August 9, 2022. I woke up in a pile of dog poop. Not the best way to start the day. I packed up camp, determined to find coffee and something edible, and headed into town. Found a grocery with a bakery and bought a handful of pastries. They looked promising—turns out only one muffin was edible. The rest were horrible. And the street noise? Absolutely unbearable. It felt like I’d wandered into a ski resort town that wanted to be Park City, Utah. I hated it.

So I drove east, toward Weißbach, and the change was instant. The vibe was so much better. I found a peaceful lakeside park where I walked and listened to The Body Keeps the Score. It helped reset things. Later, I stopped for more baked goods (this time, decent), wandered along the lake again, and enjoyed the views.

Then came the ice cream saga. I doubled down—twice. First, a cone from a place that was supposed to be excellent. And it was. Then I stopped at some ice cream manufacturer, thinking I’d struck gold, but the flavors were awful—tasted like sweet grass clippings. My stomach revolted.

I pressed on toward Salzburg, hoping for a scenic drive through the Bavarian Alps, but ended up stuck on the highway. Got my vignette and made a detour through Rosenheim. What a relief. That town felt real—old towers, historic charm, a cozy Apothecary Garden. I stepped into the Ritter Pharmacy, which apparently sponsored the garden. Loved the whole vibe. No pretension. I could’ve lived there.

I thought about making more detours—maybe even seeing the island with the castle—but the road was closed. So Salzburg it was.

I arrived around 7:30, parked across the river, and walked over the bridge. The city felt alive, full of energy. My stomach was still a mess from too much ice cream, so I took it slow. Around 9:30, I left the city behind and drove out into the mountains, eventually finding a spot under some power lines. It was rocky and remote, but dead quiet. No traffic. The sound echoed between mountains, which made for a surreal night. Honestly, I felt like I was being punished for picking the wrong ice cream shop. As serious a crime as wearing shorts on a hot day. But then, out of nowhere, a barbershop quartet appeared out of nowhere and sang a Billy Joel song. People smile in Austria. It’s like the clouds parted and the sun came out—literally and metaphorically. Ironic since Salzburg is considered one of the more conservative parts of the country.

August 10. Last night’s sleep had been awful. I laid awake for hours, anxious about my housemate and the roof rats that were plaguing my house back home. Eventually I fell asleep thanks to melatonin and the like, and woke up baking in the tent at 10 a.m. I packed quickly and met a kind young man from Senegal. Luckily I speak French. He was lonely—only five months in the country, and all his friends were scattered across Europe. My heart went out to him.

A policeman told me not to park there. I told him I was looking for the LIDL supermarket and he let it go. I filled up my water jug and washed dishes at a natural food place with EV charging, then headed into Salzburg again—this time without the parking drama. I learned that my US handicap placard isn’t valid in Salzburg. I wonder if that’s true for all of Austria.

Walked through the blooming Mirabell Gardens. Absolutely stunning. Took so many photos. The Marble Hall was open too—such a grand place, and it’s kind of amazing they let the public in. Then I wandered into the old town, had a beautiful latte and a delicious bowl at Cava Roastery, then some natural gelato (redemption at last), and popped into the University Church. It’s considered one of the most beautiful Baroque churches in Austria—and it really is something.

I visited a few more churches, then hit the Salzburg Museum. First, there was a fascinating exhibit on café culture, which I didn’t expect to find so interesting. Then I explored a room full of objects curated by locals to represent the essence of Salzburg. I only had 2.5 hours, and at 5 they kicked everyone out—but kindly said I could return tomorrow.

I strolled around some more, hoped to visit the Haydn memorial, but the church was closed. Walked up to the old Bergerwall fortifications, then toward the castle. Didn’t go in—didn’t feel like paying just for the view, which I’d already seen from the hill. On the way down, I caught part of a performance of Faust from last year’s festival—video projections in the open air. It was sung in French and spoken in German, so… hard to follow. Still cool.

By 8:30 I was ready to find a new sleeping spot. I didn’t want to be anywhere near traffic. Ended up driving far, up a steep, narrow road into the mountains again. Parked on the edge. My stomach was wrecked—gas and cramps all night. Barely slept. Fell asleep around 6 a.m., got two hours.

August 11. Woke up groggy, not my worst day, but close. A barking dog roused me from my stupor. I headed back to town, stopped to look at a Roman bridge and an outdoor museum about local marble quarries—apparently they shipped stone all the way to Munich! Too bad the museum was closed.

I stumbled on a perfect little courtyard with a grass tennis court behind two stone portals. Lovely, hidden spot. Picked up a few things at a shop and crossed the bridge to the police station to ask about the ticket from earlier. Good news: no agreement between Austria and France, so I don’t have to pay it.

Walked to the giant market again—tempted by everything but bought nothing. Returned to my favorite café from the day before, got another great latte, then back to the museum. Tried to get into the Dom (cathedral), but they were charging €5 just to enter. Nope.

I learned that the part of the Residenz I hadn’t seen yesterday is now part of the Max Planck Library—not open to the public. Still, the building is stunning. Found out that Mozart’s sister, Nannerl, was a gifted pianist, possibly as talented as Wolfgang. But being a woman, she wasn’t allowed to perform publicly and had to settle for teaching. That sat heavy with me. Salzburg celebrates her brother everywhere. She’s just a footnote.

The museum had great exhibits—ancient instruments, crumhorns, oboes, violins, all made locally. I read about the prince-archbishops who ruled Salzburg and how strict they were with mining, hunting, forestry. The people had little power and were squeezed between the cathedral and the river. One archbishop was a patron of the arts—and also fathered five children with a mistress. He died in exile.

Finished with a video about the myth and image of Salzburg, then checked out the Roman villa ruins under the museum—frescoes, pottery kilns, the whole thing.

After one last look at the city, I drove to Hallein, then onto Golling for a dusk hike to the waterfall. Beautiful walk. On the way back down, I treated myself to a vanilla-strawberry dessert at a guesthouse. Sticker shock—€9 for a scoop of ice cream, one sliced strawberry, and a wafer. Yikes. Cappuccinos have been pricier here than in Germany, but maybe it’s just the tourist tax. Salzburg: the Rome of the North.

I wanted to visit a pilgrimage church on a nearby hill but decided to save it for the morning. I drove to Bluntautal and found my old sleeping spot from years ago. I was nervous about setting up camp in the same place, so pitched my tent discreetly near the road. It was wet and dewy, and cows and horses wandered by the next morning.