THE CHRISTMAS MARKET IN SALZBURG

Christmas time in the city of Salzburg, Austria, had been a dream of mine since our fi rst accidental visit in 1985. We’d chosen it at random from destinations listed on the departure board of the bahnhof in Inglestadt, Germany. It sounded like a romantic destination and the departure time was good. It was love at fi rst sight when we stepped off the train. It was fi fteen years before we returned to Salzburg, en route to Mallorca for the birth of our fi rst grandchild who was due in early January.

Our misadventure began when we landed at the Munich airport missing one bag. It continued when we rented a car and discovered that in the last 15 years, a new airport had been built an hour and a half away from Salzburg. All our well-laid plans to arrive in Salzburg before dark fl ew out the window. Okay, we thought, we can do this, and away we drove with lots of luggage in a little bitty bright green kiddy car. Dark arrives very early in that part of the world and it was pitch black by 5:00 p.m. It was also rush hour as we neared Salzburg. No problem. We had been there before. Of course, it was on a train, and we had never driven a car there. Not to mention, the old part of the city, where we had booked a hotel, was closed to automobile traffi c. As we drove into the city, we spotted the sign for our hotel, the Goldener Hirsh. What luck! There it was, the fi rst rattle out of the box. There was one small problem, however, since all the streets were one-way, the wrong way, and auto traffi c was not allowed in the old city where our hotel was located. Policemen tweeted and horns honked, so we had to keep driving away from the city center. Lost does not begin to describe our location somewhere in a very dark residential section of the city with signs all in German. After a very long time, we saw a police station, but a visit with them produced no help as they could speak no English and we could speak no German. We were exhausted and lost in a foreign city where we didn’t speak the language. Should we pull to the side of the street and cry? Or continue driving in hopes of spotting that damnable hotel sign again? We did both. Then, Miracle of Miracles! The hotel sign reappeared. There was only one way to handle the situation; we jumped the curb and drove the wrong way down a one-way street while a policeman ran after us frantically blowing his whistle. We didn’t get arrested and fi nally made it to the back door of the Goldener Hirsh. I jumped out and opened a door that led into a very stark tunnel with four or fi ve unmarked, medieval looking, very solid doors. There was little chance anyone would even hear a mere knock on any one of them. As I stood there on the brink of hysteria, I noticed a small doorbell-type button high up on the wall. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought. So, standing on tiptoe, I pushed the button. A disembodied voice from somewhere responded, “Goldener Hirsch. May I help you?” In English! I identifi ed myself and asked for someone to please come get me. The voice said, “Oh, yes, Mrs. Cole, we have been expecting you.” I vowed to learn to speak German when I returned to the United States.

After registering, we turned the kiddy car over to the bellboy, who looked at our little machine and laughingly said, “Why do the people with the most luggage always have the smallest cars?” It would be an understatement to say we were glad to get out of Mickey Mouse’s car. We were shown to a beautiful room that opened onto Getreidgasse Road just across the street from the Festival Hall. Next we asked for anything from the kitchen with a pile of whipped cream on it. With that, we began a lovely Christmas time in Salzburg. The next morning after breakfast, we set out for the Christmas Market. The city was as beautiful as we remembered, but little snow had fallen, and snow was an important ingredient in my imagined scenario. In the land where “Silent Night” was fi rst sung and Julie Andrews sang about the hills, there was supposed to be snow at Christmas. Midmorning, we stopped for the most wonderful cup of hot chocolate, piled high mit schlag or whipped cream at a remembered café on Mozart Platz across the street from Mozart’s birth place. Still no snow. We enjoyed the city, the cuisine, Christmas garland, lights and shopping for several days. It was in Salzburg that I discovered only white lights are used in their Christmas decorations. Still no snow and it was almost time to leave for Mallorca to await the birth of our grandchild. On our last night, we retired to our room after an excellent dinner. Then, as I was gazing wistfully out the window, snowfl akes the size of an open hand began to fl oat silently down. I threw the window open and tried to catch them on my tongue. Jack was just drifting off to sleep when I shook him awake, insisting he come to the window and look at the snow. “Aw, Hon, give me a break. I grew up in Chicago and I’ve seen enough snow to last a lifetime,” he said, but he humored me and sleepily came to the window to see my Salzburg Christmas snow. My Christmas in Salzburg was now complete.