Something I wrote when I was in Salzburg, Austria.
I’ve been kicked out of my hotel. Nah, I’m just being dramatic. I needed a reservation to extend my stay there and they do not allow on-the-spot extensions. So, I was let out of my room with a view of the center of Salzburg from the second level of an 800-year-old building. During my two-night stay there, I loved tiptoeing towards the toilet with my toes curled as my bare feet felt the cool and roughly-hewn steps. At least the cleaning lady was kind enough to give me a fridge magnet before I left.
I am dragging my plum trolley bag with electric blue zippers on the street parallel to the Salzach river. This is a shorter way than walking through Getreidegasse in the middle of old Salzburg – the route that we took when we were looking for my hotel after first arriving here two days ago. I am making my way towards Staatsbrücke, built out of bricks by the prisoners of war in World War Ii. You found it admirable for the townspeople to put up a sign dedicating the bridge to those who died building it. The street leading from this bridge goes directly to your hostel near St. Sebastiankirche. The brick bridge links our respective parts of the town. You mocked me for staying in the posh area where Montblanc pens have their own shop. I smugly scoffed at your ghetto neighborhood where people shop for bargains.
You are greatly amused when I showed up at your room and announced my spectacular fall from high society. I had checked into your hostel and am taking your place when you check out later. This is a mere formality for I had spent more time in your hostel yesterday than you. I availed of the facilities and even stole your wifi access
I could not go with you when you explored Salzburg yesterday. Certain points of my feet, a little above the ankles had sustained blisters. Seven days of frenetic walking in leather shoes while in Vienna caused my skin to chafe and even break. The black Converse shoes with outlines of motorcycles etched in white on the sides did not protect my feet from the cold. It rained yesterday and the sky was gloomy all throughout the day. Even the locals kept out of the cold and there was hardly anybody out except for the tourists.
I do not have any problem with cold feet. It is quite tolerable. It was the agony of the blisters that made me walk very slowly. With each step, pain radiated from the spot where the blisters rubbed against my socks and the inside of my shoes. The pain was made worse by the cold. Each step was like having my feet simultaneously bitten by two snakes and their venom flowed through my veins. I had to grit my teeth each time I took a step, fighting off tears.
Since, it was impossible for me to go with you to the hills of Hohensalzburg and Mönch, I decided to do my laundry at your hostel. At Universetatplatz, you told me to buy good shoes and a coat then you set off for the hills. I took the agonizing walk to your hostel as the day gradually got colder. Throughout the afternoon, the hum of the washing machine and the occasional thunk! of the Coca-Cola dispenser kept me company while I cursed the cold, my socks, my shoes, my blisters. I took naps on a stone bench with my back and head leaning on a wall.
It was around early evening yesterday that you asked me where I was. I had gotten back to my hotel, with laundry in tow, after what seemed like an eternity of pain and with cold winds from the river hounding my steps. We met up at the brick bridge and you left me to dine over Salat Greco and Spaghetti Aglia and Olio at a pizzeria. You went back to the hostel. I had figured out that folding my socks down and exposing my blisters to the air considerably lessened the pain. My blisters were free and I was free to walk in stride with you.
You brought the Austrian wine we bought in our first night in Salzburg and two paper cups. We walked along the river while joggers and cyclists whizzed past us. We sat on a bench and you poured the wine. We watched the gentle flow of the river with the imperfect reflections of the city lights rippling on its surface. Fastung Hohensalzburg was a fortress of light on top of its hill. The spires and domes also glowed in the town below: a city shining steadfastly against the encroaching night.
The wine kept me warm as we talked of things, of places, of people. We also strolled further down along the river, sipping from the paper cups and hiding the bottle in a paper bag. We crossed the foot bridge were people had attached locks as a testament to their undying love for each other. But, the night grew much colder, forcing us to agree to retire.
We went back to the end of the brick bridge on your side of town. We stopped at the food truck that sold sausages that only appeared during night time at the exact same spot. I had a couple of Münchner sausages and you watched me dip sausage slices into some mustard. The food gave me warmth as I listened to your travel plans. It was enough warmth to carry me across the bridge and to my hotel in my side of town.
Now here we are, on our way to a park that you wanted to see. We are walking along the river watching a flock of seagulls screech at each other. The wheels of your trolley are rolling audibly against the pavement. It is still cold but not as cold as yesterday.
We have now reached the park and are walking on its pathways. You have just spotted a statue of a thinking man and are now telling me to go in front of it and pretend I am explaining something to it. I am doing it while you are taking a photo, laughing. I am asking you what time your train is leaving and I am telling you that I plan to go with you to the train station to ask about train schedules for my trip to Prague.
We are slowly walking up a mound in the middle of the park. You are walking towards a bench while I am standing near a tree enjoying the view from the top. The sun breaks through the clouds and the slowly browning trees and the green grass are bathed in light. Warmth is caressing my face.
“It is a good day today”, you said to me. “You should enjoy this day. You wasted half a day yesterday.”
“Yes, it is a good day. Maybe I will”
We discuss our plans to possibly meet in another city, in another continent, across the Atlantic Sea. That will probably be a year from now. Or maybe it will be years before we see each other face to face again. You are saying goodbye and I am saying goodbye. The sun is shining brightly now.
I walk away without looking back. I go back the way we came from and the sun is glistening on the river. More people are out with their dogs. The tourists have poured into the streets basking in the sunlight. Fastung Hohensalzburg has captured the sunlight on its white walls, glowing amidst a backdrop of green trees.
I turn right towards your hostel, no, my hostel, and I see a store selling the shoes you suggested I buy. I walk into the store and ask the lady if I could wear them immediately. My feet are warm and the pain that tortured me yesterday is absolutely gone. I go back to the hostel to leave my old shoes. I am excited to see city anew in this bright warm seemingly perpetual morning. I breathe in the air. Everything is as it should be. It is a good day.