Germany – Life In A Word

Mighty Fine Print

Whenever a season of sports comes down to the last couple of teams, I pay extra attention whether it’s the Super Bowl, the World Series, or college basketball’s March Madness. A championship is the culmination of an entire season, so the final game puts the stakes at their highest. Just last week I made it to the finals of a competition myself. The thing is, I didn’t even know I was playing.

We’ve all received one of these flyers at one time or another, haven’t we? A bold, colorful announcement suggesting we’ve won something big. In this case, a Viking River Cruise (red capital letters, top left) suggests a tapped mailing list because I’ve cruised with Viking twice. Regardless, this flyer almost went into the trash before I read ~~some~~ all of the fine print. And I must say, whoever came up with the nuts/bolts of this particular contest deserves the Academy Award for Best Producer.

To begin with, notice the element labeled “Combination Box”. This little device is ingenious for two reasons. First, it stretches the envelope the flyer came in beyond a flat piece of paper, tempting the recipient to wonder what’s in there? And second, the device is “activated” by pulling a tab to reveal the “5-digit VIN number” you see here. Then you scratch off the gold circle further down the page to reveal another 5-digit number and – “how about that?” – they’re the same number, which makes me a “Grand Prize Winner”.

The flyer also contains utterly random stuff that has no bearing whatsoever on the contest. I am “cordially invited to ‘The Great America Cruising Expo'” (a fictitious event). Just below the black box is a “VIP Winning Number 5508738” (also useless). Finally, when I call the toll-free number at the bottom (which, to be clear, I will never call), I’m supposed to mention “Code AKSC”. Pretty sure anyone could call the toll-free number, mention the code, and discover they’re also a “Grand Prize Winner”.

Now for the good stuff. Here’s the lower right corner of the flyer. Call Within 48 Hours…? Within 48 hours of what, exactly? How do they know I’m calling within 48 hours of anything? More importantly, look at the four “gifts” below; one of which is apparently mine. Take a guess – which trip do you think I won?

Credit to the contest producers; I guessed wrong. I would’ve thought the 7-Night Resort Stay at Worldwide Destinations was my prize. After all, how much vaguer can a trip description be? If I called the toll-free number they’d probably go, “Yes you won but you can only take the trip on these 7 nights”. And “worldwide destination” technically means anywhere in the world so maybe I’ve won seven nights in the middle of Iowa.

In fact, the prize I “won” is the Caribbean Cruise for Two for Up to 7 Nights. The more I think about it, that one makes more sense. Any ship in Caribbean waters could be considered a “cruise” (even a foreign freighter with an empty cargo hold). “Up to 7 nights” could mean just two nights or even an overnight. And however I actually get to this cruise ship is on my own dime.

The pièce de résistance is on the back of the flyer: the fine print. The five hundred words you see above include the odds of winning (which is how I know I won the Caribbean cruise). Out of every 2,000,000 mailed flyers, 1,999,997 will win the Caribbean cruise, while just three people will win the three trips of any real value. In other words, one person wins a free Viking River Cruise. Okay, enough already; now this flyer goes into the trash, where it should’ve gone in the first place.

———————————————————–

LEGO Neuschwanstein Castle – Update #2 (read about the start of this project in Fit for a (Fairy Tale) King)

We continued to move mountains this week (as expected) but I was delighted to see bits of the castle starting to rise up already. Apparently I need to bring in cranes in addition to my earth-moving equipment. Bags 3 and 4 (of 23 bags of pieces) contained a lot of tiny, interesting, colorful bits. I had to be careful those little guys didn’t run down the mountains and try to escape.

For the first time in a half-dozen models I’m here to tell you… LEGO left out a piece. They really did. If you look at this step in the process (and yes, I’m already through 50+ steps), that little two-dot middle-row-right was AWOL. I checked the bags a dozen times thinking he was still in there. I scanned the piles of parts another dozen times. No two-dot. Maybe he’ll show up in another bag further into the build but by then it’ll be too late. The good news is, his location is buried inside the mountains and is not structural. You will never see the small cavity created by his absence.

What you see in the first photo is only about half the size of the completed model. It will be a full rectangle of Bavarian Alps when it’s done. Of course, by then you won’t even notice all the earthmoving I’ve accomplished, because Neuschwanstein Castle will utterly lord over the (LEGO) land.

Running build time: 1:52.

Total leftover pieces: 17.

Accompanying movie soundtrack: Leap Year (2010). I could use the excuse of the lovely Amy Adams to justify this favorite, but this so-so rom-com came out when she was hardly a name. However, Randy Edelman’s score is wonderful. It’s so much larger than the movie itself. “Anna’s Theme” – which the score returns to again and again – is a calming tune using a lot of piano and guitar. Elsewhere traditional Irish instruments make their inevitable appearance. Maybe the movie is forgettable but the music most definitely is not. Have a listen here.

Note: Life In A Word will be taking a vacation break for the next few weeks. Join me for the next chapter of the castle construction on August 20th!

What’s the Score?

Among the televised game shows I remember watching as a kid was one called Name That Tune. The version I watched wasn’t the original but it was the most successful, running from 1974-1981. Contestants competed for cash prizes by guessing the name of a song from a sound bite performed by the live band. The appeal of Name That Tune was the ability to play the game yourself while you watched (like you can with Jeopardy). But there was one genre of music Name That Tune didn’t tap into very often: film scores.

Here’s my question of the day. Name the last movie you saw where you also remember the music that accompanied the film. Titanic? Okay, but I’m not talking about soundtracks made up of popular songs you’d hear on Spotify (sorry, Celine) but rather instrumental scores where the music is tied to particular scenes of the story. Here, listen to the following sound bite and see if you can name the movie. Bonus points if you can picture the scene where the music was played. (scroll to the bottom for the answer)

Maybe your brain doesn’t associate movies with music the way mine does, but to demonstrate this acuity it took me no time at all to come up with a dozen of my favorite film scores; instrumentals so memorable I instantly recall the movie. Some, like the one I teased above, won Academy Awards (for “Best Original Score”). Others on my list weren’t even nominated… but maybe should have been.

Speaking of Academy Award winners, perhaps examples will help you “hear that tune”. The Best Original Score in 1965 was for The Sound of Music, primarily original songs with lyrics but several instrumental turns as well. The winner in 1973 was for The Sting, in which Scott Joplin’s ragtime piano tunes played the major role. The winner in 1975 was for Jaws, and I wonder who can’t hear that threatening theme whenever they picture a man-eating shark. The 1977 winner? Star Wars, scored by John Williams, who created the music for dozens of blockbuster films. 1990? Dances With Wolves by John Barry, another giant of the world of film scores. The list goes on and on.

As for my own list of favorites you’ll have to be a little more patient. I’ll include them – one at a time – as I give updates on the construction of my LEGO Neuschwanstein Castle over the next several months. If you’re wondering what movie soundtracks and a German castle have in common, I refer back to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang of course, with scenes filmed at Neuschwanstein. The story is a vivid childhood memory start to finish but so is the music. Trust me, for the number of times I’ve seen the film I can “name that scene” for just about every piece of the score.

LEGO Neuschwanstein Castle – Update #1 (read about the start of this project in Fit for a (Fairy Tale) King)

You’d think the construction of a castle would begin with the cornerstone. With the LEGO model you’d be wrong. We’re moving mountains instead. King Ludwig already had the Bavarian Alps at his disposal but we have build them from scratch before they’re crowned with his creation. Good thing this structure isn’t full-size or I’d be renting some serious earthmoving equipment!

With Bags 1 and 2 (of 23 bags of pieces) we got our hands dirty piling up dirt, rock, and other rather undefined landscape to create a mountaintop. Well, one-third of a mountaintop or so. If the next few bags represent the other two-thirds I’m not gonna an exciting update for you next week. At least the pieces snapped together smoothly. As with all LEGO models I’ve built, there were moments where I thought LEGO left out a piece, and other moments where I backed up a step or two to correct the construction. One change I’ve noticed from previous models: LEGO puts the tiniest pieces into paper “baglets”, which I’m not a fan of. Those little bags aren’t transparent, so you don’t always know when a piece gets stuck way down in the corner.

The model’s instruction manual – which henceforth shall be called the “tome of construction” – includes a few teasers about the real castle. Neuschwanstein has secret passageways! It also has “ingenious” inventions of its time, like modern toilets, central heating, and an electric call system for all of the servants who never spent a moment inside the walls. If any of these details are worth seeing before I “close in” the castle, you can bet I’ll be snapping a few photos for your viewing pleasure. Until next week!

Accompanying soundtrack: Mary Poppins . Did the magical nanny really make my list of favorite film scores? No she didn’t (not even for a spoonful of sugar), but I couldn’t find Chitty Chitty Bang Bang isn’t on Spotify and had Dick Van Dyke songs on the brain so… I went with Bert the chimney sweep instead.

Running build time: 44 minutes. Leftover pieces: 4.

“Name the movie” audio answer: Chariots of Fire (during the scene where several runners clad in white jog barefoot on the beach).

Some content sourced from, IMDb.com, “the Internet Movie Database”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

A Builder’s Half-Dozen

Considering the decimal system we Americans use for counting, it’s a little curious how many of our purchases come in sets of six. Soda cans and soda bottles comes in sixes. So do paper towels and toilet paper. Cube-like things have six sides. So do hexagons. Strum a guitar and six strings sing. Finally, let’s acknowledge sets of twelve where you only need half of them. A half-dozen eggs. A half-dozen doughnuts. Or for purposes of this post, a half-dozen LEGO models.

Before I lay the cornerstone of the LEGO Neuschwanstein Castle I thought I should revisit the five LEGO models that preceded it; the ones that perch quietly in various places in my home office. Like Neuschwanstein, these models have sentimental value, which speaks to the primary reason I chose them out of all of the other LEGO possibilities. I mean, I could’ve built the 10,000-piece Eiffel Tower (for example) but would I have been inspired to do so? Hardly, since I’ve only seen it from a distance. Here then, my builder’s half-dozen:

U.S. Capitol Building – I can’t remember what year I purchased this one, my first LEGO build, but it was sometime before this blog even existed. At over 1,000 pieces, it was one of the more sophisticated models of the budding LEGO Architecture Series back then. The LEGO U.S. Capitol does have sentimental value. As a California kid my parents recognized the need to get my brothers and me to the East Coast for a dose of “real” U.S. history. That month-long driving trip through Colonial America is one of my fondest childhood memories.

Grand Piano – You can read about this build starting with Let’s Make Music. It’s my one LEGO model outside of the Architecture Series but also my very favorite. Snapping together 3,662 LEGO pieces over several months allowed me to blog about my favorite pieces of classical music. The piano also brought back countless childhood memories of practice, lessons, and recitals at the keyboard. I may not play as much as I used to, but the LEGO Grand Piano reminds me that classical music will always be a part of my DNA.

Fallingwater – Frank Lloyd Wright’s signature design is undoubtedly my favorite residential structure, especially the way the house blends seamlessly with the natural surrounds of Western Pennsylvania. Fallingwater speaks to my college degree in architecture as well. I built the spartan LEGO Fallingwater model in early 2023 (read about its construction – and my favorite works of architecture – in Perfect Harmony) and then made the long-overdue pilgrimage to Fallingwater itself in the summer of 2024. The experience was every bit as serene and dramatic as I had hoped. If you find yourself anywhere near Pittsburgh, take a little time to visit Fallingwater.

Notre Dame de Paris – The cathedral on the banks of the Seine River in Paris is the first of two LEGO models that harken back to my junior college year in Italy. During spring break I met my parents in Paris and took a whirlwind tour of the city. I didn’t climb the Eiffel Tower and I didn’t even visit the Louvre, but at least I spent a few moments inside the glorious sanctuary of Notre Dame. Forty years later I completed the LEGO version; my biggest build at 4,383 pieces (read about this adventure in Highest Chair). I still need to add the sophisticated lighting kit, which will give the church the dramatic illumination it deserves.

Trevi Fountain – LEGO offers several options to build a structure located in Rome, but the Trevi Fountain spoke loudest to me. I walked through its piazza many times during that college year, throwing coins over my shoulder with hopes of returning to the Eternal City one day (which still hasn’t happened). The Trevi is one of the smaller models of my LEGO half-dozen – less than 2,000 pieces – but it’s high on sentimental value. Read about the build in Brick Wall Waterfall.

Neuschwanstein Castle – I shared a few details about King Ludwig II’s creation in last week’s Fit For a (Fairy Tale) King. The castle’s LEGO model is 3,455 pieces of stone, brick, turrets, towers, and trees, perched above LEGO’s version of the Bavarian Alps. I’ve often thought I should be building this one on top of a ladder to simulate the dramatic location. But the twenty-three bags of pieces and the hefty instruction manual will be challenge enough. I’ll be sharing the ups (and no doubt the downs) of its construction over the next few months.

If you liken a builder’s half-dozen to that of a baker, we’re actually talking seven LEGO models instead of six. And that, my friends, is the convenient caveat for claiming Neuschwanstein Castle will be my final construct (convenient, caveat, claiming, Castle, construct… NICE Dave!). After all, LEGO will keep adding new models to its Architecture Series. I only have room to display six of them but I’m sure that won’t deter me when the seventh comes a-calling.

Fit For a (Fairy Tale) King

I was sorry to see the Germans bow out of the World Cup early, because I’ve had Deutschland on the brain lately. This month (seven years ago) my wife and I cruised down the Rhine River from the Netherlands to Switzerland, but it was pretty much all Germany in between. This month also signals full-on summer and more time in front of the barbeque. On our grill you’ll find German bratwurst as often as American burgers. But more than river cruises and brats, I’m thinking about castles. Not the kind made of sand on beaches, but the real ones made of bricks and stone on mountaintops. Like Germany’s Neuschwanstein Castle.

You’re already familiar with Neuschwanstein; I’m sure you are. When 1.5 million people tour the castle every year – one of the most popular attractions in Europe – it translates to a lot of photos on Facebook. Also, Neuschwanstein includes all of the castle elements you remember from childhood fairy tales: towers, turrets, balconies, gatehouses, courtyards, dungeons, and (the intention of) more than 200 lavishly decorated rooms, built up to the highest of heights. There’s no surrounding moat, but Neuschwanstein gets along fine without one, perched on a hilltop in the middle of the Bavarian Alps.

Frankly, all this castle needs to complete its picture is a king and his court. Alas, Neuschwanstein never had a king – never – not even after its completion in 1892. Yes, the castle was designed by King Ludwig II of Bavaria, but here’s where the fairy tale falls to pieces. To begin with, Ludwig built the castle to escape the stresses of his primary palace life in Munich, so more than anything else it was meant to be a vacation home. Then, Ludwig copied most of Neuschwanstein’s architectural elements from nearby castles, so the design is pretty much a mashup of structures that came beforehand. Finally, and perhaps the saddest statement of all, Neuschwanstein was never completed – not even close. With only a throne room, a “Minstrels’ Hall” (a sort of tribute to the entertainment of the time), a drawing room, and a dozen other spaces, Neuschwanstein’s construction fell well short of its intended 200+ rooms.

The whole idea of Neuschwanstein feels like a bit of a charade. Did Ludwig really intend to decorate and staff hundreds of rooms in a castle from which he didn’t care to lord over the surrounding land? Was he really just frittering away Mom and Dad’s money because he was bored in Munich and had nothing better to spend it on? And shouldn’t he have been focusing his time and energy on his royal responsibilities instead? No wonder he was often referred to as “The Mad King”.

Let’s forget about Ludwig. After all, this post is about a castle, not the king who never occupied it. For all of its lack of completion, originality, and use, Neuschwanstein is still a model castle. Most of you should recognize it from the castle designs it inspired: Disneyland’s Sleeping Beauty Castle and Walt Disney World’s Cinderella Castle. But I prefer another one of its inspirations.

If Neuschwanstein is the ultimate castle, then Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (which I wrote about five years ago in Delicious Clicks) is the ultimate fairy tale. The story of the magical flying car, its inventor Caractacus Potts, the evil Baron Bomburst, the lovely Truly Scrumptious, and on and on, comes back to me like it was yesterday. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was the first Ian Fleming book I ever read, well before anything James Bond. Yet it never occurred to me until this post that Neuschwanstein served as the story’s castle. The movie version includes several aerial shots (from the driver’s seat of a flying car, of course), and sweeping views of the surrounding countryside. Neuschwanstein has always had a familiarity about it. Now I know why.

Someday I’ll make the journey to see King Ludwig II’s creation in person… but not before I build it myself here at home. Just when I thought I’d tackled my last LEGO project, along comes another one I simply can’t pass up. The LEGO Neuschwanstein Castle is 3,455 bricks of towers, turrets, and Bavarian Alps, boxed and bagged along with the usual paperweight instruction manual. I’m ready to don my crown and get started and as usual I’ll include small updates alongside my usual posts. When all’s said and built maybe I’ll even suspend a flying car overhead, so the castle looks more like a fairy tale than a mere vacation home for a mad king.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Following the Leader

Technology birthed the self-guided tour. More and more often, an admission ticket to sights worth seeing grants you a pair of headphones and a wearable device instead of a name-tagged human to show-and-tell you the way. Self-guided touring allows for a more convenient and less distracted experience. But it also removes the storyteller, and that, my friends, makes all the difference between a memorable tour and a forgettable one.

Viking River Cruises, one of which we completed on the Danube River in early June (see Going With the Flow), provide a plethora of tour guide experiences. On any given day of the cruise, you disembark to one or two “land-based” locales, in the (sometimes) capable hands of a personal tour guide. Viking contracts with local agencies to provide these guides for small groups of its travelers. For example, having a Hungarian show you the sights of downtown Budapest is so much more satisfying than hearing someone drone on about it on a headset. Sharing a beer with a German on a tasting tour is almost like being invited into his house.

If I ask you to share one of your own memories involving a tour guide, you’ll probably recall a particularly good one. Maybe you’ll even remember a bad one. Regardless, your stories would support my theory: a top-notch guide can make the what or the where of the tour almost irrelevant. The guide himself or herself can make the difference between a memorable experience and a forgettable one.

Consider, I still remember a tour of a southern plantation with my family from almost fifty years ago. Why? Because the tour guide presented herself in a way that made me think we were being welcomed into her own house. She also had this soft, syrupy unforgettable Southern accent that had me hanging on her every word. Do I remember anything about the plantation? No, but I sure remember the tour guide.

So it was on the Viking cruise. We had good guides and we had outstanding ones. The very best of the dozen or so – ironically – was a young woman working on contract with Viking for the first time, as a stand-in for our scheduled guide in Munich. She was, in every respect, delightful. She started our tour with a greeting and a smile, then a little conversation and questions to break the ice. As she led us from one sight to another, she spoke with an energy and pride in her city that can only be described as vivacious. By the end of the tour, as the saying goes, she had us feeding out of her hand. I was so enthralled I forgot to take a picture of her.

But we also had a lesser guide a few days earlier in Vienna, who I’d describe as a speed-walking encyclopedia. He led us on a many-thousand-steps rush through the sights, filling our heads with facts and figure as he went, in a pretty thick Austrian accent. He never smiled and I don’t think we ever stopped walking. Can’t remember much about that tour (or him for that matter) because it was a rush-rush blurry overload of the senses. I need to go back to Vienna again someday so I can (literally) stop and smell their famous roses.

Courtesy of Viking and those many tours near the Danube, I present to you, therefore, the attributes of the consummate tour guide:

A local, familiar with the city or sight at hand through regular exposure.
A personality; warm, friendly, energetic, and engaging.
An overflowing font of knowledge on his/her subject, able to answer just about any question thrown their way.
A storyteller, able to weave anecdotes at will into the facts and figures to keep it interesting.
In tune with his/her audience, making adjustments to the tour as necessary (ex. “Am I going too fast for you?”)

If you take enough sightseeing tours, you’ll know whether your guide is missing one or more of the above within the first five minutes. You’ll also know whether the next hour or two will fly by or drag on for all eternity. If your guide checks all five boxes, consider yourself lucky. Most of us aren’t cut out for the job (myself included), whether we like to think we are or not. It takes a special set of skills to be the leader everybody wants to follow.

Do-Re-Mi… Oh My!

Salzburg, Austria, a day-trip destination from our recent Viking River Cruise, is a popular draw for tourists. On most days you’ll find more internationals roaming Salzburg’s Old Town than you’ll find Austrians themselves. The compact city is famous for its historic buildings: churches, palaces, and fortresses dating back 1,000 years or more. Mozart was born here. But try as they might, Austrians will never be able to separate Salzburg from what attracts many to its streets: The Sound of Music.

I can think of only one movie we forced our kids to sit down and watch while they still lived under our roof. Close to Christmas one year (an arbitrary connection because of the lyrics of “My Favorite Things”), the five of us spent three hours together in front of our not-so-big-screen TV watching the somewhat true story of the von Trapp family. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve followed Maria, the Captain, and those seven engaging children as they outwit the Nazis.

For all of the movies I’ve watched in my life (and I’ve watched quite a few), The Sound of Music stands alone. I’d describe it as a jewel you display in an elegant glass box on the shelf, taken down every once in a while to appreciate up close. The Sound of Music is a feel-good story – if not accurate – produced in 1965 at the end of the Hollywood’s Golden Age. It remains the most successful movie musical of all time (adjusted for inflation), but I question whether today’s movie-goers would appreciate it as much as I do.

Most tours of Salzburg include references to buildings and locations included in The Sound of Music. Our own tour – cut well short because of the flooding of the Danube – was a brisk walk around the Old Town, with only an occasional mention of the movie. What surprised me was not how little of The Sound of Music was actually filmed in Salzburg (most was done on sound stages back in the States) but rather the Austrians’ utter disdain for the movie.

Consider, when it was first released The Sound of Music was only twenty years removed from the end of WWII. The Nazi overtones of the film didn’t sit well with citizens of Austria and Germany. Reviews (and box-office receipts) were not favorable in either country. Coupled with the liberties the producers took with the story, you can see why Salzburg residents don’t exactly “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” to claim the movie as their own.

You’ll find endless trivia about The Sound of Music at IMDB.com and elsewhere. Most facts are meant to point out discrepancies between the film and the actual story. Here are fifteen of “My Favorite Things”:

1) Julie Andrews was cast as Maria, of course, but only because Audrey Hepburn declined the part. Hepburn also denied Andrews the opportunity to play Eliza Doolittle in the movie version of My Fair Lady. Each played the opposite role in the original stage adaptations on Broadway.

2) Andrews kept getting knocked off her feet in the famous opening scene where she sings and spins in an Alpine meadow. She couldn’t keep her balance because the hovering helicopter used to film the scene generated too much wind.

3) Andrews’ hair was meant to be worn longer but a bad color job forced the pixie cut, which Andrews kept for most of her acting career

4) Christopher Plummer was not a fan of The Sound of Music. He reluctantly agreed to the part of Captain von Trapp and regretted every moment on set, especially those with the children. He described working with Julie Andrews as “being hit over the head with a big Valentine’s Day card, every day”. He nicknamed the movie The Sound of Mucus. Much later he acknowledged the film’s worldwide success, as well as the Oscar-nominated talent of Andrews.

5) Plummer regularly drowned his acting sorrows in Salzburg bars and restaurants. As a result his outfits needed to be resized towards the end of filming to accommodate his added weight.

The gazebo (moved from its original location). The interior scenes were filmed In a much larger stage set reproduction.

6) The von Trapp children are Rupert, Agathe, Maria, Werner, Hedwig, Johanna, and Martina… not Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta, and Gretl. Also, none of the nine leads are Austrian (which certainly didn’t help the appeal of a film based in Salzburg).

7) Auditions for the parts of the von Trapp children included the four eldest Osmond brothers (not Donny), Kurt Russell, and Richard Dreyfuss.

8) Kym Karath, who played Gretl, the youngest of the von Trapp children, created her fair share of challenges. She had a cold during much of the filming. She almost drowned in the scene where the boat overturns in the lake because she didn’t know how to swim. And she ate enough sweets on set to where her weight was too much for Christopher Plummer. As a result, in the final scene walking over the Alps, Plummer is carrying a stand-in actress instead of Karath.

9) Nicholas Hammond, who played Friedrich, was not a natural blonde so his hair was bleached for the movie. The coloring process caused some of his hair to fall out, which is why you see him wearing a “Tyrolean Traditional Alpine” hat when he’s seen singing “Do-Re-Mi”.

10) The day after the real von Trapp family left Austria (by train to Italy and then to the U.S., not on foot over the Alps to Switzerland), the Germans shut down all of Austria’s borders.

Salzburg’s Schloss Leopoldskron, where lakefront and garden scenes were filmed

11) The real Maria von Trapp is on screen at the beginning of the movie.

12) The real Maria also claims, if you can blieve it, her own personality was livelier than Andrews’ on-screen version.

13) The real Maria taught Julie Andrews how to yodel. Watch the lesson here.

14) The film’s production demanded 4,500 extras, including those in the sold-out theater for the music festival. The audience sings “Edelweiss” as if they know the song, but only because they spent time beforehand learning the words.

15) Despite the aforementioned Austrian disdain, The Sound of Music is played nonstop on the televisions of most Salzburg hotels.

Maybe all of this trivia changes your opinion of The Sound of Music. Not mine. There are countless reasons this film includes the tagline, “The Happiest Sound In All The World”. The Sound of Music will always be that jewel in a glass box, waiting patiently to be enjoyed once more. Suffice it to say, I’ll never say “So Long, Farewell” to the adventures of the von Trapp family.

Some content sourced from the Internet Movie Database (IMDb), and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Go(ing) With the Flow

In the camping days of my youth, I’d get a kick out of dropping little sticks into the water and watching them float lazily downstream. I’d imagine them as little boats, navigating uncharted waters on their way to some exotic destination. I’d see how far those sticks could go, sometimes removing obstructions to create clear channels. Perhaps it’s no surprise then, all these years later, I’m drawn to the adventure of Viking River Cruises.

Maybe you’ve seen their commercials. Viking River Cruises advertise by showing you one of their elegant white ships cruising slowly down a pristine river, with dramatic terrain sloping up and away from the shorelines. Viking “longships” are low, flat, and narrow; a wholly refined version of my stick in the stream. Take your pick: the Nile in Egypt, the Rhine in Germany, or the Mississippi in America, to name a few. Viking has you covered when it comes to cruising the world’s rivers.

My wife and I just completed our second Viking cruise (well, “completed” doesn’t really cut it but I’ll get to that in a moment). Our first, in 2019, down the Rhine River from the Netherlands through Germany to Switzerland, was so satisfying we were ready to sign up for another as soon as we were done. Then the world went a little off the rails so we had to wait until the waters calmed again, so to speak. A week ago then, we returned from Viking’s Danube River cruise; Hungary through Austria to Germany.

There are at least two reasons why Viking River Cruises don’t appeal to those who seek a vacation on the water. First, you’ll find little more to do on the ship besides eat and sleep. Yes, you’ll find live music in the lounge and an occasional cooking demonstration by the head chef, but for the most part a Viking ship is a floating hotel. Second, the daily excursions off the boat are fast-paced guided looks at whatever is worth seeing, with only a little free time at the end for shopping and such. Best to bring a comfortable pair of walking shoes to keep up.

Those same reasons are why Viking cruises do appeal to us. We’ve been on one of those floating-city ocean cruises before (Carnival – ick), and everything from the buffet to the entertainment felt cheap and mass-produced. A Viking river ship caters to only two hundred passengers, in rooms as nice as most anywhere we’ve stayed on shore. As for the excursions, the tour guides are carefully chosen for their knowledge and personalities, adding so much more to the tour than if you were to go it alone. Yes, you’re only getting a “taste” of each locale, but this means you see a lot in eight days of cruising, leaving you to choose if and where you might come back to for more in-depth looks.

Eight days is plenty of time to be on the river (at least in our book) but Viking offers several options twice as long, including a fifteen-day Grand European Tour covering the Rhine and the Danube. You can also add “land-based” days to either end of a cruise, exploring the cities from where you embark and disembark. Finally, Viking tailors its menus (and I do mean menus, not buffets) to the cuisine of the region you travel through. From our experience, the food is excellent.

Passau, Germany (one of our destinations)

If this sounds like a ringing endorsement for a Viking River Cruise, let me silence that bell for just a moment. Perhaps the only thing Viking can’t control is the water itself. Unbeknownst to most Americans, the Danube River flooded its banks earlier this month, forcing the powers that be (and who exactly are those powers?) to “close” the river. Residents in destinations downriver found themselves wading through four feet of water. River ships couldn’t fit under low-flying bridges, let alone dock at the shores. As a result, our cruise came to a premature halt in Vienna, Austria, with the remaining itinerary carried out with busses and hotels.

I’ll take the next several posts to dive deeper into our “Romantic Danube” Viking cruise. We missed out on the time we expected on the river, but the destinations were no less impressive. Budapest is a heck of an interesting city. Gottweig Abbey (outside the Austrian town of Krems) is keeping apricots relevant. So stick with me the next few weeks and you’ll find out more about what the Danube has to offer. After all, river cruising is a whole lot more adventurous than floating a stick down a stream.

O’ Come Let Us Adorn

There’s an older fellow in Egypt who wakes up every morning, throws on a flannel shirt and well-worn pants, and goes to his workshop behind the corrugated roll-up door of a small, industrial warehouse. Using ancient tools and techniques, he churns out hundreds of colorful, ornate, square cement tiles. He’s a true artisan, our tilemaker, carrying on his craft from many generations before him. His product endures amid countless mass-produced ceramic and porcelain alternatives. Perhaps our tilemaker would feel more at home in Lauscha, Germany. Lauscha is home to dozens of glassblowers, who still create colorful, ornate, Christmas ornaments by hand.

Every December about this time, my wife & I bring home our Christmas tree (real, not artificial – see Is It Live or Is It Memorex? for that debate). We take our tree through the same steps from start to adorned. First, fresh-cut the trunk, set the tree into the stand, and fill with warm water (and one baby aspirin!). Next, let gravity bring the branches down for a few days. Then, bring out the ladder, top the tree with the angel, and string the lights generously down all sides. Finally, adorn with ornaments. Our collection is larger than the real estate of any Christmas tree we buy, so there’s always debate on which ornaments make the tree and which are re-relegated to the closet for another year of waiting. In the end, we stand back and admire a pleasing mix of homemade, school-made, photo-framed, and collectibles.

You can never have enough ornaments, and the glassblowers in Lauscha would agree. The process they use to create the simplest of glass balls is already beyond my artistic abilities. For one, you must work fast because the molten glass cools in a hurry. For two, you must have steady hands as you add color and detail. Have a look at the following short video and you’ll learn a thing or two you never knew about making Christmas ornaments. My favorite part of the process? “Silvering”. Who knew the mirror-like aspect of a Christmas ball is painted on the inside of the glass?

Germans (and more people than I’d probably guess) refer to Christmas ornaments as baubles, which is ironic because Americans define a bauble as a “showy cheap trinket”. Nothing produced in Lauscha, Germany is a showy cheap trinket. Then again, Americans figured out how to mass-produce Christmas ornaments and the result is a generic, sometimes-plastic alternative to the real thing. “Bauble” indeed.

The very first Christmas ornaments were anything but glass-blown baubles. You had fruit, candy canes, pastries, strings of popcorn, and whatever else you could find around the house. The Lauscha baubles then came along in the mid-1600s. Short of the post-WWII years (when the German government used the glass factories for more important products) they’ve been making them ever since.

Credit Woolworth’s once-popular department stores for the proliferation of Christmas ornaments in America. In the late 1800s, Woolworth’s started carrying the Lauscha baubles. Soon after, they stocked mass-produced American-made versions, taking tree-decorating to a whole new level. By the mid-20th-century, Woolworth’s was banking $25 million on Christmas decoration sales alone.

Hallmark jumped on the bauble bandwagon in the 1970s. Clever folks, those people at Hallmark. Their original ornament collection was made available only for the current year, followed by a new collection the following year, and so on. Today, Hallmark Keepsake Ornaments are so popular you have to join a club (just $49.95!) if you want to own their newest limited-edition ornaments.

As much as I’d like to add a Lauscha bauble or two to my tree, I prefer the more personal ornaments we hang instead. A dozen or more of them were designed around primary-school photos of our kids (“art projects”, they called them). Souvenir ornaments from favorite trips we’ve taken over the years. Several more with imprinted dates, to remind us of special occasions like weddings, births, or passings.

Five years ago, I wrote my one and only work of fiction on this blog, a post about a Christmas ornament. It seems fitting to include a link to The Best Branch on the Tree, assuming you haven’t followed me that long. Because, you know, ornaments – er, baubles – have feelings too.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Tale of the Little-Dog

When my son and his wife visited with their daughters last week, the consensus for dinner was hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill. These choices were noteworthy in that I honestly can’t remember the last time I ate a hot dog. Sweet Italian sausage? A couple of times a month cut up into a stir-fry of vegetables. Beer brats? Also delicious, hot off the grill with a little mustard. But a hot dog is child’s play by comparison. Or should I say, a “dachshund sausage”?

It’s true. The Germans, who by all accounts can take credit for the invention of the hot dog (five hundred years ago!) nicknamed their frankfurters “dachshunds” – or “little-dog” sausages because, well, they looked exactly like the dog breed. The only history Americans claim is the re-nickname “hot dog”. Even the hot dog bun – which really took hold at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893 – points back to the Germans, who always ate their sausages with bread.

Are hot dogs a staple in your diet, or like me are they simply a distant memory? If they weren’t hot off the grill in the backyard or at a summer picnic, perhaps you had one at a baseball game (but not so much football or basketball, go figure). You’ve probably also seen hot dogs on the midway at carnivals and county fairs. Wherever you get your franks today, they’re just not as likely to come from established restaurants.

In the 1970s, America seemed to have hot dog stands on every corner. The most popular of these was the distinctive drive-thru Der Wienerschnitzel’s, but you also had – at least from my California-based memory – Pup ‘N’ Taco, Ben Franks, Tail o’ the Pup, and the walk-up Hot Dog on-a-Stick booths you’d find at amusement parks. Today’s retail hot dog is at a Sonic Drive-In or the food court at Costco. If you live anywhere near New York’s Coney Island, you can also include “Nathan’s Famous”, or at least the annual hot dog eating contest of the same name.

A hot dog may be “a cooked sausage eaten in a long, soft piece of bread”, but its secondary meanings are less definitive. “Hot Dog!” is something you used to say when you were VERY happy about something else (“used to”, meaning sixty or seventy years ago). A “hot dog” is also a person “who makes fast, skillful movements in skiing, snowboarding, or surfing to make people notice them”. That last definition still stands.

Speaking of “used to say”, we also used to sing about hot dogs, didn’t we? Oscar Mayer’s jingle convinced us we should BE hot dogs (so everyone would be in love with us). But the better song came from Armour, which asked us what kind of kids eat Armour hot dogs? Per the lyrics, “…fat kids, skinny kids, kids that climb on rocks… tough kids, sissy kids, even kids with chicken pox…” Today’s version of the Armour jingle would probably be censored just for using the word “kids”.

“I wish I had a million dollars. HOT DOG!” (Courtesy of Paramount Pictures and “It’s A Wonderful Life”)

Hot dogs will always be a childhood memory more than a dietary preference in my book. My mother, raising five hungry boys, developed several dinner recipes when time and ingredients were in short supply. These included canned baked beans and weenies (two ingredients = dinner!), and a truly odd creation from the Betty Crocker cookbook made up of hot dogs, mashed potatoes, and cheese (three ingredients!). Whether it tasted good or not – I honestly can’t remember – dogs, mash, and cheese conveniently covered the protein, carb, and fat categories, all in one broiler-blasted casserole.

My most vivid childhood hot dog memories are not the dinners mentioned above. Instead, I can’t forget snacking on raw hot dogs from the refrigerator (which sounds awful now, but hey, I was a kid). My mother was faithful to the Oscar Mayer brand so I ate a lot of their hot dogs raw. Speaking of Oscar Mayer, here’s the better memory. They built a motorized advertisement which to this day may be the coolest vehicle on wheels. The “Wienermobile” cruised the streets of Los Angeles, stopping every now and then in a parking lot so you could view it up close. The driver handed out tiny plastic replicas of the vehicle, appropriately labeled “Weenie Whistles”.

(Courtesy of Walt Disney Pictures and “The Santa Clause”)

Let me conclude with a solved hot dog mystery. Your grocery store sells most brands in packages of ten. They also sell hot dog buns but in packages of eight. Why? Because hot dogs weigh about 1.6 ounces, which makes a package of ten a convenient sale of exactly one pound of meat. On the other hand, hot dog buns are baked in trays of four, which work best with conveyor belts and processing. An odd number of buns – trays of five – is a model of inefficiency. So until one or the other manufacturer changes their standard, you’ll always have leftovers for snacks. Or better yet, for your dog.

The hot dogs I served my granddaughters last week were comically advertised as healthy: no fillers, no preservatives, and so on. They weren’t very good. Maybe the worst part of a hot dog is what makes it taste so good? Or maybe hot dogs have simply lost their appeal to me? No, wait, that can’t be true. Anything my granddaughters ask me to eat has instant appeal.

Guess I haven’t eaten my last little-dog sausage just yet.

Some content sourced from the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council (NHDSC) website, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Trilling on the Trail

An old friend stopped by to visit the other day. He appeared at my front door without warning, taking me back almost fifty years to the moment we first met. He is still quite the singer. His stride is supremely confident. Most annoyingly, he finds unqualified joy in every blasted thing he sees and hears. My friend is, after all, The Happy Wanderer.

If you’ve encountered The Happy Wanderer at some time in your life, you know exactly who I’m talking about. He is Mr. “Val-deri, Val-dera”. Those words alone should revive the sing-song tune fried into most brains since childhood. “The Happy Wanderer” could’ve been quarantined within Germany were it not for its award-winning performance by the Oberkirchen Children’s Choir (and subsequent radio broadcast by the BBC), in 1953. Then, Mr. Wanderer went worldwide-viral and there was no turning back ever.

According to his lyrics, The Happy Wanderer (we’ll just call him “Hap”) takes hikes into the mountains and alongside streams, his hat on his head; his knapsack on his back. Hap points out blackbirds and skylarks along the way, and his journey brings him unbridled giddy happiness and laughter (as in, “Val-deri, Val-der-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…”). Our boy smiles the entire time and boldly invites YOU to join in the singing. In his final verse, Hap wants to wander (and sing) until the day he dies. That’s a little extreme for a children’s song, don’t you think?

Speaking of childhood, Hap and I first met way back then. He entered the “UK Singles Chart” on January 22, 1954, eight-years-to-the-day before I was born. Eight years after I was born, I henpecked Hap’s tune as I learned to play the piano. “Chopsticks”, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, and “The Happy Wanderer” were almost assuredly the first three pieces I ever memorized.

Hap wandered into my life again in the Boy Scouts. I recall a lot of singing on weekend hikes (not sure why – who’d be happy backpacking forty pounds towards some distant campsite?) Besides “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt” and “The Ants Go Marching…”, we Scouts unabashedly sang “The Happy Wanderer” through mountains and alongside streams. Hap’s tune even made the official list of “Scout songs” (see here.)

I thought I was done with Hap years ago (it took me decades to forget his slaphappy song), but recently he resurfaced. First, on a cruise down Germany’s Rhine River, at an outdoor dinner in the little town of Rüdesheim. I was volunteered by my fellow travelers to play with the band. I manned a big oom-pah-pah drum while another poor soul clanged the cymbals. A band member played the clarinet. And our one and only performance – naturally – was “The Happy Wanderer”. To add shame to the silliness, we marched between the tables as we played. I did my best to look “happy”.

Hap’s other revelation may be a little more prolonged. On the same Rhine River cruise, in Bavaria, my wife and I bought a handmade cuckoo clock. The clock was shipped and arrived in the States two weeks ago. Imagine my delight when I wound the clock and the cuckoo bird busted through his little door, the dancers twirled, and the tiny music box played “Edelweiss”. The “sound of music” every hour on the hour! Er, every other hour on the hour. Turns out our cuckoo clock has two songs. Hello, Happy Wanderer. If I choose to, I hear his gleeful melody twelve times a day. Or, If I choose to, I can flip a switch and I don’t hear anything at all. I expect I’ll be flipping the switch any day now.

If you’d like to add to my hap-aberration, go to 1-800-FLOWERS and have a hardenbergia violacea delivered to my door. HV is a species of flowering plant from the pea family. Some call it a lilac vine. Others give it nicknames like “false sarsasparilla” or “purple coral”. It’s also lovingly referred to as “The Happy Wanderer”.

Heaven help me.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.