Wednesday 21 September: Salzburg and the Train
Wednesday did not start off as a good day - the weather was grey and threatening. Worse, Paul woke up with the worst head & neck pains so far experienced on the trip. A nice breakfast at the Centro combined with several large doses of pills rendered him mobile, but not fully functioning. Paul wasn't fit to drive but we had to check out of the hotel. We loaded our gear into the Mitsubishi, locked it up and left it parked right in front of the reception where hopefully it would be reasonably safe.
Salzburg is well known as the birthplace of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. The town capitalises on this fact, but not to the extent that Vienna does, where there is a complete Mozart industry. The old town is typical of its type, with narrow winding streets, and squares based around the major churches. It is surmounted by an enormous castle which sits on a rugged outcrop. There are some excellent gardens (and very poor sculptures) around the Mirabelle palace.
It is festival time in Salzburg, and all the squares were full of beer tents, kiddies' rides, food outlets and stalls selling all kinds of tacky stuff. All good fun I suppose, but it did rather spoil the medieval ambience. We walked around for a while and ended up at the castle. It's very big, and quite old, and has some reasonable displays included in the 8.40 euro entrance price. (One of the cheaper ones we've come across). The views from the towers are breathtaking - well worth the price of admition. By this time Paul was protesting that he couldn't face another set of stairs, so he waited in the lobby while Sue explored the state rooms and military museum. After that we took the funicular railway down the cliff-face back to the centre of town. Dropped off the car, took our luggage to the station, and had a quick look at some of the back streets (very quick - it was wall-to-wall sex shops).
Passive smoking. Having a few hours to kill, we went to an internet cafe. The place was a bit stale but not too bad - then the guys on either side of us lit up. Within a few minutes the air was unbreathable. We left.
We decided to eat in a nice-looking Italian place.
"Would you like smoking or non-smoking?"
"Non-smoking, bitte"
"OK, these two tables are non-smoking".
"Only two?"
Austria still has a long way to go in its attitude to smoking.
The romance of rail. Rail travel has always been portrayed as a romantic adventure, especially in Europe. They lied!
It's not romantic when the platforms are so low you have to lug your bags up three BIG steps into the train.
It's not romantic when the conductor disappears at that critical moment leaving you to struggle with the luggage yourself.
It's not romantic when you change trains at some God-forsaken place in the middle of nowhere, where the station has effectively closed down and the only denizens are yobbos and wierdos.
It's not romantic when you're waiting in the freezing cold after midnight and your train turns up 30 minutes late. (Mussolini got the trains running on time....)
It's not romantic when you have to repeat the whole performance with the luggage on the next train, and the conductor only turns up to argue about the validity of your Eurail pass.
It's not....enough!
In our limited experience, rail travel in Europe is not set up for people like us who are carrying a lot of gear. If we just had a small case or overnight bag, that would be fine. But when we're carrying the necessities for a three month trip, including a couple of cameras and lenses each, then it's not a lot of fun.
Our "1st class" sleeper cabin brought back memories of Australian trains from 25 or 30 years ago. Insufficuent room for our luggage. A sink in the corner (but no water in the taps). A fold-down toilet. Wait a minute - that isn't a toilet, it's a chamber pot attached to the back of a cupboard door. Close the door and the contents are decanted onto the tracks. This will be a new experience.
We had finally settled down to sleep, when the train stopped at place called W?gl, and the ventilation shut down. We heard the engine being detached, then felt it re-attach with a nerve-jangling jolt. The train moved forwards a couple of hundred metres. Stop. Back a couple of hundred metres. Stop again. Forward. Stop. Back. Stop. Detach engine. Clang! On our way. This performance was repeated several times durimg the night - it wasn't very restful.
