Füssen to Salzburg, Salzburg to Vienna

I find myself consistently waking up uncharacteristically early. There is too much to do and too little time. We had tickets to buy, routes to chart, and plans to solidify. We would, in fact, be returning to Neuschwanstein Castle to get the 'money shot' from the bridge. The sheer unspoken fact that we would likely never return to the splendid little town of Füssen made the decision for me.

I started packing at 5:30 am and let Savannah rest till 7. Admittedly, we’ve been terrible about prioritizing breakfast and quickly learned that we’re better people when we aren’t hungry. Before hopping aboard the 9:05 bus to the base of the mountain, we stopped by the nearest bakery for apple streusel and croissant sandwiches. Delicious by all accounts, but Germany if you’re listening…heat up your breakfast pastries, man. You’ve got no idea what you’re missing. Bellies full, the bus delivered us to the bottom of the trailhead once more, only this time with backpacks each weighing around 35-40 lbs.

With a train to catch back in town by 11:16, we hadn’t a moment to spare and miles to go before we sleep. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I did not take the one less traveled. This time around, we hiked the paved path hoping to beat our previous record. Suffice it to say that we ran up that mountain. Drenched in sweat, the brisk September air chilled our clothes layer after layer. Nearly halfway up Savannah exclaimed, “I can’t tell if I’m hot or cold!”

By all accounts, it was a gorgeous day and the nicest weather we’d seen so far. We blazed past the castle in a beeline for the bridge one steep mile more. Thighs and calves burning, blisters about to burst, and frigid sweat stinging our eyes, we overtook group after group of smiling tourists looking like characters from The Most Dangerous Game. Our desperation was palpable. As the path bends into the forest in its final stretch, you round a corner that reveals the majesty of the Swiss Alps and the lakes their snowmelt feeds into.

Strangely, the view was so naturally stunning that it felt artificial. I’m not entirely certain how to phrase it, but I actually could not believe my eyes. It was so clear and magnificent it seemed too good to be true. I considered how the locals may have grown numb to it all and took it as a reminder not to forget the gifts you have right in front of you. Twenty yards out, I could see the bridge was empty. Just then, a bus pulled up and several dozen tourists spilled out juggling their selfie sticks, fanny packs, and windbreakers. It was 10:00 on the dot and we still needed to take our photo, hike back down, catch our bus, retrieve our bags from the hostel, and walk across town to catch our train to Salzburg. Not realizing my phone's camera was on portrait mode, most of the photos we took blurred out the castle. In the end, it all came together but I’d be lying if I said we didn’t make it aboard that train with nearly two minutes to spare.

Huffing and puffing, we caught our breath as the train carved through the Bavarian countryside. Unlike the prior day, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky to hide the full splendor of the alps. Steadfast, they remained in the distance, their snowy white peaks popping in contrast to the bright blue sky, rolling green grassy knolls, and red-roofed buildings. These hills were alive with the sound of music. Worn and weary, we sat incapacitated by the lactic acid claiming every red blood cell in our bodies.

Barely made the train!

We pulled into Salzburg a few hours later, locked our bags in temporary storage and hurried into the city for the three hours our layover to Vienna allowed us. Hungry once more, we mulled over dining options of which Savannah chose (surprise!) a place called Uncle Falafel. In search of the best views of Salzburg’s city center we spent the last two hours before our departure walking through bustling streets and along the riverfront. It was only fitting that the best view of Old Town is reachable only by taking a steep hike up what must have been 100+ stairs and a pathway that stretches just over a mile.

We started this day with a panicked hike, weight on our backs, and time on our minds. Why shouldn’t we end it the same? It’s days like today that put in perspective how little you actually need to get by. On the bright side, we should be getting back from this journey in best shape of our lives. Crossing one of the many bridges that stretch from one side of the river to the other, you get a great view of the rotund rooftops that define Old Town, it’s palaces, fortresses, and everything in-between. Nestled somewhere between it’s walls is the birthplace of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Up the aforementioned steps the city sprawls out beneath you demanding attention. Atop those cliffs that hang over Old Town, a small park sits where locals rock climb and children play. Once the crux of Austria's river-based salt trade (hence: Salz), the city sits at the foot of the mountains in a semi-circular valley where the surrounding slopes reach down to meet. With time ticking down, we accepted the burden of our backpacks once more and made haste back to the train station. Equipped with snacks and refreshments from the station market, we boarded the train to Vienna and put an end to our quick trip through Austria’s “Salt Fortress”.