Salzburg

As the train nears the Austrian city of Salzburg, it passes picture-perfect alpine chalet after picture-perfect alpine chalet. Each freshly painted house is replete with window boxes of amazingly beautiful flowers.

There are throngs of smiling children singing Austrian folk songs as they wash the windows, rake the lawn and clean the pebbles in the driveway. The hausfraus are tatting slipcovers for the family’s brightly shining automobile. The freshly groomed cattle amble down the hillside, creating symphonies with their beautifully glistening cow bells.

The fields surrounding the fairy tale houses are meticulously manicured. The farm hands are busy dusting the crops. No, they aren’t spreading chemicals; they’re working the fields with feather dusters. They are truly dusting the crops.

It’s all kind of eerie; enough to make a slob jump off the train and run screaming into oblivion,

Okay, I stretch the truth slightly, but even Richard commented that while the Czech countryside had a lived-in look, the area around Salzburg was way too ‘Sound of Music’ for his comfort.