Salzburg, Linz and Bolzano
I resolved to finish my recollection of European adventuring, so without further ado, the highlights of Salzburg and Linz:
-Up until this point I had been traveling by my lonesome, but I met up with my former Italian roommate Armin and his parents. As I said in my previous entry, Armin studied in San Diego for nine months and currently resides in Italy, but studies in Salzburg. The plan was to stay in Salzburg for one night in a hotel. Then we would travel to Linz to watch Armin play in a fistball tournament. Oh Europeans and their obscure sports.
An aside about Armin: He’s the nicest and most loyal guy you’ll ever meet. If I were to construct a pie chart about how he spent his time in San Diego, nearly half of it would be labeled “time spent in the gym.” A quarter would be labeled “apologizing for being late”. He’s a physiology major. He had little luck with San Diego ladies, but went on a conquest through Mexico during spring break, hooking up with countless girls. He says “Are You Fucking Kidding Me?” when he’s angry, which sounds hilarious filtered through his Italian and German accent. He loves sneaking into places for free; in fact, I’m pretty sure he was an overall drain on the San Diego economy. I always badger him about reparations.
-Armin played tour guide the first day. We walked inside cavernous salt mines. He showed me his school. Saving the best for last, we visited Salzburg castle. I’ve been to some purty’ places, but the view from atop the castle was incredible. The snow-encased Alps in the distance, the dark, green grass enveloping the townscape, the classical music wafting from the buildings below, the thin air that reminded my why I miss living near a mountain range. I think I just unintentionally wrote a haiku.
-I was pleasantly surprised by Salzburg’s nightlife. It wasn’t exactly hopping enough to wake Mozart from his grave, but I bet his pulse jumps every now and then when loud enough music emanates from the bars. Armin’s friends fed me drinks like I was freshman girl at SDSU. After a steady night of drinking, we sat outside our hotel room at 4 a.m. and reminisced about our favorite memories at our old house. I told Armin I was going to write a biography about him in earlier in the day - I finally settled on and announced the title: “Are you Fucking Kidding Me? - A Portrait of a Sexually Man Confused Man - The Armin Runer Story.”
-The next day we went to Linz for the much-anticipated fistball tournament. Unfortunately, Armin waited until we were walking up to the event to tell me that I would have to pretend to be on his team to in order receive free food and lodging. That’s right, I would have to fake an Italian accent. I felt like Brad Pitt in Inglorious Bastards. Bonjourno.
Luckily, I let Armin do the talking and pretended to be distracted by the upcoming match as we shook hands with the event coordinator. Worked like a charm. Ostensibly I was part of the Italian team, but in reality I was more cheerleader than player. I even promised Armin I was going to hold up a sign saying, “I love you Armin - number one in Italy and San Diego.”
-So, so many confusing conversations. My German is OK, but it was hard to keep up with people at the tournament. I have a newfound respect for people who live in countries that don’t speak their foreign tongue.
-The rest of the tournament was pretty uneventful. I told a few of Armin’s teammates embarassing stories about him as we munched on delicious banquet food. Then, we drove back to Armin’s home town, Bolzano with his family. The next day we biked around the city and prepared for Venice.
