Dear Salzburg,

I’d like to begin by telling you that you are stunning. After nearly a week of being engulfed in the overwhelming urban expanses of Budapest and Berlin, you welcomed us with quietly open arms, crisp alpine air, and an Austrian smile. Your position among the rolling hills and jagged cliffs of the Bavarian Alps provided us with a truly luscious backdrop, and I can see why you were chosen as the filming location for The Sound of Music. We jumped at the opportunity to watch the movie at your very own International Youth Hostel, which reminded us of your experience during World War II.

As an American citizen, it is almost impossible for me to imagine my own government being bullied and eventually overthrown by that of another, while subsequently being forced to abandon my sense of nationalism and identity. Yet, this was once your own condition, and remains that of thousands of others worldwide. Though sharing many German similarities, there remain distinctly Austrian qualities that are well deserving of a love letter, including but not limited to the friendly warmth of the people that we met while visiting.

Your hills are undeniably alive, not only with the sound of music, but also with the lingering smell of wildflowers, the taste of hearty home-cooked schnitzel, the sight of a thriving landscape, and the feel of charming cobbles.

Our introduction to you began with a walk through Old Town, whose series of connected yet hidden squares provide a great natural pedestrian route. The beautiful Baroque cathedrals, St. Peter’s Cemetery, and Italian-style statues and fountains beckoned us from square-to-square, eventually leading us to Mozart’s birthplace. We then climbed the unforgiving cliffs behind Old Town, where we saw the Hohensalzburg Fortress, the oldest remaining medieval fortress in the world. Views of the Salzach River and surrounding sights were spectacular from atop the cliffs, but little did we know, we would climb even taller ones the following day.

We caught the city bus in hopes of reaching a pleasant Balavrian hike. What we got was the Untersberg Mountain, which glared down at us from atop its 6000-foot vertical summit. After three hours of relentless demands to conquer over 3000 stairs, while at once scaling a cliff and clinging on to a steel wire protruding from the daunting edge, we reached the top. Though you looked very small and far away from atop the unforgiving summit, your green-and-blue-cobblestoned comfort summoned us down the gondola, back on the bus, and into your comforting arms.

I have never been fond of good-byes, but in your case, I will make one exception. Strapped into a tandem paraglider, I ran off one of your tall, grassy hills. At once, your warm exhale lifted me into the air, carrying me almost as high as my own legs had the day before. For thirty minutes, I flew above you, grinning as I swirled in your glorious presence. As I flew, I caught glimpses of your inviting Italian, German, and Swiss neighbors. Now ready to say good-bye, I floated back into your warm and grassy embrace, and prepared to catch my two-hour bus to Munich.

Affectionately,

Lauren