Trumped!

It is becoming a sort of trend for me to write about worthy events one week after they actually happen.  In this case, there is a sort of valid reason: I am at home - sick - and hence had a good opportunity to catch up on what has been going on lately.

Last Wednesday, the 'GMT' part of the world woke up to the news that the President-elect of the U.S.A. is Mr. Donald Trump, in direct contrast to what the polls (and all the world, really) predicted and expected.  Since then, there has been uproar in the media everywhere: protests in the States, posts on Facebook predicting the end of the world, doom and gloom all over the place.  And Trump is not even in the Oval Office yet.

I still cannot really understand why all this fuss.  Elections in the democratic world are held all the time, certainly every 5 years in most countries (or 4 in the case of the U.S.A.) and, like every other competition, there is a winner and a loser.  Some, generally close to or just above 50% of the people, "win", and the rest "lose".  Why are people protesting now that Trump and not Clinton won?  Is it not the whole idea of the democratic process that election results are to be respected?  Or is it now the case that when a result does not match the popular expectation, the result is null or will not be accepted?  After all, voting is done by the people and for the people.  The people get what they choose and what they want.  Otherwise, it is the whole way of exercising democracy that needs to be revised, and not only these isolated cases of when people 'do not like' a result.

The same was with the Brexit vote a few months ago - the predictions were that the "Stay" will win, and so did I hope and vote for, too, but the results proved that Mr. Cameron's bluff to hold a referendum had been called by the British and now Brexit is on the cards.  From my point of view, the Brexit result truly saddened me, more than anything else.  I have been a voter in Malta and the U.K. for a number of years and sometimes I "won" and sometimes "lost".  But never was I really sad whenever I lost, except now in the Brexit vote.  But this is not about Brexit here...so back to Trump I shall go.

Trump won because the people voted for him.  There is widespread talk that those who voted for Trump were the uneducated and the like, which is ironic since such an idea is generating a sort of elitist division between the educated (the infamous "Establishment" being talked about?) and the not.  Democracy was born in Ancient Greece, where the right to vote was somewhat exclusive to the learned - in that case, the philosophers - and this was believed to guarantee that the 'best' choice would be made on who would then lead the demos, the people.  Society has come a long way since then and voting rights have been extended to everyone, irrespective of wealth, education and gender (and rightly so).  This could have worked when political propaganda was limited to sensible debates, the spoken word, genuine manifestos, ideological principles of Left, Right and all in between and so on and so forth.  However, it seems that this is no longer working in our age, where debates are mere shows, great speeches have been reduced to Tweets, what a person or party stands for is heavily diluted and often skewed by personal opinions in the social media and the concept of ideology is completely gone.  I think that the whole notion of democracy or at least how it is exercised needs serious revision.  How?  I obviously do not know.  Or actually, the desiderata in the mind of the 21st century citizen would be a government per person.  Individualism is the religion of the day.  I, me and myself.  Or a number of parallel governments to which one can belong and not to the other.  How is this allegiance maintained and not switch daily from one government to another?  I don't know, either.  Perhaps I am talking gibberish, given I am sick.

What struck me the most in this whole Trump issue was that during the campaign and prior to the election results, virtually everyone was anti Trump: leaders, Prime Ministers and the like.  Now, these very same people and sending messages of congratulations and wishes of collaboration with the new President.  I never witnessed such hypocrisy before and this was very disappointing although in a way I was not surprised at all, for I had commented about this on Facebook back on 28th September.  I am more looking forward to see meetings between world leaders and Trump than to see Trump himself.

One final word on Trump: I believe he is, in essence, a showman and all of the 'nasty' speeches prior to the election were simply propagandist in nature and served only to attract an audience and 'captivate' people, which he did.  Trump the candidate and Trump the President will surely, and hopefully, be two different people and my take is that we will not be witnessing any new Great Walls being built nor mass deportations.  I am sure, though, that these coming 4 years will have their fair share of gaffes, quips and diplomatic manoeuvres characterised by comicality.

Double trouble

It has now been a week since returning from my latest trip to Malta.  In truth, it was the 4th trip in the space of 6 days: London-Gothenburg-London-Malta-London.  The Malta flight in question had been long booked - since January to be precise - but, as it often happens to satisfy Murphy's Law, things always crop up to create complexity.  This case in particular was one which could not be altered (quite literally) at all costs: I was to travel to Malta for the wedding of Manuel and Amanda back-to-back with an unplanned business trip to Sweden.

It has been quite a while since we had a wedding (2014 was the last one, in Italy).  Manuel was the last but one of 'the gang' from the class of '83 who met back in 1999 at 6th form and after 5 years of architectural school and full time jobs, Master degrees abroad and all in between stuck together.  To me, he is a sort of brother I never had and been through thick and thin.  A few years back, when he and then girlfriend Amanda were in vacation in Italy, I recall mentioning, half jokingly, that he ought to make a trip to Verona and get down on his knees outside Juliet's balcony; little did I know that it was part of his secret plan to do so (only that I got the city wrong - Venice - and that it was almost impossible to do on one knee - for it was on a gondola).  The rest became history, or rather was only made history last week.

The news of the wedding was too exciting and again half jokingly I told Manuel that my wedding gift deposit was to be the (structural) design of their marital home.  This also materialised and it is a project we are now both proud of, albeit I only last saw it in raw concrete.  As the year of the big day approached, the excitement started to build up when Manuel told me that the wedding was to be on 22nd October 2016 or the day of my 33rd birthday!  The news was made even more exciting when Manuel asked me to be a groomsman.  I have been a pageboy in the (distant) past and obviously a groom in the not-so-distant past.  But a groomsman was something else!  I could not wait for the day!

A week before the wedding, unforeseen circumstances at work made it essential for me to travel to Sweden for a 2 day workshop related to 'my' project there.  The day of travel back coincided with my planned outbound trip to Malta and there was no way I could make it without altering my flight.  My wife left on the Thursday night and I literally landed 30 minutes later, only to come home and sleep, change suitcase and return back to Heathrow, with a severe sleep deficit and accumulating fatigue from travel and long work hours.

After landing on Friday afternoon and collecting my suit, my family and I celebrated as best as we could, given the little time available, my 33rd: a third of a century.  It was my first birthday in Malta since 2006!  I recall celebrating my quarter of a century in London when I bought myself an iPod; so much has changed since then!  At the same time, little changed, for London is still the place I (or we) call home!

Back to my Malta story.  Saturday arrived and at 9 I met Manuel and the rest of the groomsmen for some final preparations, mainly involving fixing some lighting fixtures at the reception venue in 27 degree scorching sun, which made it hard to believe this was late October.  And then the time for dressing up!  The afternoon kicked off with a few photos at the Darmanin residence, a glass or 2 of Scotch and then a classic ride to the church in vintage Mustangs - very unconventional but equally cool!

Once at the church, I must admit I felt too emotional reminded of our own wedding and mixed with the fact that Manuel was, finally, getting hitched.  It was a beautiful ceremony.  Mr. and Mrs. Darmanin were born.

A short drive away and the fun began: catching up with 'the gang' and a few old friends whom Manuel and I had in common, coupled with Negronis on a quasi summer's night.  And then the dancing.  And the photo booth.  And more dancing.  And lifting the bride and groom on the shoulders.  Then again.  Then the cake.  Then more lifting.  And then the tiredness really starts to kick in.  But first all the flower stands need to be packed away.  I did not long for a good night's sleep like that night in a while.  The age, perhaps?

My wife and I had been dreading the flight on the next day for we mistakenly thought it was the first London flight.  Luckily, it was only at 5.30pm which meant we could get up and enjoy the Sunday almost in its entirety.  Goodbyes done, we made our way back to London and here we are now, one week later, getting ready for another week of work (incidentally including another equally challenging trip to Gothenburg at 7.30am but that is another story).

We will soon meet the newly weds here in London in a few weeks' time but, until then, I sincerely wish Manuel and Amanda an amazing married life.  The special day we shared with them last week was a promising start to what, I am sure, will be a life-long journey of care and love and knowing that all along the friendship which started years before our own marriages will endure.

Congratulations Lel and Amanda!

"Wearing only this"

So added then 22 year old Kate Winslet immediately after her request to Leonardo di Caprio to draw her wearing a giant blue diamond necklace in the 1997 epic "Titanic".  Being only 14 at the time and an all-time (RMS) Titanic aficionado (recall this), I had found this to be extremely radical, not to say sensual.  However, post Sunday last, the "only" has indeed become redundant; let me explain.

It was an ordinary Tuesday aboard the 8.12am Overground to work, with 1000 commuters and the weekly "TimeOut" to keep me company.  As soon as I read an article featuring what was to be London's first naked restaurant, "Bunyadi" or Hindi for 'natural', I knew that my first task at the office was to sign up on the 'waiting list'.  Little did I know that that list had already accumulated some 36,000 people before me.  I knew the odds of actually going were slim and, upon sharing the idea with my Mrs., it seemed to her (and myself too, really) that this was nothing more but an immense bluff call.

Until I received an email last Friday at 4.30pm that it was possible for me to book a place in the following 4 hours before the same email is sent to the 'next in line'.  Within 5 minutes, I was booked after emailing my Mrs. and telling her, "Please accept the invitation below; consider this to be your birthday gift, which you have to enjoy in your birthday suit".

And Sunday evening arrived.

We knew the code of conduct: you arrive at the venue in an otherwise unmarked location (an all-black, boarded-out ex-pub but with a fancily dressed bouncer at the door off a nondescript part of Elephant and Castle), you leave your clothes and all belongings (devices and the like) in a locker and put on a gown and wait in a bar area until you are called to the dining area where you are then free to take off your gown, if you wish.  And then enjoy a dinner of all-raw natural food.  Served by equally (un)dressed waiters/waitresses.

The waiting bit was brief but seemed too long and when our party was called, we were escorted through a labyrinth of dark, candle-lit spaces of bamboo booths with soft jazz in the background.  The temperature was just warm enough to make you want to take off the gown.  Which we did once we settled in our booth (of 6 but just for the 2 of us).

The staff were very cordial and all natural (not only in dress but also in their interaction) and in no way made us feel uncomfortable, especially on our waitress's first appearance in the booth.  Magical atmosphere combined with tasty food and wonderful wine is my kind of perfect ending to the weekend.  The seaweed and sashimi-style salmon starter was as fresh as the ocean while the steak tartare main dish was exquisite (including the edible cutlery) and the crumble-coconut mouse-berry combo for dessert (washed down with fermented milk and raw cocoa) was the perfect finale.

The 1 hour 45 minute slot passed too quickly but we could not take off the grin off our face, even though being greeted by 'sunshine' at 8.45pm was a bit of a shock after almost 2 hours in the dark.

It is a shame that "Bunyadi" will be open for 3 months only for it would have found a very regular customer.  The taboo-ist inhibitions imposed by society on society over the past 21 centuries has really taken away a great sense of freedom which unfortunately is nowadays limited only to the few so-called naturists.  In this post-Brexit age, I think I am about to leave London and settle on some Caribbean island where I can have breakfast, lunch, dinner and all in between bunyadi style...

The endless river

If reincarnation was true, then I must say that in a past life, my favourite decade would have been the 1970s.  The reason?  It was the era of the electric guitar.  Of analogue recordings.  Of rock.  Of progressive rock.  Of Pink Floyd.

I never had the privilege of listening to a Floyd album for the first time (I was too young in the 1980s to remember any albums then and too naive in 1994 to recall "The division bell", though I do have feint memories of "Pulse" coming out and listening to it in surround sound at a friend's house...).  In an attempt, futile as it might be, to recreate this feeling, as soon as I heard that the Floyd are releasing a new album, the 1st in 20 years - and their last - I was determined to get it and listen to it from beginning to end in its entirety as soon as I get it, resisting the various posts on social media of previews and samples and what not.  And so I did.  This is a rather overdue review of mine of "The endless river".

No album after the likes of, say, "Dark side" or "Wish you were here" can really be deemed revolutionary.  However, the album is really a throwback to the authentic Floyd sound, an endless (so to speak) instrumental song, at times with too much effort in making it sound seamless, with only a single vocal track.  Many parts are reminiscent of earlier material.  "It's what we do" can be considered to be a re-make of "Shine on, you crazy diamond", or maybe its Part X, notably its time and occasional 4-note motifs.  The closing 2 chords in "The lost art of communication" strongly remind me of the amazing equivalent in "Breathe".  The references to "The division bell" are obvious in "Talkin' Hawkin'" with the scientist's interventions and with the bells at the start of "Louder than words".  I also think "Allons-y" is somewhat a reminder of "Run like hell"; I should stop here with comparisons since this might be getting overboard.

Intertwined between the first part of "Allons-y" and its reprise part is a magical sequence on the Royal Albert Hall's majestic organ.  Not knowing this is rock, I would say this is an extract from a requiem mass, one which Wright wrote for himself 40 years before his demise and which Gilmour, in one final struggle to create a counterpoint-style play between keyboard and guitar (although not as successful as the one in "Echoes" or, more recently, in "Cluster one"), created 6 years later after Wright's death in this tribute record.

Indeed, this is the album of Wright, the often-underestimated Floyd genius (and stating this objectively, despite my status as a keyboard player).  True, Wright's masterpieces remain "The great gig in the sky" and "Us and them" but what hidden secrets are found in this new album.  I simply love the seductive sound qualities of "On Noodle Street".  Ironically, "Anisina", one of my favourite tracks, is one of the few which does not feature Wright!

And, being the only non-surviving Floyd member, it was fitting that Gilmour, as the 'image' of 21st century Pink Floyd compiled this album as an elegy for Wright.  Early Floyd was characterised by Syd, then it was Roger's era, followed by Gilmour when Roger left and, finally, this is Wright's masterpiece (and, in a way, Mason's with his drum solo in "Skins").

Perhaps one of the biggest disappointments is the final track, which would have been better left an instrumental piece concluding the career of one of the greatest bands of all time.  The disappointment is probably overshadowed by the album art - the lack of Storm's contribution is clear.  However, I did like the 'book' quality of the album sleeve (but not quite the innovation of the blinking LED cover of the album's older brother).

In no way is this a negative air to end this short review.  All in all, it was a great experience to sit and listen to a brand new Floyd album, uninterrupted.  I can only extrapolate this feeling and think to myself: wouldn't it have been awesome to be around in March 1973 and listen for the first time ever "The dark side of the moon"?  But, in a bit of a massive Floydian slip, all I can say is, if pigs might fly...

Happy anniversaries

Any Maltese of good sense would know that this year was a special one when it comes to anniversaries.  I am writing this less than a week after I 'celebrated' or rather remembered one of my own personal anniversaries, i.e., my first move to London back on 22/09/2007.  Seven years.  Some say seven is a perfect number; perhaps it is true since, like my 1st year here, this year was truly one where everyday was one to look forward to.  But really the aim here was to reminisce on the sort of anniversaries I hinted earlier: the 10th year since Malta joined the EU, the 35th year since Malta no longer served as a military base for any foreign power, the 40th year of Malta's declaration as a republic and the 50th year of Malta's independence.

With only one of these celebrations left, I thought it was a good time to record some of my thoughts at this point, in a time sandwiched between what I think are the 2 worthy of being Malta's national days.  One, the establishment of a Maltese head of state, is the culmination of the establishment of a sovereign state, but the former could not have happened if the latter was not already in place; the others were then somewhat circumstantial occurrences which invariably had to happen over time.

Writing this a week or so later after Scotland rejected its call for independence from the UK in a referendum made me wonder even more how a country such as Scotland, with countless natural resources (including oil, gas and, erm - why not - whiskey) could not be bold enough to take a leap and disrupt any reliance or affiliation with another country, even after 300 years, but then a tiny island-nation with no resources of its own, except its people, who was never a ruler but always ruled since the dawn of time, who always relied on external aid, could then make this leap forward half a century ago after a devastating war and at the brink of a nuclear war?  And what more, a move endorsed by all major political leaders at the time, settled all amicably and peacefully with no bloodshed whatsoever.  And then move on to become a thriving economy, exploiting its rich history and heritage (ironically furnished by all its past subsequent rulers) to create a tourist industry and a manufacturing industry but also being able to read clearly the signs of the age, when manufacturing fled to the far east and instead diversified into freight-less and non-manual ventures but into those requiring 'solely' intellect, IT and so on.  An island state which is a success story, with one of the lowest unemployment rates in Europe, which had the 2nd strongest currency in the world prior to joining the Eurozone in 2008, with a health system ranked 5th best in the world and free education to all.

It was a journey at times full of controversy and irony.

The fiery Mintoff changed political direction from integration with Britain in the 1950s to fully-fetched independence in the 1960s, being the first to propose the "Break with Britain Resolution" in Parliament, seconded by pragmatic Borg Olivier.  The latter, after obtaining independence, then voted against the establishment of a republic, which in my mind would have represented the ultimate nationalist achievement.

Mintoff, whose political roots were probably established during his time in Britain whilst studying in Oxford in the late 1930s, possibly exposed to Fabianism and as an external observer of the relatively thriving social services and conditions in the UK which he must have longed for to have introduced in Malta (which he eventually did, and more), was then so ardent in getting 'rid' of the British.

Borg Olivier, the prime minister who ultimately negotiated the independence constitution, was arguably elected because of the Church's involvement in the 1962 election which effectively limited the odds of Mintoff's election into government to the slimmest possible, but then had to face a Church which was utterly against independence.

And a few decades later during the EU saga, it was the conservative party, still carrying the label 'nationalist', was pro-EU, whereas other leaders of the right strongly became Euro-sceptics.  On the other hand, the labour party, the long-time apt voice of workers who would benefit strongly from such an open market as is the EU, failed to join all the other European left wing thinkers and politicians who tend to be in favour of the EU (even if, at times, this tends to be not really in line with socialist principles, but that is the game of politics for you).

And then the conservative party led by a devout Catholic presumably not amused by consumerism and liberalism, who viciously sought to have a free market and removing all importation embargoes and advocating free-for-all access to the capitalist frame of mind in the late 1980s, after having fought for and acquired EU accession, was most certainly overwhelmed by a transformation into a society with changing values, importing via media and the Internet and adopting an extensive liberal ideology, leading to introduction of civil rights such as divorce and civil unions, including for LGBT couples, and rightly so.

And in another twist of irony, the strongest voice opposing the EU a decade ago is today one of the 6 MEPs in Brussels.

A country of contradiction.  A country often of political complexities, even if unnecessary at times.  But nonetheless a country of success and economic progress and which has been in the international limelight for different reasons in every decade of its first half a century of sovereignty, aiding in the advancement of the world itself.  Malta proposed to the UN measures to safeguard the oceans in the late 1960s.  Malta advocated the idea of including a chapter on security in the Mediterranean as part of the Helsinki Accords in the 1970s.  Malta hosted the Bush-Gorbachev summit in the 1980s, effectively ending the Cold War.  Malta's Guido DeMarco was President of the UN's General Council in the 1990s.  Malta was instrumental in helping the West handle the Libyan crisis a few years ago.

Each of these tasks and achievements is totally incommensurate with the size of this country.

I proudly look forward to be participant in the greater part of the next 50 years of this country's journey and, who knows, maybe at 81 also celebrate the first centenary of Malta, an independent sovereign state.

An eventful weekend in the land of Veneto

Whilst Scotland were busy debating and voting on whether the country should stay forming part of the UK or not (which they ultimately did choose to hang on to it) and Malta was rather ironically busy preparing to celebrate its 50th anniversary of independence from the UK, we were busy making our way to Gatwick airport at 2am, in the midst of a freak 10 minute thunderstorm which was promptly timed with our exit from home.  I just realised that I rather abused the word busy here, but in fairness each of these activities does indeed deserve the title.  And it turned out to be an ever busier weekend...

The trip to Italy was prompted by the invitation to a wedding of 2 Italian friends of ours - one of the great things about London is that most of your friends are actually not British and you invariably participate in such events all the time.   Admittedly, I had been to this part of Italy a number of times, and my wife likewise (have both been to Venice alone 3 times each), but alas never together and have been there already had its advantage: it was to be a rather chilled holiday, not racing against time and trying to see every bit of the city but immersing in the city's life and enjoying every moment.  Or actually not having to visit only the obvious sites but stay off the beaten track and discover some of the hidden gems the city has to offer (and this particular city has a lot to offer).  Having said that, visiting Venice is always an enchanting experience and I must say, even in the light of my limited world travels, it must be my favourite place in the world.  And it is one of those unique places where the city was formed centuries ago and, contrary to other cities, largely stayed as it was then due to its obvious physical constraints.  Each building, each stone (I was going to write each street but..) and each canal has a story to tell.  Few cities have the honour of being frozen in time (Valletta is another case in point, but lingering on this point would be a tangent).

The stay was brief but quality reigned over quantity (having an SLR in Venice for the first time was a bonus) and we then moved onto the mainland just outside Padova in another of the Veneto's unknown secrets, Montegrotto Terme, where the wedding was to be held.  A thermal spa resort, housed in a superb Art Nouveau 1920s building, complete with lift in a cage and iron post beds but immaculately kept and with 7000 odd square metres of pools, jacuzzi and all the other well being perks and treats which I never experienced before.  It amazes me how the Romans were able to develop such commodities and leave us all the architectural and cultural heritage but, at the same time, be so barbaric: crucifying thousands daily, feeding men to lions for their entertainment and so on...keeping to a positive note, they were truly 2 days of refreshment, which I wish I had the chance to enjoy in more troublesome times...

The wedding itself was splendid: good food, good wine and good fun, concluded by night-time swims in the heated waters!  One minor detail was that every evening was characterised by distant thunder and lightning displays, whicn we nonetheless ignored, given that they were too far even to be heard.  I even thought them to be quite spectacular!

Come the last day and we headed back to Venice for a last half day of sightseeing under a very strong sun.  As soon as we landed in the airport terminal, the sky turned black and an intense thunderstorm kicked off, with all vengeance. It was slightly worrying knowing we were flying in 2 hours' time given my phobia of take-off and so on; the flight was invariably delayed.  We soon found out that the plane was diverted to Bologna, 20 minutes away.  After a quick bite and 2 hours waiting, we were told that the plane was on its way to our airport, which was a relief.  More reassuring was knowing it landed - safely - and that the rain had stopped.  But soon a saga kicked off.  The staff said there were no coaches to take us from the gate to the plane, a few metres away, but against security to let passengers walk on the runway (because at times the Italians really know their legal obligations).  Then there was no staff to unload luggage and load the new luggage (which I guess was limited anyway, given it was an easyjet flight).  And then, most importantly, there was no staff to refuel the plane.  It was the end of the staff shift, we were told, and because some few people did not do an extra half hour worth of work, a plane-full of people had to wait overnight till the plane could take off the next day.  In the next available slot, i.e., the next afternoon, or 17 hours later to be precise.

No café or restaurant was open at that hour and no hotel was available to accommodate us, albeit the offer to seek accommodation which would be refunded.  We "slept" on the seats in the gates, which were surprisingly plentiful, only till the sun rose at 6am or so and the scheduled flights kicked off with the usual persistent accompanying announcements and movement of people, making any sort of attempts to sleep impossible.

To cut a story short, we boarded at 12.40pm, a flight which was scheduled at 9.45pm the night before, having slept 9 hours in total in the previous 2 days (I forgot to mention the wedding ended at 2am or so and we were up by 9am for breakfast).  Just to add insult to injury, there were minor problems with the trains between the south and London, meaning we got home at 5pm or so, exhausted and with just one desire: sleep in a bed.

At the end, it was the best flight of my life: I never was as excited to get on a plane as that day, perhaps only more in September 1989 when I flew for the first time.  Or perhaps in September 2007 when I moved to London for the first time (incidentally it was my 7th anniversary of moving to London).  After a good sleep of 11 hours, it was back to work and then catching up with the celebrations in the homeland, which made me feel proud to be Maltese and grateful that the generations of the past wisely chose better than the Scots to seek independece from a then dying superpower, diversing the island nation's economy from solely based on foreign military activity to a thriving one that it is today.  But this is another story...

Snow and sun in Salzburgerland

I just realised that this is the first post for 2014, which is now in its 42nd day (already).  There is one good reason (actually more than one) for not writing earlier: extremely busy Monday-Fridays with no inclination to spend a few minutes in front of a monitor in the evening and equally packed weekends in a row.  Necessity is the mother of invention, though and thus now that the 1st escape from London for the new year took place, here I am with my bulletin on the trip to Salzburg.

It was a rather serendipitous trip courtesy of British Airways - well, partially - after they hassled us during our trip to Amsterdam and rewarded us with a welcome flight voucher (have not mentioned that one before, have I?) and which we redeemed to pay tribute to the Austrian city famed more than anything else for its son Mozart.  An obvious interest for me, although I admittedly admire Beethoven slightly more.  But not today...

The initial reaction after booking flights was: Austria?  Mountains?  Winter?  Given that I am not into skiing and such perilous activities.  But further reading made it obvious that the city had more to offer than copious mountains with skiing pistes and Mozart.  The latter inevitably had to feature on the trail and on the first day, after ascending* up the 1853m high Untersberg and down, visited his birthplace.  And the family's residence the next day.  And a magical concert of 2 of his piano sonatas and a fantasia in a beautiful Romanesque hall.

We did venture slightly out of the Salzburg city centre for half a day to visit the salt mines in Hallein and also the Stiegl brewery, where we left with a surplus of beer which was happily consumed on the Saturday night.  Oh yes, the beer.  Superb.  And the food - everything revolves around meat: sausages, schnitzels and goulash.

After my non-exhaustive travels around Europe, I guess I know what the recipe for a European city is: a river with a few bridges across, a cathedral or two, one main square, palaces, museums and the hill-top castle.  Indeed, all featured in Salzburg, but every time I go to a new city, there is some unique facet to the combination of these elements; truly the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.  And the beauty of Salzburg undoubtedly played a key element to inspire the young Amadeus.  Plus some twist of fate and a good gene or two.

*In a cable car, needless to say