When you stay in a hotel whose free breakfast includes perfectly prepared Eggs Benedict, you know you’ve chosen the right place.

We are reluctant to leave the breakfast room but must to find Johannes, our “free walking tour” guide for a two-hour highlights tour. We can’t help but notice in the small lounge across from the breakfast room a row of three plastic doors with keys. Each door opens a small box with charging cords for “C” and lightening ports. You can leave your phone or whatever to charge, turn the key and take it with you.

We cross the Salzach River to the other side of town, find the “Eight Chairs” monument to Mozart where we find Johannes, and meet several other people on the tour. The day: Motionless clouds that look like puffy whipped cream in a hazy blue sky. A scorcher.

Almost first thing Johannes points out is the birthplace home of Joseph Mohr, who wrote Silent Night, which, we are told, has been translated into 350 languages, the song most sung in the world. We see a bit of the Mirabelle gardens and cross the river back to “old town,” to walk along the Getreidegasse, the main shopping street with signs hanging above the stores depicting the type of business. These stores are now owned by international bling busters but they must protect and preserve the old signs. On to the Salzburg Opera House, the third largest by capacity in the world after the Met and Sydney. Even its back door is imposing.

On to St. Peter’s Square whose abbey is the oldest monastery in the German-speaking world, and on past the entrance to the cathedral whose three entrances sport dates: 774 when Virgil began construction, 1628 when the building was finished, and 1959 when the Americans finally repaired the church whose dome we blew up in WWII.

We segue past the university and skirt the cathedral’s walls to enter Kapitalplatz which has a huge golden sphere with a simply dressed man on top, supposedly inviting thoughts about the relationship of humans to the world. Beneath it, two people play an intense chess game with three-foot pieces. The platz is dominated, however, by the massive fortress on the hill above it (more on it, later).

And finally, we come to Residenz Platz, which was redone in Italian baroque after a 1598 fire. Johannes tries to tell us its interesting architectural and political history but he — and everyone else in the huge space — are drowned out by a group of Jesus Saves band and singers and preachers who, Johannes surmises, do NOT have a required permit for public functions. Smiling, vacant-eyed blondes offer leaflets for our salvation. Ugh!

We tip Johannes generously because he was informative, witty, amusing and kind, and repair to a cafe for coke, confections and a G&T for DWG.

We stroll leisurely back toward to the hotel along the Getreidegasse, window shopping to our hearts discontent. LOTS of beautiful bling and LOTS of tourists.

Sadly, we say goodbye to Bernadette who must return to Marseille and life in hot hot hot France.

Cynthia and I shower, re-dress, find a wonderful dinner at a restaurant named Elefant.

Walking back to the blue goose we hear voices just off the main drag. It’s Saturday night so we explore. A beer garden is packed. There are multiple screens showing the World Cup.

We don’t linger.