1st Movement
Vivace
At this moment, the birthplace of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart lies a mere 100 meters away from me in the Old Town (Altstadt) of Salzburg, Austria. Whilst I scribe on parchment by candlelight, it makes sense to listen to some of his works. Should it be a Sonata or a Requiem? Probably both.
Kinda like my fluctuating moods during isolation… If I could be bothered to put on a bra then we had the sonata, and wine for breakfast in a leopard-print onesie? the requiem. Constantly flipping between C major and D Minor.
Travelling during this time feels much the same, aside from my choice of attire.
It is a cautious expedition before the borders open – targeting destinations on a “list” that I had previously dismissed due to the tourism overflow – when else does one get the opportunity to explore places in such a manner? The empty streets leave much time for alternate tones whilst pondering the new face of travel.
My backpack was ready to go some months ago (a trilling restlessness - often referred to as Fernweh), as not only was I in isolation alone for 7 weeks, but as a creature of habit, as soon as the ski season has finished, and the last guest checked out, the door to my Pension is locked and off I go a wandering until December. Even though the ski season ended abruptly this season with a frightening en mass evacuation, the yearning crept up. To keep my sanity amongst the chaos, I dreamt of past and future adventures whilst I simultaneously explored the nuances of my well hidden introvert.
Once hotels started opening I boarded that train with gusto. It was close to empty, with the conductors keeping a safe distance. The sign specified that facemasks were to be worn on public transport and in public areas at all times, but the dining cars were apparently still open. How does one eat whilst wearing a facemask? Not a desireable ensemble.
I began with Innsbruck – a place I am acutely familiar with – and I stayed at “Stage 12” . As I walked in and looked to the right, the bar appeared to be busy, but it was mannequins. A clever way to adhere to social distancing. After such a long quarantine they looked very attractive and were a nice alternative to talking to the tree in my backyard. I called my mannequin Klaus, or Matthias or something: can’t remember as we got pretty tipsy.
I’m not going to give you a blow by blow description, but the next day I did go to the hairdresser for a blow dry and possibly another treatment which subtly assists my insistence that I am a natural blonde. Wearing a mask for three hours was just not the same: there was no delicate Prosecco drinking, just formal interaction with no gossip (I am not sure why I said “just” as there is nothing normal about not having a gossip with your hairdresser). There was a sense of trepidation, from both the clients and the stylists, and both the former and latter often smiled from a distance and said, “Sheisse Corona”. No shit.
Following this was the a few days of catching up with friends at the Kitzbühel Golf Club, but this is more aptly demonstrated with a sophisticated picture. And yes, there were people playing golf: watching them tee-off from “Steakhouse Kaps” was a spectator sport in itself. The high-society that encapsulates the “Glitz of Kitz” was in good form and seemed somewhat relieved to be naturally blonde again, and for this there was glass tinkling and golf claps all round.
My next intended destination was to be Hallstatt, the most instagrammed spot in Austria, but as the forecast was for rain I decided to save that until the weekend. My amended travel plans saw me heading to Salzburg on a once again quiet train.
2nd Movement
Moderato
This brings us back to the present where perhaps being in the proximity of such unbridled genius has simultaneously replenished some brain cells culled off at the golf club and also inspired me to write. Splurging on a decadent hotel may also play a part. My internal negotiation system resolved that it seems reasonable as it does not look like I will need it for International flights in the immediate future.
I have never been here before, and yearned to see it quiet, and that it is.
The squares are empty, but I can imagine they are normally filled with buskers, musicians and not only the culture of Mozart but Mozart’s Balls being force fed to you. No I’m not being dirty, a very kitsch confection that is purveyed in abundance are called “Mozartkugeln” and they are in the front window of all of the closed souvenir stores.
Only a few souls in black jackets going from baroque to romantic on drizzly cobblestoned streets, plus me, a lone tourist.
At my hotel they are admirable in all distancing precautions. There is of course disinfectant as you arrive, and all people are required to wear facemasks whilst also maintaining the required physical distance. In my room also a sign assuring you that it has been duly sanitised. I had a conversation with my “receptionist” Ulrika, but she is really much more than a receptionist. She can only be described as a saucy middle aged minx, who is the ultimate advocate for Wolford Stockings, and a consummate professional with hilarious dry humour: you really need to drag out the “r” in her name with a feisty growl.
Some points she made chimed so very true. Whilst she was happy to be open again and have her vocation (as well as income) back in order, there is a sense of trepidation as no-one is wanting anything more to go wrong. What if something does, and what if it is traced back to the hotel? We’ve all been asking ourselves these questions about the “whats”, “ifs” and “hows” for some months, but we’re still in the middle of it. In the hotel’s case at minimum their carefully cultivated reputation could be gone as quickly as our freedoms were some months ago. It is also themes I have pondered over the months as a guest house “bad ass lady boss” in the Austrian Alps. Even though my Winter Season is still a safe distance away it is close enough for me to worry.
With all this overthinking, I decided to partake in some retail therapy, but I can’t say it helped (even though it was the first day of the mid-year sales) as shopping also has intricate and perplexing issues. Why is one permitted to go into a store, try on clothes, yet socialdistance even when you are both touching hangers? What if someone touches their face again as they are in the change room? Why am I wearing a mask, when I am breathing on the merchandise as I pull it over my head? It is a peculiar dichotomy, and not something that I have reached a comfortable relationship with.
Following dinner in an empty restaurant I got a small aperitif from the mini bar and sat on the tiny bench outside Mozart’s birthplace to siphon for myself an essence of genius; much more appealing to me than the fountain of youth.
I wonder what my next movements will be?
3rd Movement
Allegretto
There is a small possibility that I didn’t note the public holiday and sunshine forecast for the weekend, and the fanfare has picked up considerably. I called in the cavalry as a friend of mine was celebrating her birthday and feeling slightly melancholy having been enclosed in the valley with the same people and the same faces for so long. By lunchtime she had arrived.
The last two days we’ve been exploring the streets, with much laughter and delicious food: after all, it is white asparagus season here. During our long lunch (which just happened to be at our hotel in Goldgasse), we had a particularly wonderful server who donned a “sophisticated” clear plastic mask, allowing us to see her beautiful smile.
In most touristy European destinations, you can normally find the focus on not only the Historical Centre but also the bridges weighed down by kitschy declarations of love such as proposals and padlocks. Not my thing, but I gotta say, a lone busker, harmonised with an acceptable sunset on the near empty Markarsteg was quite poignant and I may have temporarily exercised some empathy.
Gradually there are more buskers appearing. Naturally I try and spare some change, but not for the guy playing “My Heart Will Go On” next to a fountain on his violin. There is no space for such negativity in my life.
We also met a fellow traveller whilst having a tasty beverage in the main square. Her and her partner did not work out during this time and broke up. She took her belongings and her dog (a samoyed), and they piled into her small hatchback: kudos to that straight shooting, “Auf Wiedersehen”.
My friend has now left, and there are some tendrils of trepidation creeping in. The borders are open and there is an influx of people: I am sure it is not a patch on the normal situation but many have no consideration for social distancing. Kids everywhere eating ice-creams and putting their sticky paws on everything: no shiny surface or window seems safe. And, well, some bars are packed with flirting in full force: I was good with my mannequin thanks.
In my opinion, the opening of the borders and being here has crossed a few of the lines I drew for myself in regards to caution. Travelling in Northern Myanmar solo for 5 weeks and being on the back of a drunk 12 year old kid’s motorbike is one thing….. But in Covid exploration terms this feels slightly reckless.
4th Movement
Diminuendo
Alas my reader, my final movement of this “amateur chord flipping composition” finds me in the confines of my kitchen having made a stealthy retreat. I must accentuate that it’s not Salzburg, It’s me. Seeing the Salzburg that I wished for was a unique experience, but there’s a but….
Perhaps I would have marched on, had it not been for the 10 days of rain forecast and my mental overstimulation. I felt secure in this decision after I arrived in The Arlberg on my overcrowded train bound for Zurich. In more ways than one I left in one world and came back in another, and I feel that I got to walk a very rare bridge leading to the beginning of the “new normal”.
Now that I am not feeling so flat and my washing is done, more about backtracking on the backpacking. For years I have been expanding my comfort zone through travel and new experiences, but I have also trusted my instincts. Being in self isolation alone for such a long time – aside from a few geriatric neighbours waving from their balconies – and not being able to travel was out of my comfort zone in itself. I became used to solitude, the mountains surrounding me and the walks within them: best to go up and down those paths a little more for now. Overnight stays in huts, 3 day “wanders” in the Alps, supporting local businesses and maybe the occasional mid-week ventures further afield.
A different me in a different world.
This is by no means the fine, just a little less allegro and a little more andante.
