Nach Salzburg

Isn't it just the way that when a big 4 day weekend comes along and you've got the whole of Europe beckoning to you with its arms wide, the weather turns suddenly cold and rainy and makes you feel like you should really just be curled up on a couch somewhere watching movies? Well, yesterday I somehow ignored that particular urge and took a 4 hour train ride through central Austria to meet up with some old friends in Salzburg. Pauline, a fellow AIMSer had asked a few days previous if it would be alright for her to come along as well, so together we braved our early morning alarm bells and set off for the train station.

Our trip through the countryside was breathtaking, despite of the low clouds that threatened to--and sometimes succeeded in--obscuring the view of the eastern Alps through which our route progressed. Pauline slept most of the way, but I couldn't pull my face off of the glass for even a second as the landscape rolled gently by...an unending sea of rolling green speckled here and there by flower-decked country houses and the odd castle perched atop a rise. It was next to impossible to get a good picture of any of it, but annoying reflections in the glass, the blur of foreground objects and vegetation, and the constant sway of our train car didn't stop me from trying...

At hour 2 my own eyelids started to droop and I found myself dozing in spite of the view.

When I woke up about 45 minutes later we were in a deep canyon flanked on either side by nearly vertical slabs of solid rock. The rugged but inviting evergreen slopes we had passed through earlier had given way to giants of stone that ruled over our narrow river valley like ancient kings. I craned my neck up against the window and could just barely see their tops, but even then, I imagined the true peaks were still hidden--soaring unimpeded behind the obscuring perspective of these initial walls. My memories of past Wasatch Mountain excursions overlaid themselves upon the behemoths surrounding me and--though grand and impressive in their own right--could not touch the enormity of the mysterious ancients that then filled my view. I found myself wishing I could venture out into this imposing wilderness, and if I plan any further trips while I'm here, a hike in the Alps is #1 on my list. There must be others here similarly inclined with whom I could collaborate on such an adventure...right?

As our train neared Salzburg the mountains diminished somewhat and the series of little rural hamlets increased and spread into a familiar pattern of suburban sprawl...while still retaining a cute Austrian flare to be sure. We got off the train and I immediately found my friends Audra, Matt, and Maggie (their 9 month old) waiting for us on the platform. I worked with Audra years ago when we were librarians at the International Music Camp in North Dakota, and since then have kept in touch via mutual blog watching. Her husband Matt is a trumpeter with the Air Force and they'll be living in Germany for at least the next 3 years (maybe more) as he fulfills his duties.

As soon as we exited the station Audra had a map out and gave us the rundown of what we'd be able to see and do in the short few hours we'd have to bum around. Thank goodness for her initiative too! In no time at all (well...with just a little minor shuffling of the map) we were headed down through the winding streets of town to the Residenz Platz where to hear one of Europe's only remaining authentic glockenspiels play at the stroke of 11.

Here is one of the charming little alleyways we passed along the way...

Most of the sights in old Salzburg are clustered around a central castle just across the Salzach River. There's an enormous copper statue in the center of Mozart Platz depicting the city's most famous historical resident...and yes, that would indeed be Mozart. We all took turns having our photos taken with his likeness and then moseyed over to the Dom Platz to watch the glockenspiel. The bells didn't actually start performing till...oh, about...6 or 7 minutes past the hour...and before they began chiming out their sweet little chorale we had almost given up and moved on to something else. I guess we should have figured that a little Italian time delay must have seeped up from Austria's neighbor to the south...

It was surprisingly difficult to orient ourselves and we spent the next little while looking at the map...then wandering in a promising direction for a while...till we noticed it wasn't so promising...and looking at the map again. It was about this time the rain started coming down. Fortunately we all had umbrellas (plus a nifty plastic stroller cover for Maggie) and managed to stay mostly dry, but the rain added a layer extra bother to our attempted map readings and our progress through the old town was slow.

This minor annoyance wasn't entirely bad, and during our meanderings we were treated to many interesting sights and sounds that we may have easily breezed over if our progress had been more efficient. For instance, the town is filled with sundials. Not the typical cement ones you usually see in city parks, but gorgeous painted murals on the sides of buildings with their gnomons fashioned from thin pieces of ornamental iron. Some were small enough to fit between two neighbor's windows (like the one you see to the left), while others took up the whole sides of buildings and were too big to fit within a single camera shot.

Salzburg is famous for the ornamental iron signs that overhang it's streets and add lively filigree to it's otherwise dark and narrow alleyways...

And...my favorite...yes, even in Salzburg!!!

(by the way, did you know you actually have to pay for those little ketchup packets you get with your fries...sheesh!)

On the Kapitelplatz there was a row of horse-drawn carriages lined up to give throngs of eager tourists old-fashioned and romantic rides around the city. I smiled when I noticed one of the drivers lovingly sharing an umbrella with his two stalwart steeds. The trio were huddled together like best friends while the rest of the drivers continued to scan the horizon for potential passengers and let their horses tough it out. Not that I'm criticizing--I'm sure rain isn't usually that big of a deal for these animals--I just thought this one driver's special care was heart-warming and couldn't resist taking a picture.

We saw a band of balalaika players strumming out classics underneath a protective overhang (have you ever seen a bass balalaika?!)...

...a pair of intensely concentrating men duking it out on a giant chessboard...

...and a completely terrifying sculpture (oddly entitled "Cloak of Peace") tucked away in a nearby corner. Dementor anyone? (shivvvvver!)

Finally we found an entrance to our next destination, Petersfriedhof: a cemetery that contains within its baroque arcades several generations of Salzburg's wealthy and most noble citizens and runs right up against a vertical rock wall out of which some extremely creepy catacombs had been hollowed. Michael Haydn is supposedly buried somewhere in here, but we weren't able to find him. It's centered around a lovely little gothic church and beneath nearly every tombstone (or fantastically ornamented iron grave marker) is a small well-maintained flower garden. It was certainly one of the least morbid or depressing graveyards I've visited and reminded me more of a cheerful backyard garden than a repository of the dead.

The catacombs are a completely different story.

Carved out from solid rock they hang above the garden cemetery like a primitive cell reserved for souls under some immortal quarantine. The dark and uneven staircase leading to the main chapels wasn't very stroller friendly, so Matt stayed down to mind the baby, and Audra and I ascended alone into the gloom (right after I banged my head on the low-hung door of the entryway despite its being plastered with WARNING! signs in many languages). I wasn't able to find much information about the structure except that it likely originated in the early days of the christian church. Off to the side of one of the chapels a large stone plaque was carved with roman numerals (as well as Rob could make out they give a date of 477 AD) followed by a long Latin text. Beneath it was a gaping rectangular hole in the rock...about, oh, 2' by 6'...where I'm assuming somebody's remains...umm...should have been?...creepy!!!

Because all of us are musicians the main goal of our visit was without question a visit to the Mozart houses. First up: The Birth House.

Although Wolfgang was recognized as a prodigy from an extremely early age, I still doubt that his extraordinary skills would have prompted his parents to so prominently advertise his birth with a gilded sign on the facade of their apartment...so that part must be a fairly recent addition. The museum within was interesting enough. We saw his first violin, a shock of his hair (medium reddish brown), the clavichord upon which he is said to have conceived "The Magic Flute," and (my favorite part) a large collection of stage setting models from various productions of his operas. Maggie had her diaper changed in one of the restrooms there--now there's some serious future bragging rights!

Later, we visited the house Mozart had shared for a time with his wife and children and saw more of his instruments (including a beautiful small organ), a number of family portraits, facsimiles of musical manuscript and personal letters, and the bolt gun and some (somewhat obscenely painted) targets he once used for leisurely sport shooting. The wohnhause was all but destroyed in WWII and had been subsequently rebuilt so although it felt more like walking around a modern-day apartment than "treading where Mozart once had," it was still enjoyable to imagine his day to day quotidian taking place there.

Though it was fun to see all of this, I came away with the slightly uncomfortable notion that Mozart's legacy in Salzburg has been far too commercialized and somehow cheapened. Inside the Mozart houses it was jam packed with noisy tourists clamoring to view the displays before making a mad dash into the gift shop to purchase little plastic figurines, t-shirts, or some version of the ubiquitous Mozartkugeln (marzipan filled chocolates) that fill the shelves of every restaurant and trinket store in the city.

I guess I can't claim to have been entirely immune from all the craziness either. I came to Salzburg with a mission to pick up a few of the ORIGINAL Salzburg Mozartkugeln to bring home for Rob who tried and fell in love with them years earlier while on a family vacation. The Mozartkugeln you see here in the fancy red packaging are industrially produced by Mirabell and are one of the many (and probably the most popular and widely distributed) imprecise knock offs of the original hand-made delicacy first produced in 1890 by master confectioner Paul Fürst. To be fair, I tried one of the Mirabell Kugeln to see how it compared to Fürst's original hand-dipped recipe and found it to be every bit as enjoyable to consume as you'd imagine any chocolate-covered marzipan and nougat concoction to be. Upon biting into the candy you discover colorful alternating layers of green marzipan, white marzipan, nougat, and chocolate and if you're craving something sweet and sinful, the Mirabell Kugel will do the job just fine.

Fürst's original recipe is a bit more simple: a ball of pistachio marzipan is placed on a stick, coated in nougat and then dipped in a hard coating of thick dark chocolate. Once the chocolate has hardened, the stick is removed, the remaining hole filled with dark chocolate, and the candy is finally wrapped in its characteristic blue and silver wrapper. The original kugeln are sold exclusively from 4 shops in Salzburg and through the Fürst website--though due to the delicate nature of the chocolate they only ship to locations in Europe. Though simple and without frill, the Fürst original is a delight to the tastebuds--a melt-in-your-mouth indulgence that is worth the extra bit of seeking.

Our final group destination for the day was the Mirabell Garden--an ornamental display of sculpture and flora surrounding Mirabell Palace that offered stunning stroller-friendly views of Salzburg's central castle without having to deal with too much congestion from the rest of the tourist hoard (Which--as you can see from the picture on the right--was well worth avoiding). I think there were some scenes from The Sound of Music filmed here as well, though it's been ages since I last saw the movie and don't remember for sure.

We all said our goodbyes around 4:30 so Audra and Matt would have time to get to a brewery tour they were interested in and Pauline and I would have time to make it back to the train station for our 6:15 departure. We were standing outside a church across from the Mirabell palace and trying to figure out how we could get a big group picture when these two little old Austrian ladies came up and started coooing at Maggie. I said, "Why don't we ask them to take a picture of us?"

My camera was the simplest so I walked up to one of the ladies and asked if she'd take our photo. She leaned in a bit, clearly unable to understand my request in English so I gestured to the camera and back at the group and said "Photo?"

"Ah, ok!" she said, and hobbled off to the side to set down her cane--which instantly made me feel bad for asking and worried that she'd fall while trying to complete my request.

I handed her the camera and pointed at the large shutter button and tried gesturing as best I could to communicate my instructions--basically just "point-'n-shoot."

She held the camera to her face and with a confused expression on her face and attempted to find the right place to look through. I tried showing her, "No, you just have to look at the screen. The picture's just on the screen."

But nothing I tried seemed to help her understand and finally we just stood back and smiled as she blindly pressed the camera to her face and pushed the button...good 'nuf!

The Mystery Garden

So, I've talked a bit about how anti-spicy Austrian food is, so imagine my surprise when I discovered a large garden filled exclusively with prodigiously-laden pepper plants surrounding a statue right in the middle of the the city park...

That's right: there are no flowers, no bushes, no ornamental grasses of any kind, only peppers...and you're guess as to exactly why this garden exists is as good as mine. The marble statue at its center is inscribed: Moriz Ritter von Franck, schöpfer des stadtparkes (creator of the city parks), and has been heavily vandalized with what looks like black sharpie.

As I stood at the feet of von Franck marveling at the peculiar bed of capsaicin-laced greenery in which he was standing, I wondered, "did he have a particular taste for spicy food?" Or, I thought with some embarrassment, "maybe he was a terrible person that no one liked and they thought the peppers planted at his feet might be a more civilized way of saying they hope he's burning in Hades." Of course if that were the case, why would they go to all the trouble of building the statue in the first place? Maybe he was an energetic guy with a fiery temper. Or maybe he just had a quirky sense of humor...the sort best memorialized in just such an oxymoronic manner.

When I got home I looked him up on Wikipedia and (with lots of help from google translate, as there was no version of the article in English) learned that he had been the Bürgermeister of Graz from 1861-1864 and again from 1867-1870. During his tenure he instigated a house numbering system, improved city plumbing, created public schools and a state hospital, and pursued the beautification of Graz by designing a system of city parks. Sounds like a decent enough guy--it made me a little sad to think of his likeness being scribbled over with black marker.

In any case the mystery of the ripening peppers remains. There must be some odd bit of local lore that explains their existence within this town of chips-n'-ketchup eating menschen, and I'll be sure to let you know if I hear of it. In the meantime, I wonder how much trouble I'd get in if I picked one or two to liven up my uneaten jar of ketchup salsa...

Mars und Venus: Krieg, Frieden, und Liebe

Mars and Venus: war, peace, and love.

It has been a busy few days. On Tuesday morning we started rehearsals for our second concert of the season and then performed it at the Stefaniensaal only two days later on Thursday night. The orchestra was featured on two sections of Holst's suite The Planets (Mars--on which I played principal--which is almost as cool for an astronomy geek as it is for a trumpeter--and Venus) as well as Ravel's lovely and psychotic La Valse, but this time, the bulk of the concert was principally focused around arias sung by the AIMS student vocalists. There were 12 arias in total pulled from works such as Verdi's Aida, Donizetti's L'elisir d'amore, and Puccini's La Boheme. The singers all did spectacularly well and though my parts on the arias were fairly minimal I was totally enthralled by each talented young diva and wasn't bored for a second. I did have one solo-ish part on Dvorak's "Song to the Moon" (listen to it on Youtube here) from the opera Rusalka: at the beginning of each chorus a muted solo trumpet accompanies the voice on the melody and, though it is intended to be only barely audible, it was always a joy to match the singer on such a lovely line.

One highlight for me (and a surprising coincidence) was hearing Michelle Alexander sing Massanet's "Il est doux, il est bon" from the opera Herodiade.

The other day I was having lunch at Margitt's (the cute little Austrian cafe across the street from the Heim) and overheard part of a conversation taking place behind me...

"Yeah, I never know how to tell directions here. Back in Salt Lake it's easy 'cause there are mountains in the east and another set of mountains in the west, but here there's really nothing..."

I turned around and interrupted, "Did I just hear you say you were from Salt Lake City? That's where I'm from!" After that we chit chatted for a while..."Oh, do you know so-and-so," etc., but found no immediate connection.

I asked her, "So, are you going to school?"

"Yes," she replied, "I'm at the U."

"Hmm..." I offered, "I wonder if you'd know my sister, because she's done some work with the operas there. Do you know Shaun Ricks?"

She was quiet for a second. "Are you serious? Shaun Ricks is your sister? Oh my gosh! I taught her voice lessons...and she, like, directed the opera out there!"

She then said she could see from my smile that I was related.

Michelle's performance on Thursday's concert was spectacular. She has an enormous and expressive voice, and immediately following her last words the house erupted in thunderous applause and numerous BRAVO!s. I leaned over to the second trumpeter and whispered, "She's my sister's voice teacher."

The orchestra has been given this weekend free and everyone's been taking off to exotic locations all around Europe from Vienna, to Budpest, to the Dolomites in northern Italy. I'll be going to Salzburg bright and early (my train leaves at 5:45...and the Strassenbahn I have to take to the station leaves at 5:00) tomorrow morning and will meet up with a couple friends who are currently living in Germany for a day of sight seeing. Should be fun...and leave me with about 1000 pictures to share!

A Helpful Hint

Though I highly recommend you all visit Austria someday, I would advise you to leave your chips-'n-salsa cravings at home. I had just such a craving the other day (who wouldn't when the food here is wonderfully savory and delicious, but totally lacking in spice), so I went to the grocery store across the street from the Heim and picked up a couple things that looked like they'd do my overly-mellowed taste buds some good. The chips by themselves were, well...passable, but the "hot salsa"? Let me put it this way: I think the austrian recipe for "hot salsa" must be something along these lines:

Ingredients

1 cup ketchup

1 tsp black pepper

1/8 of an onion (small)

Mix together and put in festively-labled bottle

Needless to say my craving remains...as does a nearly full jar of (might as well call it what it is) peppered ketchup.

Galakonzert

The AIMS Orchestra kicked off it's summer season yesterday evening at the lovely Stefaniensaal in the heart of old-town Graz.

The morning's dress rehearsal had gone splendidly. I caught our maestro Alexander Kalajdzic smiling spontaneously several times as difficult sections came together and we were all blissfully subsumed within the music. This is something a player doesn't often experience from a conductor and it was a wonderful sensation to feel that he was as swept away as the rest of us.

The Stefaniensaal was an improvement over our rehearsal "hall" by several hundred orders of magnitude. Backed by a magnificent organ, overhung by chandeliers, and surrounded on all sides by murals of the masters--Beethoven, Mozart, Mendelssohn, Haydn, etc.--we almost couldn't help but play well. I was only able to take photos during our morning rehearsal (it would've been a bit tacky to snap pictures like a tourist while on stage in my concert black), but hopefully you can imagine what this place felt like with it's seats filled and the orchestra going all out onstage.

The event began with Copland's Fanfare for the Common Man. I was playing principal for this 2 1/2 minute brass fest (and was thus quite nervous), but in truth all three trumpet parts are really just in unison for the first 2/3 of the piece. The real trick is to make those precarious intervals right at the beginning sound like one big fat horn.

Suddenly, the timpani, bass drum, and gong shook the walls with a primal:

BOOM!...Boom Boom.......

my heart began beating as though it were going to leap from my chest, and with each receding

BOOM!...Boom Boom........

Boom.....boom.....boom...............

I measured my breathing and honed my focus just in time to play...

The first few statements of the theme were breathlessly pristine. The three of us were perfectly in tune and our sounds blended together as one...it couldn't have been better. Last time I performed this piece was at Deer Valley with the Utah Symphony and unfortunately I can't say my chops were responding as well then as they did last night. I was relieved to have somewhat redeemed myself. As the fanfare progressed and we were joined by horns and trombones I got a little overzealous and scuffed a couple note beginnings, but on the whole we presented a decent rendition of the piece and I received a lot of compliments afterward.

After a few long speeches by the AIMS leadership and officials from Graz (made even longer by the necessity of giving them both in German and English) the choir sang the Styrian anthem and then America. Their voices resonated beautifully in the hall and I found myself feeling privileged to be taking part in such warm cultural exchange.

The orchestra was then joined on stage by soprano Linda Watson for the Prelude and Liebestod from Tristan and Isolde. All week Ms. Watson was identified to us as "the Brünhilde of Byreuth," and she has sung that iconic roll from Wagner's Ring Cycle (if you've seen What's Opera Doc, Brünhilde is the beautiful Valkyrie ((Bugs Bunny in disguise)) that mesmerizes Elmer Fudd (("Seigfried")) as he goes about trying to "kill the wabbit") at the Byreuth Festival for the past five years. She has a big luscious voice and was absolutely a thrill to listen to, but I was almost more impressed by her stage presence and the confident aura she carried about her.

The label "Diva" is often applied derogatively to loud-mouthed drama queens who are utterly full of themselves and behave as though the world should be worshipping at their feet. Now, there is no better word to describe Ms. Watson than "Diva," but in her case she carries the title with a quiet assurance that does not beg attention, but instead commands it respectfully with a graceful self confidence that does not plead for reassurance from others, but rather says "I know who I am...I am beautiful...and I have a gift to share. When she walks into a room one can't help but be drawn into the natural electricity emanating from every fiber of her being. In my experience this sort of presence is rare and I was inspired simply by observing her unique demeanor in action...and you should have seen the gown she wore!

The theme of the night was precarious beginnings. First the Copland as described above, then Wagner's Prelude with it's equally sensitive and almost painfully soft string beginning, and finally Also Sprach Zarathustra! (yes, on the music the title carries an exclamation point). I'm sure you've all heard the opening of this piece (see the soundtrack to Kubrick's film: 2001). A pianissi-issi-issi-issimo low pedal C initiated in the basses, contrabasson, organ, and timpani is sustained until 4 trumpets enter in unison with...

Now, this figure is almost exactly what 90% of trumpet players around the world begin their daily warmup with and consequently should be easy...right? Well, yes, in theory. But for me it was always a struggle. There is so much pressure that can build up when the conductor begins that first low note and time slowly and inexorably moves toward the heart-pounding moment when you have to enter--flawlessly in tune, impeccably steady, 4 sounds blended as one--and before you know it, those 3 notes can turn into your worst nightmare. Plus, everyone has heard this tune--at least the opening--so if you're the dope who screws it up and wavers even a little bit you're going to be instantly judged for it: "Oh my gosh, did you hear that trumpet player (grimace, scowl, etc.)!!?! The trumpet section here (Jordan, Gabe, Rene from Graz sitting in on third, and me) has been great though, and we've pretty much nailed it every time...plodding forward with a vengeance into that iconic and screaming climax that occurs just a few measures later...

A! B! CCCCCCC!!!!!!!!

The rest of the piece went swimmingly (gosh I'm glad I didn't have to play first trumpet!) and we finished to great applause. Many people went out after the concert for drinks and general revelry, but I preferred to savor the moment at home with Rob on skype.

This morning while walking to the Elisabethschule just before 8:00 I ran into Gabe on the sidewalk. "Where are you coming from?" I asked--surprised to see him up and about so early after a wild night. He explained that he'd met some really fun Austrians, had spent the whole night out partying with them, and was only now on his way back to the dorm. "I finally made it up to the top of the Schlossberg," he said, "We watched the sunrise up there...it was awesome!" Though I'm not at all envious of his night without sleep I found myself wishing I'd been up at the Schloss to watch the sunrise as well. It's been a while since I've been awake to greet the dawn and I miss it terribly. Sunsets are fine, but somehow they're just not the same. Oh well, the days are getting shorter all the time and before you know it sunrise will be accessible (without having to suffer through any sleep deprivation) again soon. Three cheers for that!

Der Grazer Schlossberg

Last night I was in the mood for some walking and decided to climb the city's most recognizable landmark. The Schlossberg, which means castle mountain, is a "small" (by mountain standards anyway) dolomite crag that juts precipitously up through the earth right in the heart of downtown Graz and is indeed crowned by an ancient castle. I entered the trail system from the northeast side of the Schloss. It is bordered by a large city park and features a short but exhausting series of steep switchbacks surrounded by dense primarily deciduous foliage. If it weren't for the paved hand-rail-edged trail and occasional park bench I might have thought I was back in Ithaca climbing through a steep gorge.

When I reached the top, panting and sweating (man that felt good!), I was greeted by amazing views of the city and its surrounding mountains as they faded away into the distant sunset. I was a little surprised by how much smog there seemed to be. Still the view was lovely and the cool breeze made the air feel fresh.

Once you get to the top of the Schlossberg there are numerous cafes, historical buildings and displays, gardens, statues, and lots of people. If you keep wandering around the edge of the summit you end up with an almost 360 degree view of the city from above.

Here is an aerial view of that funky looking art museum I mentioned in an earlier post...

A few days ago when I told some of my colleagues how strange I thought this building was, one of the horn players remarked, "Yeah, and from above it looks like a spleen." There is certainly something uncannily organic about its form--thus the "friendly alien" nickname I guess. The building's architect Sir. Peter Cook is also the main guy in charge of designing the stadium for the 2012 Olympics in London...it will be interesting to compare the two.

And here is a view of the Graz Rathause--the main city government building...

In the 1950s the town council thought this building was too old fashioned and gaudy and wanted to replace it with something more modern. They began removing and destroying some of the statues that lined its facade in preparation for the demolition, but decided to put the idea to a town vote before following through with the final act. Fortunately the citizens of Graz voted against its demise and the lovely building remains to this day...minus some of its original statues.

Last night when I was looking down on the scene (and maybe you can see some of the crowd in the picture above) there was a choir singing in the Rathause square. I was surprised how well the sound of their voices carried and it was a pleasant addition to the evening's ambiance.

The feature most characteristic of the Schlossberg is it's Uhrturm, (clock tower). The tower's existence was first described in 1265 and though it's now one of the oldest buildings in Graz it remains functional to this day, housing a working clockwork mechanism dating from 1712 and three bells that chime out the passage of the hours: the "poor sinners bell" (1450), the large hour bell (1382), and the fire alarm bell (1645).

It's difficult to get a sense of its scale here, but the clock's face is huge. Nevertheless, the chiming of the bells every 15 minutes is surprisingly soft and mellow...like an unobtrusive and gentle reminder to the folks of the city that time is flowing, but that one needn't worry about it too much.

After visiting the Uhrturm I wandered through its surrounding gardens playing with the up-close setting on my camera. I'm actually pretty proud of this one...

Exiting the Schlossberg on its western flank, a winding and uneven stone stairway delivered me to a spot near the center of the old town. A couple of weeks ago a race was held to see how quickly someone could ascend this precipitous series of steps and the winner achieved a time of one minute 30 seconds! This is not only impressive because of the distance and grade covered, but is also a challenging test of coordination and balance. The twists and turns to the top are not equally spaced and the occasional stray rock edge jutting up from the surface of many steps could easily send someone tumbling.

Within the mountain is a series of tunnels and caves (you can see the entrance to one in middle-right-hand side of the picture) that during WWII served as an air-raid shelter for Grazers. Today the mountain's innards house an elevator to the top (1 ride for 50 cents), and a fairyland kiddie ride that one long-time AIMSer described as "It's a Small World on acid." I must say I'm quite curious about that last one!

The Party

Last night's party was an event to remember. AIMS reserved 2 double-long busses (the kind with accordion hinges in the middle that allow them to bend for turns) to serve as transport to the Schloss for about 120 singers, all the faculty, and 70 orchestra members. It wasn't the most luxurious ride--most people had to stand for the half an hour it took to get from our dorm to the palace gates--but everyone seemed distracted enough--either by showing off a fancy gown and up-do, or marveling at all the fancy gowns and up-dos--to tolerate all the bumps and sways without complaint. We must have been quite a sight for any drivers and pedestrians we passed: a bus full of ball gowns and tuxedos--not something you see every day.

Upon arriving at the entrance to Schlosses Eggenberg. Everyone eagerly hopped off onto the gravel (even those in heels) and proceeded through the big iron gates which opened onto a long walkway leading to the palace courtyard. As I moved along with the glamorous crowd I had to watch where I was stepping for fear of catching someone's frilly dress bottom underneath my toe.

It was a surprisingly long and gravelly walk for a bunch of girls in stilettos and I'll bet that if it weren't for the sight of the lovely palace slowly emerging from behind the trees there would have been a lot of complaining!

When we reached the courtyard we were greeted by the wild trumpeting of several peacocks, their tails spread wide into shimmering displays of genetic fitness. I never quite managed to catch a good photograph of one in full fan, but captured some shots of this guy standing atop a stone post to preen before his next show. Though temporarily on break from the spotlight he seemed no less pleased to be attracting the attentions of a large flock of almost equally bejeweled foreign admirers and stood atop his perch with a haughtily pleased self consciousness, seemingly reveling in our wondering stares.

Everyone milled around in the courtyard for the next few minutes vying for photos with the peacocks--and each other--and wandering up and around the hilly gardens that flanked the Schloss.

At no particular time people made their meandering way past the giant stone sentries, through the palace's front archway, and into the lovely enclosed courtyard that was to play host to our next few hours of revelry.

We were welcomed by the jubilant sounds of a brass quintet made up of some of the other AIMS orchestra members performing a few standard Renaissance favorites from high up in one of the upper balconies. Die Bankelsangerlieder--that old gig fallback--never sounded so good!

The other two trumpeters, Jordan and Gabriel (great name for a trumpeter, eh?) are former graduates of Northwestern and we all got the opportunity to come here in the same way: when AIMS's regular players bailed out, an email was sent to the NU trumpet studio inquiring as to whether any of us would be interested in coming out for the summer. While most of the orchestra had to audition, the three of us were accepted only based on the strength of our resumes...and the fact that we were associated with NU (which, I may have already said too many times, has a reputation for producing great trumpet players). I guess that's pretty awesome on the one hand, but on the other, it's one reason I was so nervous about the state of my chops: I was worried they'd think I faked a resume or something and kick me out the first time they heard me play.

Ahh...listen to that lovely music...

As with many of the old stone streets in Graz, the courtyard cobbles were aligned with their sharp edges pointing up and filled in with a thick edging of dirt and moss. It was a real chore for anyone in high heels to stumble across such precarious paving. I might as well admit to you at this point that, yes, I was one of those unfortunate souls trying to survive the night in heels...ugh!

After a few more minutes of strutting around (and trying not to catch a heel in the floor) everyone slowly made their way upstairs and into the Planetary Room. According to Wikipedia, the paintings in this incredible hall depict "the four elements, the 12 signs of the western zodiac, and of course the seven "planets" (planetes asteres: wandering stars) known to antiquity". As an astronomy buff I was looking forward to attempting to identify all of these features, but when faced with the enigmatic and allegorical paintings found myself struggling to make sense of all but two or three. Nothing was labeled and to be sure of any of these depictions I'd have to come back for one of the guided tours, but I'm fairly sure I could identify Neptune...

...as well as the God Apollo driving his fiery chariot across the sky was appropriately featured in the large central ceiling panel flanked on all sides by the orbiting planets.

I'm also fairly certain I found Venus and Mercury, but due to the room being lit exclusively by candles and whatever daylight was filtering in through the windows, I was not able to get very many decent photographs. Still, even without specific details easily discernible in these photos, I'm hoping you can get a sense of how arrestingly luscious the room was...a literal feast for the eyes.

The pace of the evening was languid and disinclined toward any semblance of efficiency, but eventually everyone made it into the Planetensaall for a couple gracious and romantic speeches about the cultural, developmental, and professional opportunities AIMS offers so many talented musicians and singers. Present were representatives from the government of Graz and the American embassy, as well as some of the donors who have been responsible for providing financial support to the festival for many years. We were told what a privilege it was for us to have the palace and Planetary Room opened to us tonight--that festivals are rarely held here these days due to the delicate and precious nature of the artwork and antiques within. Schlosses Eggenberg has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site--one of only eight within Austria.

The speeches were preceded by a rousing string performance of a Tango by South American composor Astor Piazolla and followed by goose-bump-inducing choral performances of the Austrian National Anthem and America. Man...there are some really great singers here!

With all the formalities out of the way there was a mad dash back through the doors of the hall to the table where wine, beer, bubbly water (disgusting in my opinion), and an opulent spread of meat-heavy hors d'oeuvres (it would be a real struggle being a vegetarian in Austria) was served with fruity highlights and some sort of sweet olive...sweet olives? anyone heard of such a thing?

I wandered around for a while admiring, chatting, and eating, but soon got a little crowd weary and made my way downstairs to see what more exploring could be done before the light disappeared from the sky and the busses returned to take us back to the Studentheim. Here are a few of the photos I took in an attempt to capture the mood of the evening and the loveliness of the location...

I wandered around outside for a while--underneath gigantic old trees where many of the peacocks had roosted for the night within the very topmost branches. It was hard to picture the birds hefting those massive tails up so high...I wish I'd been around to see such a flight!

At about 9:15 people started making their way out from the party and down the now-illuminated walkway back to our meeting spot with the busses. At this point the crowds were a little rambunctious and tipsy. I'm rather conservative and kept my consumption down to a single glass of white wine, but in general there had been quite a lot of imbibing among the rest of the participants--which is what tends to happen when it's offered without limit and for no cost. On the noisy bus ride home, I continued my shameless people watching and giggled a little upon noticing the occasional clandestine and suggestive brushes of the fingers that take place at the onset of new summer romances. I found myself pining a little for the attentions of my boyfriend and eagerly awaited meeting up with him on skype when I got back to my room. He's been in London this week and I couldn't wait to see him and hear about his own European adventures.

It was certainly a memorable night for all involved.