CK begins to call the phone numbers we have. We drift in confusion for about 30 minutes before coalescing our thoughts toward alternatives. About the time a plan begins to form, CK gets a message on her Whatsapp. It is our driver apologizing for being late. No worries. It happens. We’re grateful to be back on track.
Our driver is Henry. He’s a cheerful fellow but not chatty which isn’t surprising since English is something he probably only uses for work situations. This means we may be able to sleep some of the way. The wrinkle in this is usually the driver’s style. Is he/she an aggressive type or a defensive type? If the car is jerking about wildly, sleep will be replaced by wakeful terror. Turns out that Henry is what CK calls a ‘nervous’ driver. His foot moves between the accelerator to the brake pedal with annoying frequency with a lot of unnecessary changes in speed. But this isn’t the major fly in our limo ointment.
In this case, the ambiance of this Toyota compact is a factor. It reeks of chemicals that summon questions about how vanilla and coconut could be used in heavy industry. The culprit is a piece of yellow cardboard in the shape of a tree dangling from the mirror. There may be another odor lingering in the background, something that this toxic tree is providing cover for. I can feel that it is there but cannot put my ancient olfactory senses on it. Even if it isn’t there, the yellow tree strongly hints that it is and cannot be removed by normal cleaning procedures. After 20 minutes, the effect is amplified by the body heat of 3 people. Add in beaming shafts of sunlight and we welcome a greenhouse effect to the party. You get the idea. The fake vanilla and coconut molecules are beginning to condense in my sinuses, bonding into a substantial mass. These tissues have already been ravaged by a recent cold. I fear what may happen to them if they take on a durable coating of cheap air freshener. We’ve got another hour and a half of this. Luckily, there is an automatic window button near my right hand and the child lock is off. Flooding the car momentarily with “Essense of Autobahn Pollution #5” actually provides some momentary reprieve. At last, we arrive at our stay, The Marriott, in Leipzig. We thank Henry for getting us here safely but silently I worry about how long it will be before I can rid my head of the flavor of his yellow tree. At the check-in desk, I look for clues as to whether the receptionist can smell it on our clothing. I tell ya, there’s always something.
We are in town to see our dear friends, Joshua and Katherina plus their kinder, their children, affectionately known to us as The Squids because it rhymes with Kids and Katherina occasionally accuses them of being behaviorally diverse invertebrates. Sometimes she is serious about that but mostly the Squids are nothing but fun and good trouble. Our prime intention is to enjoy the company of these wonderful folk and spoil the Squids into irredeemable perdition. Let the games begin!
We were supposed to meet at their house tonight for a home cooked meal and hugs but plans had to be changed last minute. Instead, the Squids and Joshua arrived at our hotel room to deliver the hugs. Joshua has to go off to take care of business because today is a work day, leaving the Squids with us for a few unsupervised hours which we will fill with games and devious conspiracy. We took them out to dinner at our usual Italian joint in Leipzig, The Sardegna. Wille is 9 and Helene 11 and we are having our conversation in English with only an occasional referral to cellphone translators. These kids are amazing. So cool.
After dinner we must get to the ice cream shop before they close. Squids must have their ice and so do I, to be honest. With drippy cones in hand, we drift over to the central platz where there is an Autumn Market and a brass band playing medlies of pop tunes, show tunes, and marches. They are mixing just about everything together, actually. I capture a pic of one guy who is completely transported by it all, floating about, waving his arms, singing along, you know, completely mad in a nice way. I should have video’d him or stitched together layered images.
This market scene will be here tomorrow as well. About a half mile away, on Augustus Platz, there is a small fair dedicated to potatoes. We will need to check that out. Tomorrow is another German holiday: German Unification Day celebrating the moment in 1990 when East Germany and West Germany ceased to be a thing and the Berlin Wall was demolished the rest of the way. Some regions get a total of 25 official holidays each year. Compare that to the USA which only has 10. Some people count Christmas Day but that isn’t official. That one is usually taken in trade for some other day off.
On the way back, Helene sees the Waffle Shop and remembers that her Dad loves the one stuffed with vanilla crème. She snags one to give to him when he arrives to take them home.
We all meet at the hotel. Hugs all around and a promise to meet up again at the Helmut Restaurant tomorrow. Joshua gnoshes his waffle and off they go.
It’s been a long day. We hope for a good sleep.
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Leipzig, Germany – October 3
Leipzig has more than 420 bridges. We didn’t use any of them today. We slept in until 10 a.m. even though weather was brilliant, warm, and sunny. I believe this is evidence of a certain level of fatigue accumulation. Perhaps that stop in Iceland didn’t do enough of what we wanted it to do, namely banish that pesky jet lag. It also must be said that being septuagenarians may be a factor and something less than an advantage.
Crawling out of bed with the day half spent has always irked me but today even more so because the Autumn Market is having its last day over there in the central platz. Yesterday, I told myself that we’d have a good stroll through it, plunder some luscious brats, and look for good trouble. No. CK says she’s going out to bring a sandwich back to the room. What!? Have we lost our pea pickin’ minds? She is out the door before my bleary brain can focus on the idea to challenge her plan. I dial her phone but she have the ringer muted. Bah! Minutes later she returns with two forlorn chunks of bread-like substance cradling what must be, by all evidence available, cooked egg. Chicken egg, most likely. If this were a movie with a magical reality theme, this “sandwich” would transform into an 8 inch grilled bratwurst clutched firmly in one of those three inch buns which serves merely as a tidy grip on the greasy business. Smeared with spicy mustard, of course. Two bites of this egg travesty is all I can stomach, particularly with visions of bratwurst swimming in my head. And it’s the last day for the market, too! GAH!
CK says we’re due at Joshua and Katherina’s house at 2 p.m. and suddenly it’s noon. It takes the better part of an hour to navigate the tram route to their house so there’s only an hour left to visit the market. I know the rest of the day is likely to be filled with fantastic delicacies so it is too late to get that brat. I need to save my appetite for later.
Nevertheless, CK says I have an hour to wander around the square. I hustle out and around the corner, passing Dhillon’s Pub, a bar with an Irish theme. Two ladies dart toward me from between the shrubbery. The older of the two must spot me for a non-German somehow. “Do you speak English?”, says she in a forward British way. “Yes, ma’am. How can I help?” “We’re looking for the Autumn market.” This is no challenge, since the first booths are literally 200 feet away from where we’re standing. Once they realize they’ve found it, they dismiss me but not before I learn that they are Fiona and her daughter Anna from Surrey, near London. They are looking for something to do while Fiona’s husband runs a marathon event or something similar.
I make my quick tour of the market knowing that I’m not going to be ordering any food, a thought that causes me to remember that Katherina told me of some curious promotion of potatoes taking place today in Augustusplatz, a 7 minute walk. Upon arrival I don’t see the potato display as much as I do the (surprise!) Italian Market. Here is a double row of booths and tents about 200 feet in length, bursting with all manner of meat, cheese, pasta, sauces, spices, and other goodies. This makes DeLaurentis in the Pike Place Market seem weak and powerless. I had no idea the Italians were such a strong presence in Germany, let alone Leipzig. And the locals are totally mobbing it. These guys are raking in the dough. The business action here far outstrips that being done back at the central plaza. I find a cashmere scarf to replace the one that was stolen in Dublin and score a chunk of outrageously wonderful salami for Joshua and Katherina. A few feet away is a tent hosting the potato event. Inside it reminds me of a county fair in the US, the way things are set up. The most compelling action I notice is the fellow pouring samples of potato-based beer. The line was too dense and disorganized, so I pass on that. My hour is up and I must waddle back to the Marriott to gather CK for our tram ride out to the suburbs.
We must use one of those annoying ticket machines because the ticket office with real people is closed; it is German Unification Day. No worries. CK figures out the ticket bot while I check the route to find which tram we need. It’s the 11 or 11E. About an hour later we’re pressing Joshua’s buzzer. What follows is a lot of squid hugs and warm welcomes. Katherina has a tea party set up with fancy cakes and good cheer. We spend most of the afternoon catching up on their progress, the success of the squids, the challenges they’ve had. CK brings forth the bag of gifts she’s been hoarding for weeks. It looks like Christmas but it’s a massive Unbirthday Party. The squids have a blast tearing the packages open.
The weather is still sunny and bright, so we have a stroll over to the family’s ‘allotment’. This is the term they use for garden space that can be rented in certain urban areas. It is quite the solution for folks who live in condominiums or apartments. It looks to be about 1/8 acre, maybe less. People usually have a tool shed or a cabin-like retreat built on it. There are vegetable patches, flower, fruit trees, whatever. Joshua and Katherina’s has a cabin with a sitting room and a little kitchen. There’ a small patio and a covered lounge area. The vegetable garden is mostly pumpkin and artichoke with an additional patch of strawberries. Lovely. The pumpkins are processed into marmalade with the addition of pumpkin spice that we smuggle in from the states.
Dinner hour is approaching. J&K have reserved a spot at Gasthaus Helmut, just a few tram stops away. This place is run by chefs and wait staff that weren’t treated well by the hotel that once employed them. They reorganized themselves into a hotspot that needs reservations far in advance. I mean to say, these guys have earned Michelin stars in their previous situations. Our meal is terrific. I have a potato soup and a whole pig’s knuckle roasted to a crispy finish ringed on the plate by a rich sauce. It is awesome. We wash it down with a nice Spanish Syrah. There’s lots to talk about, swapping stories, plenty of laughs, and toasts. We enjoy these folks very much and we have three more days in their delightful company.
Now it’s a tram ride home and turn in for some sleep. Our plans are undecided for Saturday. It will be raining.
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Leipzig, Germany – October 4
Saturday morning sneaks up on us after another outrageous sleep in. We're crawling out of bed at 9 a.m. like a couple of teenagers who have decided that daylight means disappointment. I’m the slowest to get moving, probably because I stayed up too late writing the post. CK hops down to the corner coffee shop for hot liquids and easy paper bag victuals. This seems to restore us a little, enough to remember that we are spending the day again with our dear friends.
At 12:45 p.m. we head out to J&K's toting a couple of bottles of wine anticipating good times. We’re heading for the trams and as we turn a corner, we spot a Hen Party on the prowl. CK gives them a cheer and a thumbs up. The bride wants to pose with us for a pic. I turn that thought over and ask them for a group photo. Much adult giggling ensues. As you can see, the bride has inflated expectations.
There's a snafu with tram tix. We need new ones and there's a 25 minute queue at the booth. The lineup isn’t very long, it’s just that experience has taught us that service is unnaturally slow at this ticket office. A gent of about my age takes a spot in the line behind me, scanning the situation with impatient dismay. He addresses me as if I were a local. Given our particular context, I’ll guess that his question went something like this: “Have you been here very long? How fast is this lot moving? WTF?” My second language is Spanish, not German. I then summon my magic memorized phrase which lends me a moderately dignified pose, if nothing else: “Entschuldigung, ich spreche leider kein Deutsch.” (Excuse me, unfortunately I don’t speak German.) And this is like the third time some Leipziger has mistaken me for a local just on this trip. In my mind, I figure that I’m easy to spot as a tourist. Apparently, not so much. I’m going to have to start wearing Yankee caps. Ugh. NO. What am I thinking? The ticket line really isn’t moving. CK decides to chance the ticket bot dispenser (which is often dysfunctional but not today) and voila, we're on our way. Even if ticket acquisition is dodgy, the trams themselves are not. They run like Swiss clocks. Even though we barely miss a tram to our zone the next one is only an 8 minute wait. Once on board, it’s a 45 minute trip which tempts us to doze off again unless we read the news from home on the cells. This goads us awake again and not in a good way. But nevermind that. We’re going to visit J&K and The Squids for another afternoon of bright chatter, good food, and crazy squid-action.
Once again, they welcome us to their lovely home with hugs and smiles. We’re attacked with vicious Squid Affection immediately. Love it. Helene (11) has planned today’s tea party. She is preparing crepes with a tempting selection of fillings. Joshua looks in over her shoulder as batter goes on the griddle. He offers advice but Helene boots him out with a stern look. We all retreat to the sitting room where Katherina gloats openly as daughter takes full control of the kitchen. It’s hilarious. The crepes turn out perfectly. The adults choose the fruit and cheese fillings with a champagne chaser. The Squids go for the chocolate spread and apple juice. I have a feeling that when we see these folks again in April, Helene will have worked out a few more recipes.
The afternoon flies by in conversation and squidly shenanigans until Joshua begins the dinner prep. He’s making a rustic German dish associated with Saxony which is where we are. Zwiebelkuchen: caramelized onion, bacon, egg and sour cream, caraway, nutmeg baked onto a yeast dough base. The perfect accompaniment is Federwieser which translates literally as “white feathers” referring to flecks of yeast that are sometimes seen floating in it. It is young wine. So young that it is still fermenting in the bottle. Because of this, it cannot be tightly capped or corked or the bottle would explode. The caps are air permeable, allowing the gas to escape. The bottles cannot be stored on their side or the wine would leak slowly through the cap. Because the wine is actively fermenting, its character is likely to change slightly from bottle to bottle. The flavor is very much like grape juice without the usual cloying effect. There’s just a hint of fermentation to blunt the sweetness. It’s a lovely counter to the savory onion tart. The tart turns out perfectly. Katherina declares that Joshua is now a proper German Grandmother. I have a second helping.
After dinner, Wille shows us his plan for Halloween. He’s going as Marie Antoinette, complete with wig, a Pug dog, and full makeup including the ‘beauty mark’. If only he had a gang of kids dressed up as French Revolutionaries to chase him around! I ask if this is his first experience with cross dressing. No is the answer as if it were of course not.
The evening ends with more hugs and promises to meet in the city center tomorrow. It has been a marvelous day. CK and I are over the moon as you can tell.
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Leipzig, Germany – October 5
I was incorrectly under the impression that the Autumn Market in the central plaza would be finished last Friday. In reality, it runs all through the weekend which includes today, if this is Sunday. Time keeping has become blurry these past couple of days. We’ve been unnaturally sleepy on one hand and, conversely, wakeful at odd hours. It’s as if the jet lag has seized control of our biorhythms, never to let go. We cling to our beds until 11 a.m. The only thing that impells us to venture into the outside world is hunger. We have eaten all the leftovers and snacks in the room. There’s nothing left here so we must clean ourselves up, put on some clothing, and go forage for sustenance. Sundays, they pretty much roll up the sidewalk in this town. Very few shops are open. But lucky us, the Autumn Market is still rockin’ featuring all manner of tempting goodies. Today I have a sufficient level of hunger to attack that bratwurst.
Just as well that we are tardy with our movements. The puddles on the street inform of earlier rain. Weather seems dry and cool now, perfect for prowling the market but earlier may not have been so comfortable. Lucky us again, I suppose. I find a likely bratwurst vendor right away. There must be a half dozen of them here. CK has a veal and I have a pork version. We stop by the Federweiser stand to get some Gluhwine to wash it down. The young lady in the booth surprises me with her perfect English and an accent that sounds like Anytown, USA. But she says she’s never been. She simply was an international student attending a variety of schools all over Europe. People are amazing critters.
The central plaza is kind of awkward today. All the seats at the picnic tables are damp from the rain. There’s a big brassy band on stage again pumping out obscure pop tunes at a volume that squelches conversation. But there’s a small crowd here bravely defying the weather and they seem to enjoy it. I wolf down my bratwurst but it isn’t enough. I must fetch another. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t bother eating the bun (well maybe a nibble) because (a) I don’t want to fill up on bread and (b) the bun usually isn’t very tempting. Therefore, ignoring the bread allows me to scarf down another bratwurst! Yay! These saucies just seem to taste better when we’re in Germany.
Hunger sated, I have to take CK over to see the Italian Market and its throbbing excesses. She wasn’t with me when I discovered it yesterday. There aren’t as many people here today so we have full access to the sample trays of cheese, meat, and olives. One guy cuts off a slice of cured pork neck, of all things, and hands it over. It is like that fleshy bit of bacon between the fat but without the fat, also cured dry like a salami, but also without the fat. It reminds me a bit of the texture of jerky but smoother. Never tasted such a thing before. I bought a chunk to gift to J&K. I’m curious to know what they think of it.
At 4 p.m. we meet the Fam at the hotel. We have dinner reservation at the Weinstock. There’s plenty of time for a stroll through the market again. The Squids fall for the sweetshop where massive carbohydrates in the form of cotton candy seizes their appetites. A few moments later, they have inhaled it all. We stare in awe. The weather is still pleasant enough, so we all have a lovely stroll around town until our reservation is ripe.
The Weinstock has served us before and always with lovely food and service. We recommend it if you’re ever in Leipzig. There was pheasant breast on the menu. I would have halted the menu scan right there had I not already gone completely over the top for sausages a few hours earlier. I have a lovely salad with shrimp, followed by a soup with a few ravioli swimming in it. CK had a salad and a fish entrée. The Squids totally demolished their Schnitzel orders, evidence that the cotton candy they snarfed earlier had no effect whatever on their capacity to consume vast quantities.
Another lovely day with the Fam is done. Time for an episode of sleep or sincere attempts thereof. Tomorrow is our last day with our friends. We’ll meet them for dinner again, this time at an Italian joint that is new to all of us.
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Leipzig – October 6
Once again, we’re late to move out of our room and into the city. Today we have a convenient excuse for laziness. There wasn’t much point in walking about as there is a steady rain making things messy. It isn’t a downpour, just enough to be annoying. We’re on the street about 11 am and we could use a bite of food. A few days ago I had an idea to visit an establishment claiming to be one of the oldest coffee houses in Europe, The Arabian Coffee Tree, founded 1711. It has served Goethe, Bach, Napoleon. It has been a meeting place for writers, academics, and musicians such as Telemann, Wagner, Grieg, and Schumann. This kind of gray, soggy day presents the ideal opportunity to spin away time in a coffee shop. And in the company of genius level ghosts, too! It’s only a 7 minute walk from the hotel, not even enough time to get wet. Soon, we’re seated in a cozy corner near a window with hot tea on the way.
This is an old building, for sure, but it has been carefully remodeled and updated in a way that preserves the 18th century vibe. All the fittings are modern, but the décor evokes 300 years of history. Even the windows are of the era; handmade glass, thick and uneven, distorting the world beyond. A wooden staircase rises 4 floors. Small dining rooms and larger spaces emerge on two higher floors. The third is home to a museum that showcases the history of coffee culture in Saxony. On the upper levels the floors have a peculiar, uneven slope indicative of settling foundations and shrinking timbers, another feature that evokes the passage of centuries.
We’re only expecting tea and maybe a tart but we discover that this joint is also a restaurant. They offer a full meal deal. We must sample the fare so in we go for a Caesar Salad and two orders of Kurbissuppe, aka pumpkin soup. The salad is super fresh, complete with anchovies. The soup comes with outstanding sourdough bread. We think we’ve discovered a new favorite spot here in town. The food is tre excellent and the ambiance top shelf. We begin scheming to bring the Fam here next Easter break.
After our lucky encounter with Zum Arabische Coffee Baum, we need to get CK over to the Thomaskirche for her ritual visit. It is only two blocks away, so the rain is no bother. This church is the location of Bach’s tomb. This year they’ve added some autumnal decorations to admire. His bones were placed here in 1950. WWII bombs destroyed the church where he was previously interred, so he had to be moved. We’ve been here several times but only now do I notice something curious about the building. The Nave sits at a slight angle off the center line of the main structure. I think it is noticeable enough to spot in the photo. Evidence that those old builders were capable of considerable oopsies.
We’re meeting the Fam in the Marriott lobby this evening for a final get together for this visit. Sadly, Katherina is feeling under the weather, so we miss her. We’ll be meeting more friends at the restaurant, Richard, Kyra, and son Erik. We haven’t seen them in a year. They are lovely people and always terrific company. We’re at the Ristorante Prestigio. This is our first visit here and its also a winner. This one matches up with any of our favorite Italian joints and we’ve collected a few of those. We recommend it if you ever find yourself in Leipzig.
The time flies by in cheerful conversation, joking, and catching up. The Squids are entertaining themselves at one end of the table, adults at the other, just like Thanksgiving. It’s hilarious. Two and a half hours fly utterly away while we scarcely notice.
All good things must end and tomorrow is a work day for Joshua. It takes 20 minutes for goodbyes and hugs together with promises to return in April.
Tomorrow morning, we are out early to catch a train to Salzburg, Austria.
Stay tuned.
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Salzburg, Austria – October 7
We have been comfortably installed in the Leipzig Marriott for 5 sleeps. We’ve enjoyed our stay in Leipzig more than we probably deserve. But today we pack up the kit and light out for Austria on a dark and rainy morning. We don’t suffer at all, except for the shock of having to function at 5:45 a.m. We’ve been getting unnaturally comfortable with sleeping until 10. I’m typically a morning person. Now, suddenly, I’m a little inconvenienced by it. We have a scheduled 6 hour train experience on the Deutche Bahn. There’s a change of trains in Munich. We should be in Salzburg about 2-ish.
The main station in Leipzig is enormous. The floor area is 83,460 square meters, the largest terminus station in Europe. There are 19 platforms under 6 iron train sheds. The building’s façade is 298 meters. It opened in 1915 after 6 years of construction. When it opened, it was world’s largest station. It handles about 120,000 passengers per day. In 2021 Leipzig Hauptbahnhof was ranked the best railway station in Europe, praised for its architecture, cleanliness, and passenger services. The photo included here only captures a small sample of it. We’re early for our train because we always are. There’s time to catch a hot tea and a cinnamon bun before we roll out.
It's a long ride to Munich. I doze in a half-sleep-half-awake state most of the time. I must have been asleep for some of it because I don’t recall the 45 minutes the train spent halted, waiting for another train to pass. This is what causes our train to be late arriving in Munich. CK is a little agitated because we need to find our connection to Salzburg instantly since it is scheduled to depart 5 minutes after our train arrives. We didn’t plan it that way. It’s just that our train is bloody late. In the Munich station we’re conducting some hectic investigative activities until we learn which platform we can find our Salzburg train. It turns out to be Gleis 12 which has no train waiting. Whew. That train is late, too. This works for us because now we have time to grab a handful of lunch.
All is well and we’re on board the train to Salzburg but there’s a difference. Our previous train was modern and well appointed. Our carriage on this train is older. It is so old that it has those 6 passenger compartments with sliding glass doors, like those on the Hogwarts Express. We share ours with three other passengers. Of course, we’re the only English speakers. Everyone behaves themselves, enduring in silence, so there’s nothing interesting to say about them. If we were traveling with large bags, this would never work. There’s only a small luggage rack above the seats. Everything must go up there, otherwise there’s no room for legs in the seating area. It’s not a long ride. We arrive in Salzburg in good order, only about an hour later than we estimated.
Our hotel is a 15 minute luggage-drag from the station. The weather is drizzly but not oppressive. There are no annoying cobble stones to hinder our progress like in Bruges. I think we’ll not forget that one as long as our brains are functioning. Our stay is the Hotel Auersperg. CK did the research, picked it out of the Google results and booked directly. No Booking.com for her. She has learned that she gets better deals this way and sometimes finds hidden gems. This may be one of them. Our check-in feels like a full concierge experience with personalized attention. The staff whisk our bags away to our room without us noticing. Our hostess walks us to our room and gives us a personal explanation of how everything works. And the room is quite large, well appointed, clean, and comfortable. There’s a spiffy desk for me to write. The bathroom is white tile all around with a walk-in shower stall, rain panel above, and no bathtub (yay!).
We’ve been cooped up on a train all day and need to get outside. Time for a short orientation, so out we trot toward the Altstadt, the Old Town. It’s a 10 minute walk across the river. Here we find the most celebrated street in Salzburg, the Getreidegasse. Now we’re surrounded by shopping, dining, drinking on both sides of a narrow pedestrian-only street. It is fizzy with tourists like us, stumbling forward, half gawking, half looking where our feet are pointed, wildly aiming cell cams in all directions. The voices around us are frequently English speaking with American accents. This is supposed to be the off season, but it doesn’t feel like it. We’re put in mind of our tour guide in Rome who observed that there is no such thing as off season any more. This street is also busy in the space 10 feet over our heads. There are dozens of shop signs done in the manner of medieval market towns, where shopkeepers used pictograms to display their offering. Few customers could read and many were from foreign lands. Words would have been far less effective advertising. Here on Getreidegasse they’re hanging on to that idea a little. The result is unique and charming.
Of course, there’s a church. CK has to investigate. It’s a catholic joint, St Sebastian is the dedication, not very ornate or architecturally interesting. We step in for a quick snap and hop back out.
We’ve reserved a meal at the Auersperg’s restaurant. The restaurant is mostly empty, only a handful of diners. We get our server’s full attention most of the evening, since he has to look for things to keep him busy. CK takes this opportunity to order Schnitzel and I go for a Goulash and Teriyaki Chicken. The soup is fantastic. This is the 2nd day I’ve had outstanding soup from a restaurant. Yesterday it was pumpkin soup at Zum Coffee Baum in Leipzig. Amazing to have two of my top favorite restaurant soups ever, back-to-back. My second plate was not so amazing. But I have nothing to complain about because I know it is a long shot risk to order a Japanese dish from an Austrian cook. They present a large plate with perfect Thai rice on one side and chicken strips swimming in a thick sauce of minced bell pepper, zucchini, eggplant, onions, and mushroom. I don’t know what this is but it isn’t Teriyaki. That said, whatever it is, is quite tasty. I clean up the chicken and half the rice before I get that overfed feeling. Now I’m curious about what a Japanese tourist would say after tucking in to this. It was good food but, honestly, had I known the details here, I would have called for two orders of Goulash.
Tomorrow, we have a walking tour with a private guide in the afternoon. That gives us the whole morning to muck about, be lazy, and do lunch somewhere amazing.
Stay tuned.
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Salzburg, Austria - October 8
We’re making a habit of these lazy mornings. We may have slept until 10 again if it wasn’t for the hotel breakfast we reserved for this morning. We have to be seated before they shut it down. I’m a little slow to butter my toast. I count on the pot of hot tea to wake me up. They have a generous breakfast buffet although nothing really floats my boat until I spot the bacon wrapped dates. I scarf a few of those. CK abandons half of her cheese omelet in my direction. It doesn’t take much to fill us up these days. There are a dozens of guests here and we hear several voices from the US.
Breakfast is too much work, so we retire back to the room for cosmic contemplation and more sleep. We have to be mentally and spiritually prepared for the walking tour at 1 p.m. with Michaela, our guide. Back in 2015 we accidentally got a private walking tour in Vienna. It was supposed to be a group tour but only 3 showed up, myself, CK, and sister Marie. We had a terrific day with that fellow. This experience taught us that the personal guided walk is usually worth the money. We’ve done this several times since then.
We’re out of the room about 11 a.m. and loose upon the streets of Salzburg. With a little time to kill, CK wants to investigate the graveyard behind the St Sebastian church (I incorrectly identified it as St Peters in yesterday’s post). I should have guessed it was St Sebastian by the 8 foot tall effigy of a fellow carved into the wall looking perfectly beatific about being shot full of arrows. As far as Necropolis (Necropoli?) go, this one is the spiffiest we’ve ever seen. It is kept like a garden with every grave sprouting non-plastic flowers of some kind. We spot the grave of Constanza, Mozart’s wife. It is a family plot, so there are lots of bones in there. Leopold, Mozart’s father, is in there too.
At noon, we repair to the Goldgasse Hotel for a slurp of consumme and a spritz before meeting Michaela for our tour. This little bistro is set up in classic Austrian style, looking a little like a hunting lodge in the hills. The menu is all Austrian traditional dishes with a few twists which tempts us but we can’t load up with food before a 4 hour tour.
Michaela arrives and we’re off toward the fortress on the hill. As we go, Michaela shares bits of culture and history which, honestly, goes mostly in one ear and out the other. The history of modern Salzburg (16th century onward) has much to do with it being an independent city state, ruled by either Archbishops or Prince Archbishops who held total autocratic power over both church and civil affairs. They were able to develop their civilization on the strength of the prodigious production of salt and the trade thereof. Salt was a vital component of food preservation in the days before electricity and refrigeration, a must have for all other neighboring princes if they wanted their populations to thrive over the winter months. With that kind of leverage, the Salzburg bosses kept enemies away and money in the bank.
The fortress began its progress as a Roman watchtower in the 4th century. About 100 years later the Romans were gone and the site was taken over by the locals who put up a fort. Over the centuries multiple rulers and archbishops took turns improving it until we see it as it is today, which is fairly impressive. It was never conquered although it would have been not so difficult to besiege. It had no water supply. It only had cisterns that collected rain from the roof tops. The fact that nobody bothered to attack it had more to do with the salt production than its defensive virtues. Another thing it didn’t have, she says curiously, was a torture chamber. My faith in mankind stirred from its home in the muck and attempted an anemic ‘thumbs up’ in my general direction. She guides us to the parapets where superb views of the city spread before us. We got up here on a funicular cablecar (FestungsBahn). We go down the same way. The cars are crowded but no worries. It’s a 3 minute trip.
Down below again, our guide takes us past the Music Festival Hall. This is a large, modern auditorium and theatre but it is only used during festival times in July and August. Also, it gets action for a few days around Christmas. The rest of the time it stands empty.
By now we could use a break so our guide shows us into a busy café, the Café Tomaselli. This one has a history back to the 18th century. Even though it has been remodeled and repaired a few times it still has that ancient vibe of venerability floating in its ambiance. In previous epochs, it was a meeting place for artists, writers, intellectuals, politicians, socialites, and anyone on the who’s who list. The servers are liveried in 19th century uniforms. CK’s cake is delivered in a transparent cellophane box. It is a puzzle to extract it. It is great cake, though. She lets me have a few bites.
Next on our tour is a stroll over to Getreidegasse, that street featuring all the pricey shops. Here we find Mozart’s birthplace, the home of Leopold Mozart during the first few years he worked for the Archbishop. He was born January 27, 1756 in a third floor apartment in a 12th century building. In WWII allied bombers attacked the railway station and infrastructure around Salzburg but the old town made it through the war undamaged for the most part. Some of the coolest items in this building are Mozart’s personal piano, his childhood violin, and original scores in his own hand.
Our walking tour ends with a stroll to the Mirabell Gardens next to the Mirabell Palace which dates from 1606. The gardens are in the baroque style originally placed here in the 18th century. The Pegasus Fountain was featured in “The Sound of Music” where Maria and the children dance and sing “Do-Re-Me”. Which brings to mind the fact that this Hollywood movie is the inspiration for a lot of tourism in Salzburg. People come from all over the world to visit film locations. I’m told that people in Japan are crazy in love with the film and make specific pilgrimages here. Who knew?
Our time is up and Michaela must go. We’ve had a marvelous 4 hours in her company. We hope we have benefited from her extensive knowledge which she patiently tried to impart in our direction. Perhaps some of it got through.
She leaves us with a recommendation for dinner, Gasthof Alter Fuchs (The Old Fox Inn). We drop in about 7 p.m. thinking we wouldn’t need a reservation. Oops. This place is jammed with hungry people. The server looks around for a place to seat us. The only spot available is at a 6 top with two people already seated there. No problem, we’re ok with it as long as they are. We’re in. 5 minutes later, another person arrives with the same problem. No reservation. The host guides her over to our table. Now, we have a dining partner. It turns out that her name is Julia and she is a Scot. She works in London as an accountant for a film distribution company. She is in town to participate in a marathon run and to goof off. We get on immediately as if we were old friends. She is delightful company and the time spins away in bubbly conversation, food, and drink. Like a fool, I didn’t get her photo for the blog.
After dinner we patrol the street for a gelato shop but they’re all shut. Just as well. We don’t need the extra calories. Tomorrow there won’t be as much walking. We’re doing a guided tour in an automobile to parts further afield.
Stay tuned.
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Salzburg, Austria – October 9
Bacon wrapped dates. This is what my appetite is focusing on this morning because I know they are waiting for me on a little tray at the hotel’s breakfast buffet. Sinful little devils! A pot of tea, some toast & jam, grapefruit slices, a slice of cheese and I’m good to go. The lady comes by asking if we want an omelet from the kitchen. She looks shocked when we decline. Tomorrow, I’ll ask for crepes or pancakes. If they have them, I may indulge. Again, many US voices all around us here in the room.
We have another private tour today. This one is further afield so we need wheels. We meet Bernhard at 9 am. We’ve engaged him to run us out to Hallstatt and the Hallein Salt Mines. We catch him in the lobby. He’s an energetic fellow, smartly dressed. He escorts us to the car which is a jet black late model Jaguar. This is a sexy little machine. I think it is the slickest rig we’ve ever ridden in. The previous title holder was a BMW sedan ride from city center Madrid to the airport. This baby is the real deal. Lots of leg room, seats that hug you, personal climate control, sun roof, no big ugly screen on the dash, etc. When he hits the gas to pass, the engine hums like a muffled beehive and we’re squinched back into the leather seat by the acceleration. The speedometer tops out at 300 kph (187 mph). The cabin is designed for near total silence. We never experience this because Bernhard keeps up a cheerful commentary of data and anecdotes, with a few jokes peppered in. Example: Austria has a population of 8.6 million. It also has 4 million dairy cattle and steers. It could be better known as Cowstria. There are 133 churches in Salzburg mostly attended by C.E.O’s (Christmas and Easter Only). [I don’t know how this is a joke in the German tongue unless the Austrians are so cosmopolitan that they have fun telling jokes in English.] Our weather is a combination of fog and imperceptible drizzle. High humidity, temps in low 50’sF. No problem because we’re riding in this ritzy, deluxe automobile. Woot!
Our first stop is a quick peek at a corporate headquarters located in the middle of Austrian farm country. It is the headquarters of Red Bull, that highly caffeinated energy drink that gives you wings, you betcha. This ultra modern campus seems to be floating on a lake and looks like it might give Microsoft a run for its money. They sold 12.8 billion cans of the stuff last year. Addicted much, guys?
Bernhard makes a quick detour to show us a little village called St Gilgen. It appears to us much like a town just on the other side of Steven’s Pass in Washington State called Leavenworth. Charming, colorful Tyrolian style buildings and intricate designs the paint. Its claim to fame is being the home of W.A.Mozart’s grandparents. Wolfy would come here every so often to visit. There’s a small statue of him in the central square.
Hallstatt is next. It is on our list because it just is. Tourist books always dedicate some pages to it basically because its picturesque qualities. The town itself is crammed into a narrow space between a large lake (Hallstatter See) and steep mountain slopes. The fact that it cannot spread out any more than it has is what keeps development away, thereby preserving its quaintness. Again, this is the off season, but we don’t see it that way. There are plenty of tourists plundering the place. Bernhard must spend time looking for somewhere to park the Jag. This town is so narrow that there’s only one street. Up to our left it looks like houses are stacked on top of each other. Of course, everything is cute and tidy here. Souvenir stands and food vendors everywhere. Bernhard tells us he’s got a surprise bonus. We follow him into an outdoor equipment shop called ‘Sports 2000’. A flight of wooden stairs brings us into what looks like a subterranean archeological dig. In the 1990’s the owner of the building started excavation with plans to install a new heating system. What he found was a vast collection of artifacts from the Neolithic Celts, Bronze Age, Roman, and Medieval eras. Some items date to 7,000 years ago. There’s even the ruins of a Roman bath down here. All the items he found are displayed in glass cases and in other ways around the basement. The shop owner doesn’t charge admission, but he doesn’t advertise it either. We only see two other folks down there with us. Most people visiting Hallstatt don’t know about it.
The church is a must see and CK is all over that. There’s another garden-like cemetery to inspect before climbing a flight of stone steps to the church. Inside there’s a thumping large triptych throbbing with religious fervor and absolutely drenched in gold. Beyond the church there is the Beinhaus. This is the repository of human remains that had to be cycled out of the church graveyard because of overcrowding. Many skulls are decorated with the name of the person and other superstitious charms. Spooky. There’s a minder outside the door to watch people leaving to make sure they don’t nick a skull. There’s always someone who would do it if it were possible.
For the lunch break, Bernhard takes us to a popular Austrian restaurant, Steegwirt. This is another building that looks like a Tyrolian dream, an old building but totally updated and gleaming. We have pumpkin soup again because why not? CK and I share a plate of potato puree, a nice pork loin, and more pleasant conversation with Bernhard.
On the road again, this time to Hallein where we are to get our salt mine experience. This mine saw its last salt production in 1989. It continues as a tourist attraction. It is called the Salzbergwerk Durrnberg. Humans have been beating salt out of this place for 2,600 years. Inside, we are given some overalls to keep our clothes from being schmutzed up. There are very few English speakers in our group of about 35 people. Our guide only gives us short explanations in English, which is totally understandable. The tour starts with a kind of a ride on a railroad. We seat ourselves on special carts designed to move through the tunnels at considerable speed, pushed by a small electric locomotive. In maybe three minutes we’re at the end of the rail line and on foot. The guide takes us through a series of tunnels stopping for educational displays and videos illustrating how the miners used to do things. Amazing stuff, really. In one tunnel we cross the border from Austria to Germany. Everyone must have a photo. We arrive at two places where we must descend on wooden slides. We sit with a wooden rail under each butt cheek and down the banister it is. We have a photo as evidence! At one point we are 210 meters below the surface of the mountain.
They make a light show presentation which is viewed from a boat that swims across an underground lake. I’m not certain what the deal is with the lake but it is there. And there’s a boat on it. And we all sat comfortably while it floated us to the other side.
At the end of this underground odyssey, we’re thankful that an escalator lifts us painlessly back to the rail line that took us in. We get another ride on it, this time to daylight. This was an experience I wanted to have when CK came up with the idea of visiting Salzburg. I knew there were salt mines here and I was curious about them. Mission accomplished.
Bernhard gets us back to our hotel in plenty of time to enjoy the evening. We spend it at the Imhauer Sky Restaurant. This eatery is on a 7th floor, a 5 minute walk from the Auersperg. We tuck in to more Austrian fare. I have a pork chop cut out of a wild boar. Or so they say. We have a lovely meal, and our server is a fun chap with an informal style. We like that.
Tomorrow is a free day but I know CK will want to spend time in the Cathedral and probably a couple of museums. We have a dinner/concert reservation, not sure where but I’ll find out.
Stay tuned.
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Salzburg, Austria - October 10
For 7,000 years up until the 19th century, this town was built up from the salt trade. It’s in the name: Salz – Salt & Burg – Castle. From the bronze age to almost the industrial revolution salt was like water in the sense that everyone needed it but, unlike water, costly. When salt production from sea water came online, Salzburg’s mining & plunder party was over. But by then the town had developed a strong education, music, and art culture which afforded it a way to shift its economy. This is the Salzburg we see today, a mecca for artists, musicians, and tourists.
There are also 10 breweries. And 133 churches. That’s one brewery for every 13.3 churches. Not a fair distribution of influence, I’ll say. On the other hand, it is physically possible to visit all the breweries and obtain something delightful from them. It is not reasonable, nor advisable to visit all the churches although CK questions this statement. Also, one cannot get one’s reward from a church unless one is dead. Also, not an attractive exchange. We will, however, visit one more church today and take away something nice.
But first, we get that crazy good breakfast again at the Auersperg Hotel. Too much food and tea makes me sleepy but no time for that. We must have a stroll over to Residenz Platz. We want to enjoy our last day in Salzburg in an unhurried way. CK says cotillion bells are scheduled at about 11 a.m. We find a café on the square to share a cake and more tea. This square is a little strange. There’s a large baroque fountain squirting in the middle of it but it is surrounded by gravel, not paving. I asked our guide about this yesterday and he said it was because of probable archaeological discoveries still buried there. Also, something about the hydrology of the area relative to the fountain but I’m not so sure about that. The point is that this square has an austere, rough, unfinished appearance which looks out of place to me.
Speaking of the DOM zu Salzburg, that is THE church visit today. We have tickets for a recital of organ music. This church had its beginning in the 8th century. Various princes kept funding it and rebuilding it since it was repeatedly burning down. In 1598, Archbishop Raitenau demolished it. A few years later, Archbishop Sittikus put up this one by 1628. It was the first baroque church north of the Alps. The interior is cavernous and stuffed with rococo ornamentation. There are 7 organs. Five nave organs, a crypt organ, and the big bopper. Today they are playing on a nave organ to start. They play a couple of pieces by Mozart and finish with Bach’s Toccata & Fugue on the thunderous big organ. It’s only a 30 minute program but wow. Really well done and the big organ pumps out some earth shaking sound.
We still have hours to spend after the church organ recital. CK suggests a visit to the Hellbrunn Palace. It’s a fair piece from the center of town so we hop a bus. The palace and grounds were sponsored by that same guy, Archbishop Sittikus, he never slept there. It has no bedrooms. It was only used as a summer daytime residence and entertainment zone: in other words, Party Central, a 17th century amusement park. There are landscaped gardens, ponds, shaded walking paths, whimsical statues, and follies. The main features, for us, are the Trick Fountains and the 200+ automatons that dot the zone. There are hidden water jets that ambush the unwary, sculptures that depict mythical scenes usually with a water feature included. Entire rooms of fantastic figures plumbed with water jets to soak the curious visitor. This Archbishop was something of a practical joker as well as a spendthrift. These gizmos weren’t likely to be his ideas. He was probably letting his Italian architect, Santino Solari, run wild with a salt flavored blank check. CK gets a soaked bum but I escape the whole thing dry, somehow.
Back on the bus to town for a short rest before our last hurrah in Salzburg. Weeks ago, CK booked us a dinner-concert, Mozart Style. We arrive at the venue about 6:45, well ahead of the performance, time enough to look around. I’m not sure what this place is. It calls itself St Peter Stiftskulinarium, something to do with a monastery and cooking. But, given the baroque style of the dining room we’re in, there’s nothing monkish about it. It is a 3 course meal with musical interludes. A five-piece chamber group supports a soprano and a baritone. All are in 18th century costume. Before the soup they offer 6 pieces from “Don Giovanni”. CK got us a primo table. Front row. Nobody blocks our view. The musicians and singers couldn’t be closer unless they were sharing our drinks. The soup is a consume with a dumpling. Imma order more wine, you betcha.
Warming up for the 2nd course, which is always chicken in these kinds of things, they put on 6 more samples from “The Marriage of Figaro”. Fabulous music. The chicken is ok, not overcooked & dry. I know I’m damning it with faint praise but one must be honest. This night is not about the food. These musicians and singers are top shelf. Perfectly awesome.
Dessert is coming but first, the ensemble performs “A Little Night Music”. The singers, then return for an energetic sequence from “The Magic Flute”. The room is packed with locals and tourists from all over the world. Cheers from every corner. The dessert is a Salzburg speciality: Nockerl. This is a sugary bit of fluff, a meringue that properly belongs on a slice of Key Lime Pie. But here it arrives all on its own with scarcely a dot of fruit jam at the bottom. The top has been toasted to give it a tan. It tastes like a helping of cotton candy. Neither CK nor I can finish it. It is just too, too cloying.
It was a great last day for this trip and a magical evening with celestial music presented by top class talent. After dinner we have a lovely stroll back to the hotel through the city lights past all the closed gelato shops. I wonder if there will be gelato at the train station tomorrow?
Speaking of which, this is the last entry for the blog unless something absolutely memorable or disastrous happens to us between now and Sunday. Tomorrow is travel day, a long one that should, if all goes well, put us back in Seattle by Saturday night.
Ciao until our next travel dates (which may happen in Spring 2026).
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