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A Pilgrimage to Salzburg

© Paul Ruschmann

Salzburg, Austria, doesn't lack for visitors. They come to pay homage to the city's favorite son, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart; stroll the Old Town's cobblestoned streets; admire its castles and churches; and see the sights made famous by The Sound of Music.

Me? I was here for the beer. I'd spent several days in Vienna, and was on my way to Munich, where the annual Strong Beer Festival was underway. Salzburg, which is on the main rail line, is home to one of Europe's most famous beer destinations: Augustiner Bräu.

North Americans rarely associate beer and religion, but for centuries, monastic orders like the Augustinians preserved the ancient art of beer making. The monks were craft brewers in the literal sense: they relied on scientific principles, and paid strict attention to quality. Some of Europe's finest beers have their origins in monasteries.

The Augustiner monastery was founded in 1605 by Wolf Dietrich, Salzburg's prince and archbishop. Dietrich was, to say the least, a larger-than-life character. Like a true prince of the Holy Roman Empire, he ruled the city with an iron hand, and spent lavishly on the arts. And he didn't let his religious vows get in the way of earthly pleasure. He had 15 children by his longtime mistress, Salome Alt, and built the lavish Mirabell Palace and Gardens in her honor.

In 1835, the emperor handed the monastery over to the Benedictine order, who decided to cash in by inviting the public to drink their beer. The residents of Salzburg have flocked there ever since.

I began my own pilgrimage to Augustiner Bräu along a footpath on the Salzach River's east bank. The walk proved longer than I'd expected; before long, I started questioning my navigation skills. Eventually, I encountered smiling people walking toward me, some more steadily than others. At the Riverside Café, I turned away from the Salzach and walked toward the monastery.

Although I've drunk beer in plenty of out-of-the-way places, I did a double take when I stepped inside. Had someone transported me back to my parish hall in New Jersey? And why was it was 1962 again? It was like The Wizard of Oz, only in reverse.

A few moments later, the sights and sounds brought me back to earth...or, more precisely, the heart of Europe. The conversations around me were in German; the air was filled with the aroma of sausages, soups, and other food sold at a row of stalls.

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