Salzburg Journal, Part III

On habits, Habsburgs, Humperdinck, and more

Salzburg, Austria (snapped by Jay Nordlinger on August 16, 2025)

Dear readers: For the previous installments of this journal, go here and here. The journal concludes today.

I am pretty American in my heart, but I am very American in my feet. When there are no cars coming—when there is no car in sight—I want to cross the street. My feet can’t stay planted. But these Austrians: They would wait an hour, at 2 in the morning, if the light told them to ...

(This, I respect, actually.)

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It’s just a façade—have you ever heard that one?—but it’s a fetching façade:

(To be clear, there is a house behind it. Some stately estate.)

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It must be hard to lose an empire—but a laundry is good, honest work:

(Actually, I meet a real Habsburg this month—Camilla—who is lovely and quietly regal.)

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I agree with this sign—that last line: Music has no boundaries, no borders. But countries need them.

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Do we have this at home? I mean, “Dude,” specifically?

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Every year, I tell myself, “Don’t take the same pictures you always do. I mean, how many snaps do you need of the same thing?” But, every year, like a robot—a badly programmed one—I take this picture:

And this one:

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Singer sewing machines, I have heard of. Singer cars, no. This is a Gazelle—a Singer Gazelle:

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There is a lot of old architecture in this Baroque city (obviously). But there’s plenty of modern, too. I must say, I like this house, with its shades of green (and, of course, those yellow blooms):

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When do you show up at an Austrian woman’s house? Five after? About five minutes after the appointed time? At home, that would be polite. But Austrians, in my experience, are very punctual. They are on-the-dot people. So, I decide to show up on the dot.

In actuality, I show up about twelve minutes late, but my intention was good ...

***

This particular friend is a pianist, organist, singer, and choir director. She grew up with music (as so many Salzburgers do). Her mother was a schoolmate of Maria von Trapp. They sang together.

My friend pulls out a songbook—Song and Sound for Children’s Hearts, published by Engelbert Humperdinck, with pictures by Paul Hey. (I have translated literally.)

When you hear “Engelbert Humperdinck,” you may think of a classic British pop singer. But he took that name from the real Engelbert Humperdinck, the German composer who lived from 1854 to 1921 and composed Hansel and Gretel (known as “Wagner for tots”).

(Don’t let anyone fool you: Hansel and Gretel is a splendid opera—a superb work of music—and it’ll live forever.)

***

Speaking of The Sound of Music—which I kind of did, with a mention of Maria von Trapp—the tours continue apace here in the city. The Sound of Music tours. I think they take place on a bus, on bicycles, and on foot.

One afternoon, I see tour-takers ride by on their bikes—through a field (which has a narrow cement path). Julie Andrews is singing through a sound system on the bikes: “The hills are alive ...” The smiles on the people’s faces—they are “blissing out.”

Who can begrudge it? (Well, many can, including lots of Salzburgers, but I can’t.) (Virtually every Salzburger you meet will tell you, with some pride, that he has never seen The Sound of Music. Regardless, the movie has been a cash cow for the city.)

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On a different afternoon, I have a lesson in “Not everyone has heard of the Salzburg Festival, you know.”

Some American tourists stop me, saying, “Do you speak English?” Well, opinions vary on that, but yes. They ask for directions—which are kind of complicated—and we have some further conversation. A lady says, “Do you live here?” I answer, “No, I just come here for the festival.” She says, “What festival?”

It’s a good question. And it teaches me: Not everyone regards Salzburg and the festival as synonymous, even if I do (and others do).

***

At intermission one night, I’m talking with a friend of mine, and a lady walks up—attractive. Sporty and elegant, at the same time. My friend says, “Do you know Brenda Boozer?” I exclaim, “Brenda Boozer?!” I then inform her, “You were in the first opera I ever saw.” She guesses what it was, naming an opera or three. Nope. It was a Carmen, in Kalamazoo, Michigan. My great-aunt took me when I was about twelve.

I also say, “I saw you on David Letterman.” She says, “I wore my Letterman dress just the other night. Still fits.” I ask, “Were you ever on Johnny [Carson]?” She says, “Four times.”

Marvelous.

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Over the years, I have shown you a hundred pictures of the Mirabell Garden, in these journals of mine. Well, here is something you may not have seen. On any given Saturday, there will be brides and grooms having pictures taken, in the garden. At a discreet distance, I snapped this shot:

I wish them well. And I wish you well too, my friends. Thanks so much for joining me. Back to the political grind and whatnot soon. Have a good weekend.