Written by Franz Hofer for A Tempest in a Tankard
It was one of those August days when the sun-baked cobblestones seem to transcend themselves in mirage-like fashion. Since arriving in Salzburg earlier that day, we had been exploring a baroque palace here, a castle overlooking the city there, and churches everywhere. Definitely time for a beer, one of my friends declared. Another suggested a visit to the Augustiner, where we could relax in its chestnut grove with a cold beer. With one last burst of energy we glided across the foot bridge over the Salzach and climbed the hill in the direction of the Augustiner.
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