Halfway through the flight back to the states, munching on a bowl of granola from Venice. I've been thinking of days past, and the whole new adventure of Idaho looming closer. Only a brief five-day breath between the two. Out the window to my right, past three seats and an aisle, I can see Greenland sitting majestically, a mass of snow and rock. I've never seen Greenland before, but thinking about how much this excites me, I realize that I haven’t done or seen almost all of the things that have happened in the past twenty-one days. From backyard camping to the amount of priceless art and stunning architecture, to the continent and countries in general. It's all been truly inspiring. I like writing while eating cereal. Four more hours to go before we touch down on U.S. soil. I finished Kafka's "The Castle," not to long ago, even though he didn't finish writing it. It was a good book for a stranger bumbling about strange lands. Enough time wasting and book waxing. It's time to finish the story, which baring my love/hate relationship with my damned clicky pen, will be completed soon. It only takes an 8-hour straight jacket and a bag of old cereal to get me in the mood.
Salzburg:
The train from Villach arrived late in the afternoon. We looked for an Internet cafe to book future hostels, and more importantly to find out where the hostel here was. Luckily something was open because after finding an uncommon amount of stores closed for a Monday afternoon we found out it was a national holiday in Austria. Church day or something. We wanted to get our packs off, so we wasted no time finding the place.
The place was a guesthouse bed and breakfast owned and operated by a traditional Austrian couple. We were shown to our room, and it was a good thing I set my pack down because I would have dropped it otherwise. The house sat on top of a hill, and the view out of the bedroom window (which doubled as a door out to a small patio) was unlike any I had seen so far. Downtown Salzburg rested in from of a giant green mountain, riddled with pine trees. A thin cloud belt hugged the middle of the mountain. The sky was silver and lazy. I hadn't showered since Florence, and had been ready for a scrub, but I couldn't pull myself away. I stepped out on the patio, and felt the breeze growing into a steady rain. Showers can wait.
When I went back into the bedroom I looked back through the glass, but it wasn't the same.
I showered and changed clothes. Looking out the window I noticed that the rain had let up, so we decided to go into town for sandwich supplies. The lingering holiday left us with few options, most of which were non-Austrian markets and hotels bars. After scraping together our combined money in coins we picked up some pita bread, spiced bologna, and a tomato, and headed into what we thought was an authentic Austrian tavern. It turned out to be a Best Western. It didn't look terribly touristy though, and anyway the rain was coming down again, so we ducked in.
Walking toward a stool I locked eyes with the male half of an older couple, nursing identical beers. A quick hello let us know they were American. Another few words and it's clear they're from the south. Following a friendly "Where you from?" we learn that these two were born and raised in the great state of Texas. San 'Tone to be exact.
And thus began the conversation with Rick and Robyn McGuinney. Derek and I ordered a beer for conversation and sipped away as these two waxed on everything from the lack of ice in Europe, the difference between a Yankee and a damn Yankee (Yankees visit, damn Yankees stay), jobs, favorite beer (Miller only), and everything in-between. Apart from the fun I'm going to make of them shortly they were incredibly nice people, and we actually have a standing invitation (though given while they were intoxicated) to visit them in San 'Tone. Shewt, might take 'em up on at. I ain't never been tah Texas.
Anyway, on to the memorable quotes from our time with the McGuinney's:
"I only drink Miller, but I can drink the hell out of it"
-Robyn
"Y'all ever been duck huntin'? It's just like that, you gotta lead 'em."
-Rick (Using an analogy to describe European traffic)
"I's born in San 'Tone and I'ma die in San 'Tone...'less I die somewheres in-between."
-Rick
"Remy? How you say that in English?"
-Rick (talking to the bartender)
"I ain't goin' to Berlin, nuh-uh. Not with the wall and all that, nope couldn't get me there."
-Rick
It was still raining when we left the company of Rick and Robyn, but I was in good spirits, and it felt nice. Downtown Salzburg wasn't much to write home about. It looked similar to a bigger midwestern city, Milwaukee or Saginaw. We were happily soaked when at last we got back to the house on the hill, and slept well in the arms of the mountains.
In the morning we were served a breakfast of hard rolls, meat, cheese, jelly and Nutella, and grabbed a little extra of each for the trip to Munich.
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